A Haunting

Spoiler

So this is basically Ivy Rose in poetry form. It's nothing particularly special, of course, but constructive criticism is more than welcome. Also, for any of my poets who want to indent in their works, the hex code is CCCCFF for the color of the YWS background.

I remember when the preacher knelt down
on that alabaster altar and said how she was so brilliant,
so vibrant with her mortuary strut, her rainy-day drag.
I feel like she would laugh at him if she could move
those lips coated in strawberry embalm.

I loved that pretty name she had—sweet and captive like
honey in a bear’s jaw—and how she would sing it
every morning when we walked to school—a good boy
and darling girl holding hands like in a film.
And she’d sing
___I’m Ivy Rose from head to toe,
___my eyes like pearls, my hair like gold.
___Sir, I can sing like hummingbirds
___and measure more than diamond’s worth.

I don’t know who taught her that song, but I like to think
that Gabriel sang it to her when she drifted off at last.
I hear her in the quiet moments between the heaves
of wind against these old limbs. Her voice is light like
a breeze, and yet as full and lush as a mourning violin.
I think that’s what heaven sounds like around me, how
she may be sitting beside me, her fingers poised
around these ivory keys as I play her song.

And I pray, when I feel her, like I’ve known God
all my life—like He and I are together at the dinner table
and he’s telling me about tomorrow’s rain. She makes
things that should remain above my reach so real, so tangible;
and yet I can’t escape her tranquil wickedness that lures me
to where she left.

Her whispers could ensnare an eagle, drag an angel
into the vile brine of Hell—and so I fear her, that
enigma, that Ghost of Ivy Rose.

Expect a review. And a whole lot of praise.
Thank you for finally posting.

:O oh goshie, now I know the story of Ivy Rose

I'm not one for poems like these, but I liked this one. It was captivating - like honey in a jar (hehehe)- I liked it a lot, I would give a big long reveiw, but sadly, I have to go. So, bye!


-thestorygirl

Loomzichal! Hello there. So, I've read the prose version (which I completely adore, by the way), and I have to say, I found these two pieces extremely different. While I like the prose version better writing/imagery wise, this felt... I dunno how to describe it. More complete. Structured, refined. The prose version is excellently written, but is almost overwhelming in beautiful imagery. This felt a bit more straight forward to me.

I remember when the preacher knelt down
on that alabaster altar and said how she was so brilliant,
so vibrant with her mortuary strut, her rainy-day drag.
I feel like she would laugh at him if she could move
those lips coated in strawberry embalm.

I'm not entirely sure about this beginning. I feel like you've kind of copped out with the "I remember" opening (which I am guilty of, in so many places). You could definitely introduce some originality there. I love the alliteration of "alabaster altar", but then the words "brilliant" and "vibrant" fell a little flat to me. Make them religious. Incorporate the description of her with her surroundings. The last line is excellent, though to be perfectly honest, it took me a couple of read-throughs to get the meaning. Maybe clarify? It's good how it is, but it could be more clear. Otherwise, great job.

I loved that pretty name she had—sweet and captive like
honey in a bear’s jaw—and how she would sing it
every morning when we walked to school—a good boy
and darling girl holding hands like in a film.
And she’d sing
___I’m Ivy Rose from head to toe,
___my eyes like pearls, my hair like gold.
___Sir, I can sing like hummingbirds
___and measure more than diamond’s worth.

So... I loved this stanza. Honestly, I'm having a lot of trouble pulling up something to criticize. The only main thing I could say is that the concept of her singing her name daily is a bit weird. I dunno if I just misinterpreted that though. Also, I think that the second part could use a bit of work, though it is quite good.

I don’t know who taught her that song, but I like to think
that Gabriel sang it to her when she drifted off at last.
I hear her in the quiet moments between the heaves
of wind against these old limbs. Her voice is light like
a breeze, and yet as full and lush as a mourning violin.
I think that’s what heaven sounds like around me, how
she may be sitting beside me, her fingers poised
around these ivory keys as I play her song.

First of all, and I know this is going to sound a bit odd, but I don't like the lines in this one. Aesthetically. They're too similar. Break 'em up a bit, play with it.
Second: I don't like the word "heaves". It makes me think of throwing up, which I'm not terribly fond of thinking about, especially because I'm getting sick. Also, the simile using "breeze" in the next line feels off to me because of the wind imagery. Also, I dunno if I'd use the words "full" or "lush" with a violin, though I really like that "mourning violin".
In the next time, I'd remove "around me" and maybe reword the next bit, as it feels a bit awkward. Also, "poised" feels like it should be followed with "above" or like it should just be changed altogether.

And I pray, when I feel her, like I’ve known God
all my life—like He and I are together at the dinner table
and he’s telling me about tomorrow’s rain. She makes
things that should remain above my reach so real, so tangible;
and yet I can’t escape her tranquil wickedness that lures me
to where she left.

The first two clauses are a bit ambiguously worded. Maybe rephrase? Also, you might consider involving her more in the God simile. Maybe make her at the head of the table, quietly smiling and not saying a word. I dunno. I just feel like it's almost a distraction, and you need to keep that piece of imagery centralized. Specify what you mean by "things". The last two lines are a bit awkward sounding-- I think it's primarily the phrase "tranquil wickedness" though when it's by itself... it sounds awesome. I dunno. Do with it what you will.

Her whispers could ensnare an eagle, drag an angel
into the vile brine of Hell—and so I fear her, that
enigma, that Ghost of Ivy Rose.

Lovely imagery here, but it feels extremely abrupt, and I don't think that you've solidified her enough as a ghost-- she feels almost more like a memory, almost faint, like someone wanting to have that memory.

Overall, excellent. You have some great imagery and some really nice language. I do think that maybe you need to focus on the tone of being haunted or something a bit more, maybe memories, because I felt like, despite it being in the past tense, this was him either stating the present or recounting very fresh events. Develop the relationship, the yearning, the fear and love that your character feels in your prose version. That was lacking in here. The emotion, the raw terror and desire that drove your other character. With that in here, I think that this could be up to par with your prose piece, while maintaining better structure and everything.
Awesome job, Loomz.

Bloo-umi! finally a chance to review one of your poems, and I am overjoyed my friend to do so. I will give you a review the full extent of my abilities. Enjoy~

Now this first stanza, I'm honestly not interested. Why are starting so slowly? Solemnly at that. It doesn't give me anything except "sadsadsad, oh I shall reminisce..." and then you couple it with rather bland adjectives. First, this girl seems altogether, typical, normal, and glammed up. I really don't care how you develop this later; there is very little reason to read on as you've laid out a blueprint that's advertising the wrong concept and will not get you the grant/commission/etc.

To compound problems, you're stuck in the past tense. Terrible idea. It's, so slow. And so, so, boring. And then these dashes. Why? To make us focus on pedantic metaphor and imagery? Why focus on this girl so much? You're bottle-necking yourself Lumi, by focusing on just one thing here, and not giving a diverse course for dinner. It's just "rocks" with no alcohol. I would be enraged at my bartender for that :/ My poet? Let em' stay poor.

Now this name metaphor...it doesn't work in any way you want it to (it's like honey in a jar, it can be sung by her, and a nauseatingly boring cliche line about film stereotype...no, just no). And the song, it's trite. Had you used a proverb or folk tale or what not, then yes, it would have possibly worked, but your creation is repeating the same thing as is above, and for no good reason but to continue this ode to a dead girl.

Oh she's dead? I forgot. Do you see how long it's taken me to move along in this poem?
Also, why the underlined parts before the italics? They should be gone if, they add nothing and honestly look like an edit miss.

The fourth stanza revisits this funeral motif and again, repeats your rhyming phrase scheme, and it's just not very pleasing. It's sing-songy and ok to the untrained ear and eye, but I really want to barf. And when you bring back the idea of her voice, an echo of the earlier mention of her singing her name, this is a conflicting device. You have to decide what you want this girl to be. Ivy Rose. Well that name is making you either make a hypocritical conceit or a nature obsessed maiden....and what? And these musical inclusions, why? Go back through the poem and ask yourself why, and if you can't find an answer instantly, junk it.

The final two stanzas I won't bother with. They're not pedantic, they're merely facetiously counter-productive to the narrative you have made; you can't really go any further with this ridiculous build up of the girl in Western culture today past the archetype of "dey was like Jesus/God/YahWeh/insertChristianallegorymetaphorsimilewhateverhere". And the ending is just, well I guess expected.

I'm disappointed Lumi, because I see no growth, no real question posited or dilemma, merely a snapshot that stopped halfway through and forget to have contrast and lacks any form of shade and instead a highly vain, unrealistic view of life; you're writing in the clouds and I'm standing on the earth, wondering when you'll connect with me and how much it must suck to realize you really haven't any wings (stop drinking Red Bull).

The ending is hectic when compared to the beginning. The speaker, weak and uninteresting, not sympathetic. Ivy? I really don't care she is dead, and I really don't see any way she is a metaphor past her name. Otherwise, I don't see what else to take from this poem but many competing lines and ideas that do not link, that do not sync together.

Hope this helps and keep it up.

Hey Lumsters.
You asked me long ago what I thought of your poems, so I think it's about time I gave you a review.
Excited? Slightly Nervous? Terrified out of your wits? No matter.

To be honest I thought this was less than good.
Only words, dressed up and pranced around, but it's pretty souless if you ask me.
Only value you create if through dress up with pretty words and pretty metaphors, that are meaningless to the poem itself.

I mean, let's be honest here, what in the world is the purpose of:

sweet and captive like
honey in a bear’s jaw

Like what?
What does this bring to the poem?
It's not brought up again,
and is completely out of place considering it's a weird metaphor that's not brought up again and is left as a loose strong.

You have to make your mind up to what you're talking about, you're just taking the reader onto several roads before switching back to the main road, before straying off again at about 1km an hour (which is like... 1000 yards and hour).
Theme is important. What are you talking about and what are you going to use as the backdrop for your poem?
Instead of going off into every which way, religion, the church, eagle, bear, hummingbird, musical instruments, hell. Not only is that a lot for your reader, it's also all very overused. It honestly becomes very snow white for me because all I could imagine was this:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=J2egBfZPm4U

Blame my love for Disney. But yea, all I could imagine, except she stays dead.

Next, dear god this put me to sleep Lumsters. It's so boring I honestly have no idea what happens. Everything is drudging and slow and viscous. The words, the flow, the general story. It goes back to that link, such a dull movie that makes me want to drag out the feminist groups again.

Your poetry tends to be words on paper, or words on the screen, however you want to see it. And that's all Lumi so don't rest on your laurels just yet. A general lifelessness in your poetry is due to the fact you fall back on cliched tales, boring metaphors and an attempt at old fashion romanticism with the hope that technicalities will impress. But they don't, poetry never impresses without emotion or something interesting to serve as the paste for the technical. Try again, I'll throw my thoughts into the pot for your next post too.

Kamas