Young Writers Society

A/N - I think this one needs a lot more work.

*

A Woman

She dances on the skeletal frames of expectations
with lay-by shoes and dresses of spun gold.
A madcap whirl through the veins of the city;
arteries of desire clogged with debt and
the detritus of dreams.

Perfumed breath wheezes through caked
layers of facial deception hiding the scars,
propelling her through the heaving, rainbow
bloodstream on clickity-clack heels that drum
on the bones of the street.

Fractured beams of once clean light bounce
off the nylon signs that sells, sells, sells
humanity to the highest bidder. People walk
and talk and laugh, overpriced items with
a high rate of malfunction and short use-by date.

She knew, though it made no difference –
her neck still chafes under the itch of the
price tag beneath her skin. The stop start
jerk of the conveyor belt haunts her nights;
the cheap whiskey breath of the manufacturer
tickles her ears as the perfect form of a thousand
counterparts shames her into waking.

Recall the stock.

Shaking, manicured hands clutch the bulging
over-large handbag in front of her, stretched to
bursting with backstabbing secrets and lies; hands
that tentatively press against her barren stomach
trying to appease the rabid hunger that feeds
on her flesh until she is naught but poorly covered
sharp sticks poking out of sagging skin.

There is no time to stop or consider, on the sliver-thin
edge of plastic madness. Beneath the avid glare
of streetlamps, she notices the man, squirming
away from the light – a ghetto that can walk, talk
and move but beneath that just another worn down
product without the tinsel wrapping.

His is an encrusted filth stuck fast to the city walls
until the lines of form blur and he became an ugly
mole on its thick grey hide. She envied that physicality,
wished she was more than a paper ghost weighted down
by secrets. If only she could let them go to drift among the
clouds.

This...was...great.

You may say that it needs a lot of work but really it's not as much as you think it should have. I liked the flow it had the amazing metaphor throughout the whole poem. It's brilliant how you described the sky and the street and city without actually describing it physically. Metaphorically is the right way to do it these days. And it's cool how you seem like the city is a whole shopping mall.

You had a lot of great stanzas and lines in this piece and I would hate it if you changed them if you redo this:

She dances on the skeletal frames of expectations
with lay-by shoes and dresses of spun gold. A
madcap whirl through the veins of the city;
arteries of desire clogged with debt and
the detritus of dreams.

This is what kept me reading and it had enough hook for people who are extremely lazy and for the people who hasn't reviewed anything in days. 'Arteries of desire...' that bit was just beautiful.

Beneath the avid glare of streetlamps
she notices the man, squirming away from the light – a ghetto
that could walk, talk and move but beneath that just another
worn down product without the tinsel wrapping

Another thing I want to point out is your descriptions aren't too sugar coated and I don't feel like I need to drink a lot of water after I read this. This just has a certain simplicity to it that isn't simple at all. I can't think of a word for it because it's early in the morning and my brain is just arising but we're moving on...

If only she could let them go to drift among the clouds.

This was a great way to end the poem and the story. It tied in the title and if I say so myself this was a great addition to the first one.

Sorry if I'm always giving you compliments and not anything constructive, but I believe it was just that good.

Thanks for the read,

~Angel

Don't be sorry, I like knowing I'm entertaining someone, at the least.

Thanks very much,

Cheers

First impression: somewhat taken aback by the aggressiveness of the language! This whole work seemed full of rage.

"he became an ugly / mole on its thick grey hide"? "to hold together suppurating wounds that refuse / to heal in the darkness"? "to appease the rabid hunger that feeds / on her flesh until she is naught but poorly covered / sharp sticks poking out of sagging skin." Wow.

I can't argue you don't have a command of language. It's plan to see you are articulate enough. What I don't like about this poem is the lack of subtlety. It's hard to argue this is a thoughtful insight rather than a rant about an addiction to consumerism. The beauty of poetry is the way it can describe something originally and not resort to familiar emotion.

I would say the first three stanzas are better than the rest. They seem to have better lines and better ideas. Particularly "rainbow / bloodstream on clickity-clack heels that drum / on the bones of the street." That just sounds nice.

The rhythm is forgotten. Your line-breaks are haphazard and need to be looked at. In the first stanza, you split a sentence and leave "A" up there on its own. What was your thinking behind this? It doesn't seem to work. Take more consideration with how you split your lines, as the reading of a poem, its pace and its breaks, its just as crucial as the language.

I'm really not a fan of the last three stanzas. The last in particular seemed forced. The introduction of the man was too late and it was hard to understand the implications.

Overall, you've got a lot of ideas bursting and exploding, but with little subtlety and little tying it together and making it read nicely. There's a lot of repetition of ideas. I think with an edit you could take a great number of lines that have become superfluous. Read the poem aloud to yourself and see what words break the flow.

I do like your use of language in many cases, though. It's obvious you know how to describe a scene. I wonder, however, if you got carried away beneath your plethora of adjectives and forgot to include any lasting significance to a poem that induces a lot of emotion but little meaning.

p.s. This makes Sydney sound horrible. Come to England quickly now.

XD. It's not Sydney but a smaller city/town I grew up in.

You know, I never actually noticed the rage until you mentioned it. It does seem fairly strange to me now, I was more reflective than anything else, when I wrote this, lol. Totally not what I started out intending to write either, so I'm definitely thinking of a rewrite. As it is, I've edited it slightly.

I've had that said before, regarding line breaks and such, I'm completely lost there and so I'm not surprised I'm doing something wrong, lol.

Thanks very much for the comments,

Cheers

Hey there Jigs! June here!

I thought I had reviewed this already. In fact, I have; My internet decided to quit and bribe me into thinking I submitted stuff often.

Now! I don't remember much of what I've said in the review I drew up before, but I do know that it was indeed full of praise. Jack has touched on most of what I would have picked at, so I'm not even going to try the whole broken-record thing .

However! This stanza stuck out more than the rest:

There is no time to stop or consider, on the sliver-thin

edge of plastic madness. Beneath the avid glare

of streetlamps, she notices the man, squirming

away from the light – a ghetto that can walk, talk

and move but beneath that just another worn down

product without the tinsel wrapping.

I don't know if it's just me or not. Perhaps it's the starting with "There is..." the rest of the stanzas begin with something specific, but this seems a little different-- almost vague.


Aside from that, the poem is great. Fabulous, in fact, I would have never guessed that poetry isn't your thing.


Great, great job, Jigs.

Keep it up!

xxJune

(sorry I was like no help xD)