Young Writers Society

Okay, so you have to guess what this poem is about.


I met you first in a Christmas ornament.
It was a peacock, of all non-Christmasy things, a peacock.
It was teal and green, and had white tail feathers
that sprouted out of the glass like an angel’s trumpet.
It broke when I was about 8,
when the people living under us
slammed their door in a yelling match
and sent our Christmas tree crashing to the white carpet.
I was crushed, just like those delicate shards of glass,
which were silver on the inside.
The inside was Christmasy, very Chrismasy in fact.
I didn’t realize that until it was broken though.

I glimpsed you again in my mother’s cooking.
My mother had never really been into cooking much,
not like my grandmother had been;
dinner usually consisted of basic meat and salad
or something along the like-
she was a single mom, and that made it hard,
especially when she was going to law school
and was struggling with a disability.
But she made food for me
and she provided for me, and I loved her cooking.
I still do.
Rice and chicken noodle soup cooked together. Delicious.
Sometimes, even though we aren’t struggling as much anymore,
and she has some time to make a meal that won’t leave me hungry,
I’ll ask her to make it anyways.
It tastes like childhood.

You were there again at my grandparents’.
We lived there on and off, my mom and I,
and I used to run off to the little gurgling creek
across the street to play.
I built waterfalls with stones the size of my head
and would jump in and out of secret spots,
to and from little islands that rebelled against
the creek’s softly spoken wishes,
talk to the birds and the trees and the frogs,
naming each one, of course,
and would come home soaked.
It almost seemed like tradition to get scolded for having
forgotten rainboots.
I didn’t like my rainboots. They were tweed and uncomfortable,
and on a little girl like me, came up to my knees.
I miss those.

I didn’t meet you for a while.
We moved away to another city, and I couldn’t find your familiar face.
But, then you popped up, right when I’d given up looking.
You were hiding in the tourists
with their silly camera bags and money hanging out of pockets,
just waiting for grimy pickpocket hands.
It was a statue, a statue that led to the bridge
where we accidentally ran into that impromptu music festival that one time
and we stayed and smiled in our ignorance and inability to understand the language,
though I could understand some of the Christmas carols,
thanks to my Czech class and Paní Miláčkova.
Everyone was giving food and money to the singers.
I had a little bit on me for once,
and was proud that I could give some away without worrying
about helping out with rent.
That’s the place where I saw the most beautiful woman in the world.
I think she was homeless- she had a little bit of dirt smeared across her face,
and her hair was wild. She was kind of young.
She was singing and her eyes were closed,
and she looked so happy.
She was wearing angel wings, was all dressed up for Mikolas Day.
Her wings were more white than anything else.
That’s probably my favorite place in the city.

I realized how much I’d missed you, and was really glad to have found you.
It was nice seeing you here.



I know it's a lot. It's a lot of imagery, a lot of material, and it's really simply stated. I don't know how I feel about the style in this one, and I'm not crazy about the end. To put it simply, I know it needs a lot of work.
But I'm kind of attached to it- these are all real memories, and I love them dearly.
Any thoughts on how to make it better? Or, just any thoughts at all? Thanks!

-Coral-

Hello my dear,

The imagery in here was astounding and beautiful so well done. owever, like I seem to say reguarly that the poem needs to be balanced, and I am glad to say this is much better. There needs to be more emotion as it is just rally basic emotion as it is, but more emotion is there which is important.

I liked how they were memories they were written with detachment like an older person trying to recall them and they are written as though we are seeing them through rose tinited glass.

I don't think your ending needs chanigng. I think the abruptness and seriousness of it suits the piece and sums it up very well

I loved it, like most of your work. Keep it up my dear

PM me for anything.

~Retro Disco666

Hi Coral.
I know this sounds weird but after reading this poem, I feel like I know a small part of you. I think this has alot to do with how personal this poem is to you, and you stated it had memories in it. This is a very good thing though because it made the poem real to me whihc made it easier for me to connect to it. I have a few ideas about what it could be the poem describes but nothing so clear I would be 100% confident in stating it. I think this poem has a lot of potential and I would love to read more of it.. I think you could flesh out the concept you are keeping hidden by adding more stanzas.
Anyway I love what you have written here..I hope you add more! (i'm very intrigued into what the thing really is)
Flikkah

Hey there, Per! Jash here as requested.
NITPICKS and COMMENTS will be in pink font.

I met you first in a Christmas ornament.
It was a peacock, of all non-Christmasy things, a peacock.
It was teal and green, and had white tail feathers
that sprouted out of the glass like an angel’s trumpet.
It broke when I was about 8<eight>,
when the people living under us
slammed their door in a yelling match
and sent our Christmas tree crashing to the white carpet.
I was crushed, just like those delicate shards of glass,
which were silver on the inside.
The inside <repeating "the inside" cut the flow. Maybe a pronoun instead?>was Christmasy, very Christ<added for coined word consistency>masy in fact.
I didn’t realize that until it was broken though.

I glimpsed you again in my mother’s cooking.
My mother had never really been into cooking much,
not like my grandmother had been;
dinner usually consisted of basic meat and salad
or something along the like--
She was a single mom, and that made it hard,
especially when she was going to law school
and was struggling with a disability.
But she made food for me,
and she provided for me,
<these are just suggestions> ¶and I loved her cooking.
I still do.
Rice and chicken noodle soup cooked together.
¶Delicious.
Sometimes, even though we aren’t struggling as much anymore,
and she has some time to make a meal that won’t leave me hungry,
I’ll ask her to make it anyways.
It tastes like childhood.

You were there again at my grandparents’.
We lived there on and off, my mom and I,
and I used to run off to the little gurgling creek
across the street to play.
I built waterfalls with stones the size of my head
and would jump in and out of secret spots,
to and from little islands that rebelled against
the creek’s softly spoken wishes,
<this kind of confused me and I was lost here>talk to the birds and the trees and the frogs,
naming each one, of course,
and would come home soaked.
It almost seemed like tradition to get scolded for having
forgotten rainboots.
I didn’t like my rainboots. They were tweed and uncomfortable,
and on a little girl like me, came up to my knees.
<Some conjunction here, e.g. but or though, just to add to the flow, I think>I miss those.

I didn’t meet you for a while.
We moved away to another city, and I couldn’t find your familiar face.
But,<I think the comma is unnecessary> then you popped up, right when I’d given up looking.
You were hiding in the tourists
with their silly camera bags and money hanging out of pockets,
just waiting for grimy pickpocket hands.
It was a statue, a statue that led to the bridge
where we accidentally ran into that impromptu music festival that one time
and we stayed and smiled in our ignorance and inability to understand the language,
though I could understand some of the Christmas carols,
thanks to my Czech class and Paní Miláčkova.
Everyone was giving food and money to the singers.
I had a little bit on me for once,
and was proud that I could give some away without worrying
about helping out with rent.
That’s the place where I saw the most beautiful woman in the world.
I think she was homeless--she had a little bit of dirt smeared across her face,
and her hair was wild. She was kind of young.
She was singing and her eyes were closed,
and she looked so happy.
She was wearing angel wings, was all dressed up for Mikolas Day.
Her wings were more white than anything else.
That’s probably my favorite place in the city.

I realized how much I’d missed you, and was really glad to have found you.
It was nice seeing you here.

OVERALL

The style is prose-like, so I wasn't so sure about your punctuations. Some sentences seemed scattered, and they were run-ons. But since this is poetry, we wouldn't pay much attention to that. The only problem is sometimes it could confuse the readers and distract them from the beautiful imagery you've inserted; and that wouldn't be so nice, now would it?

Another thing is the ending stanzas. I hope that you didn't squeeze the climax into one, big block of words. You could have added more feeling to it if you took your time and entered a new stanza when the beautiful girl came along. That's just a thought though.

I also think that the ending, as you I assume you agree with, was a bit rushed and lacking. It was like you just wanted it to end. Maybe a one last imagery in the end: where she has seen herself. I hope you got what I mean. (LOL)

Anyway, this was such a nice and lovely poem. The simple language was perfect. =)) You don't have to drown the memories in unnecessary figurative language like most do, so good job here! =))


~ Jash ♥

P.S. *likes

Hey Persephoneia, my name is Vampyre and I'll be reviewing for you today

First of all, I really love this style, it's very simplistic but I think it works for this, like an almost disconnected, disjointed flow of memories.
Now, for my review, grammar/spelling fixes will be in red, and comments/suggestions will be in bold.

I met you first in a Christmas ornament. I'd be inclined to change this to "I first met you", I think it flows better. Other than that, I like this line
It was a peacock. Of all non-Christmasy things, a peacock.Now this isn't a grammar problem per say, I just think it sounds/flows better.
It was teal and green, and had white tail feathers
that sprouted out of the glass like an angel’s trumpet.
It broke when I was about eight,
when the people living under us
slammed their door in a yelling match,
and sent our Christmas tree crashing to the white carpet.
I was crushed, just like those delicate shards of glass, I really like this line,the way you tell us that the ornaments were broken by comparing it to your feelings.
which were silver on the inside.
The inside was Christmasy, very Chrismasy in fact.
I didn’t realize that until it was broken, though.

I glimpsed you again in my mother’s cooking.
My mother had never really been into cooking much,
not like my grandmother had been;
dinner usually consisted of basic meat and salad
or something along the like. This needs to either be "along those lines" or "of the like". Personally, I'd go with the former.
She was a single mom, and that made it hard,
especially when she was going to law school
and was struggling with a disability.
But she made food for me
and she provided for me, and I loved her cooking.
I still do.
Rice and chicken noodle soup cooked together. Delicious.
Sometimes, even though we aren’t struggling as much anymore,
and she has some time to make a meal that won’t leave me hungry,
I’ll ask her to make it anyways.
It tastes like my childhood. I really love these lines. They feel perfectly whimsical I would add in the "my" though, because it's not everyone's childhood, it's yours.

You were there again at my grandparents’.
We lived there on and off, my mom and I,
and I used to run off to the little gurgling creek
across the street to play.
I built waterfalls with stones the size of my head
and would jump in and out of secret spots,
to and from little islands that rebelled against
the creek’s softly spoken wishes. These lines are really nice, I like the descriptions of your activity contrasting against the "softly spoken wishes" of the creek.
I'd talk to the birds and the trees and the frogs,
naming each one, of course,
and would come home soaked.
It almost seemed like tradition to get scolded for having
forgotten my rainboots.
I didn’t like my rainboots. They were tweed and uncomfortable,
and on a little girl like me, came up to my knees. I love the lost sound you give these lines
I miss those. I would put "I miss those now." I think that would contrast the dislike for them with the fond way she now remembers them.

I didn’t meet you for a while.
We moved away to another city, and I couldn’t find your familiar face.
But, then you popped up, right when I’d given up looking.
You were hiding in the tourists
with their silly camera bags and money hanging out of pockets,
just waiting for grimy pickpocket hands.
It was a statue, a statue that led to the bridge
where we accidentally ran into that impromptu music festival that one time.
And we stayed and smiled in our ignorance and inability to understand the language,
though I could understand some of the Christmas carols,
thanks to my Czech class and Paní Miláčkova.
Everyone was giving food and money to the singers.
I had a little bit on me for once,
and was proud that I could give some away without worrying
about helping out with rent. These lines really help conjure up a picture of what your life was like as a child, they're perfectly placed in the poem.
That’s the place where I saw the most beautiful woman in the world. I love the childish innocence you display here - managing to see the beauty in even a homeless girl. I think too many people leave this innocence behind, and your poem brings that back really well.
I think she was homeless- she had a little bit of dirt smeared across her face,
and her hair was wild. She was kind of young.
She was singing and her eyes were closed,
and she looked so happy.
She was wearing angel wings, was all dressed up for Mikolas Day.
Her wings were whiter than anything else.
That’s probably my favorite place in the city.

I realized how much I’d missed you, and was really glad to have found you.
It was nice seeing you here. I think the simple, abrupt ending works for this sort of poem, I like the way it just...ends

Overall, I really loved it. The whimsical, streaming style worked beautifully for the poem, and I really saw the child in the poem. Your imagery managed to capture me, despite the simplicity. I really, really like this piece. It's made me feel a little sad for lost innocence, but I think that's good. You've managed to really make me part of the poem.

As for what it's about...Is it Love? Hope?

You definitely have talent, and I hope my review's helped a bit
Keep writing,
'Pyre