Young Writers Society

Quick Author's Note:



The empty stoup sang a hollow hymn to the circling coin; I knew it was
his first time in a church and there was no one else about us,
but I was embarrassed.

God was watching, you know.

He shuffled, weaving in and out of the pews, even though the
pious and the most devoted always sit in the back: wouldn't want
to show off our religion, even when there wasn't anyone else here.
Must be quiet, must be out of the way, right?
I took his arm and directed his bumbling to the back,
hoping he'd know what to do then.

He didn't.

I knelt and laced my hands and
placed my head upon them, ready to talk to the
Almighty Creator His Majesty God, and from
the corner of my eye, there he was,
head lifted towards the heavens, eyes closed and smiling like
he was talking to an old friend he'd stumbled into.
His lips whispered and rasped towards the rose window.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

My cry felt so loud that it would shatter the stained glass windows,
yet his prayer held strong like an oak in a storm; the only signs
were his eyelashes trembling, leaves in the wind. For a moment,
he looked oaken and primordial, like he had sprouted
and grown into a giant, rooted into the pew in which he sat.
He didn't even kneel, just say with his legs crossed and his arms spread
about him, like some sort of bird or angel.

"You can't just chat with God like that!"

His words came to a delicate close, and I caught the hush of "Amen",
before he turned to me, serene and quiet as ever. That smooth face of
blasphemy, soft and earnest: light leaked out from the windows
and shone gold over his eyes. For a moment I didn't recognize him.

"Why not?"

"He's... God. You can't look at God. That's like... trying
to know him. You can't know God." He looked at me
with a furrowed brow, and I wondered why I brought him here in the
first place. Such ignorance stained the very wood he sat on.
I moved an inch away from him.

"You can't?"

"Of course not!" My shriek was even louder than before,
and I could feel the scorn from the altar and the large
Bible atop it, seeping into my outraged pores. He looked down from
my rage, and I realized I was standing now, with both fists clenched at
my sides like some righteous Pharisee of old. I sat beside him,
loosening each tendon in my hand one by one with
verses running over my tongue, each tastebud itching with
words to scream and shout and sulk and pout until he learned the way.
His head deliberately bowed in thought, and he became a monk with
modest in his mouth, and a habit of stained-glass light and
frankincense residue from the air.
Here was the humility and shame he should have carried before.

"Then, how can you know him?"

My hands closed in on themselves again, biting into my palms.
"KNOW Him? You do realize that you're talking about GOD, right?
How do you possibly--" His calmness slipped under my fury, and
my words fell out from under me when he asked,

"But, how can you love someone you don't know?"

I absolutely adore this. First of all, the organization and style is impeccable and stacked eloquently. The flow of the poem takes away nothing from the message. i also love the message; innocent, loving, and tender. I completely agree. You truly are a gifted writer! Thank you for writing this

I'm personally not offended by this at all. I actually think it's a good point. I, for one, do talk to God like He's just a person in the room with me. I mean, sure, during Mass I pray "properly," all the responses and the official prayers and stuff, but during Communion or on my own time I talk to Him like I'd talk to anyone else. I think it's probably better to feel like God is your friend - and come on, if He's your Father, well, why wouldn't you joke around with Him and speak affectionately to Him and stuff like you would with dear old Dad?

Perse, you tried very hard here. For that, you should be commended. I'm going to focus on the specific choices in your style and how they impact the ending.

Persephoneia wrote:The empty stoup sang a hollow hymn to the circling coin; I knew it was
his first time in a church and there was no one else about us,
but I was embarrassed.

Interesting beginning line. Granted you're choosing to focus on the speaker also means the reader's general opinion of the rest of the poem is predicated on how successfully, or unsuccessfully, you draw out their personality. The person with the speaker is more or less a device, a tool, to the conceit embodied in the perspective "I". Now I see how you're attempting to set up the conflict with the speaker, the visitor, and the church setting to the speaker's beliefs and I'll let you know later on how this works. Just making a mental note of these few lines (by the by, you don't really utilize no one else being there in a fantastic way. It's an unused opportunity that makes me think you either forgot or just tacked it on; after all your next is...).

God was watching, you know.

Herein lies the problem. You have introduced 4 different characters: the speaker, the visitor, God, and the church setting. How will you account for all of these elements through the first person perspective and occasional snippets with the visitor? I see the assumption that your are assuming the reader simply understand things, when you should instead SHOW exactly what you mean. Don't hold back, use the Church and God together. Introducing them as definite things is cumbersome because if you only present them with the characters on, you're adding portions of the poem where no action occurs.

He shuffled, weaving in and out of the pews, even though the
pious and the most devoted always sit in the back: wouldn't want
to show off our religion, even when there wasn't anyone else here.
Must be quiet, must be out of the way, right?

Hm. You're not focusing on the church like I hoped and expected. Instead you going deeper into what you've made obvious. No one is there. I'm starting to get the feeling this is aimed at an audience where you're letting them know you're being critical of their overly controlling opinions. However, you're going to draw people like me. And we won't simply GET what you intend. And if you do provide enough reasoning or explaining, great, but that's not interesting. Going in and out of rows of pews is ok, but why does this explanation matter? You're focusing too much on the human aspect of the Church's purpose when you're already covering just that with the two people you've created.

And one other thing now, you're speaking too directly. Questions are fine, but you're being too snarky. You voice and intentions are developed, good, but the idea isn't developed enough at this point to just out and out mock something that isn't established as a concept in respect to the poem. All that is clear is: people in church, bigoted person, visitor, God is watching, newb to church is breaking all teh rules by the bigot...etc. Let me say this if nothing else, you've constructed the flow well, but, you're being too blunt, in both your word choice and the speaker.

I took his arm and directed his bumbling to the back,
hoping he'd know what to do then.

He didn't.

"his bumbling" in this context is odd, and the alliteration isn't really helping. Reading it again, it's not horrible, but it reads weirdly. I get the urge to take all of your conjunctions and articles out and make you rewrite this; you're narrating to the point you're diluting the idea. "he didn't" is much too dramatic, and not working by itself. Think about it this way, it's obvious. It is clear, to the reader. You're taking too long to really say what you want while adding dressing onto the salad that's a few days old. Granted, I think it's easily readable.

I knelt and laced my hands and
placed my head upon them, ready to talk to the
Almighty Creator His Majesty God, and from
the corner of my eye, there he was,

Now that is much, much better. You're playing with the idea and even leading the reader on. All I would advise is again, review the usage of conjunctions and articles. Do you see that your usage of God in relation to the indefinite subject "he", paired with the capitalization which elaborates on the subject (the beginning two lines help as well) that will actually create conflict, reads very well?

head lifted towards the heavens, eyes closed and smiling like
he was talking to an old friend he'd stumbled into.
His lips whispered and rasped towards the rose window.

"What do you think you're doing?!"

Ok, again, the imagery is just not special. The conflict and built up of emotion is lost when it turns out to be more narration. I get, that this poem is narrative in nature, but it relies on religion and spirituality which must, MUST have some kind of imagery used. You have symbols, sort of, but they're an oversight.

My cry felt so loud that it would shatter the stained glass windows,
yet his prayer held strong like an oak in a storm; the only signs

This actually reads oddly now, what with finally making a metaphor and comparison. The character types you've made and how you're casting both is a little mundane. Basically 1)Bigot & 2)Enlightened. That's a little too clear cut for my tastes. Your language here doesn't draw me in, just makes me wonder why you decided to wait till now to elaborate on them.

were his eyelashes trembling, leaves in the wind. For a moment,
he looked oaken and primordial, like he had sprouted
and grown into a giant, rooted into the pew in which he sat.
He didn't even kneel, just say with his legs crossed and his arms spread
about him, like some sort of bird or angel.

"You can't just chat with God like that!"

Don't repeat details or elements of a literary device, ever. It's ok to explore the conceit or metaphor, but do not treat them separately. The problem is it gets messy or hard to read, or monotonous. Also, details like the pew, are not necessary. You haven't really established anything interesting about them, so don't do it now. The nature theme here is also odd; consider that for a long time in humanity's history, nature was the home....but the place we feared. Human society become a place of safety from the world of harsh, bitter, nature. The unknown was out there. It's in things like Beowulf you notice this first appearing.

His words came to a delicate close, and I caught the hush of "Amen",
before he turned to me, serene and quiet as ever. That smooth face of
blasphemy, soft and earnest: light leaked out from the windows
and shone gold over his eyes. For a moment I didn't recognize him.

"Why not?"

Eh. You're dictating the other person from the speaker's perspective...and casting doubt on the speaker's character. Don't make them sound nice, let the speaker's foul, banal, bigot-ness pour through. Get it all over this poem. Make every word wet, sloppy, fat with apprehension and prejudice. Let the male dude's characters appear in his words. That's my opinion this far through at least. Also, don't use cliche imagery like that, unless you make this 100% Gothic.

"He's... God. You can't look at God. That's like... trying
to know him. You can't know God." He looked at me
with a furrowed brow, and I wondered why I brought him here in the
first place. Such ignorance stained the very wood he sat on.
I moved an inch away from him.

"You can't?"

Better, you're bringing out the speaker's perspective like you ought to. I follow this very well and can believe it. Again, too many conjunctions, articles, etc.

"Of course not!" My shriek was even louder than before,
and I could feel the scorn from the altar and the large
Bible atop it, seeping into my outraged pores. He looked down from
my rage, and I realized I was standing now, with both fists clenched at
my sides like some righteous Pharisee of old. I sat beside him,
loosening each tendon in my hand one by one with
verses running over my tongue, each tastebud itching with
words to scream and shout and sulk and pout until he learned the way.
His head deliberately bowed in thought, and he became a monk with
modest in his mouth, and a habit of stained-glass light and
frankincense residue from the air.

Why wait so long to get all of this symbolism and imagery in here? It's too thick for the end. Like you're catching up.

Here was the humility and shame he should have carried before.

"Then, how can you know him?"

My hands closed in on themselves again, biting into my palms.
"KNOW Him? You do realize that you're talking about GOD, right?
How do you possibly--" His calmness slipped under my fury, and
my words fell out from under me when he asked,

"But, how can you love someone you don't know?"

Hm. Abrupt. Too thin. I can not know you Pers, and still love you, and be certain that you exist, etc...whole nother thing though. People have made it work through the Internet, that's the point. That's a truth. You need to rework the intent, not the idea, but the intent and method in how you convey this ignorance and mis-communication. First, love both characters. Be honest, be real, devote time to them, and decide what you'll focus on. Then decide how it needs to communicate the essential necessary components, and then add in imagery, etc, from there. Let me know if I need to elaborate.

I get that this is narrative...but even narrative needs meat. Put some more on!

I'm not sure about this. I like the idea behind it but I found your narrator's voice too forceful and yet at the same time trying to express both the positive and negative aspects of this other character. It doesn't fit with her words or her tone. She can't reject him one minute and then describe how he looked like an angel the next. It also shouldn't be necessary. His voice should shine through in his words and the reader should immediately get the contrast between her opinion of him and the opinion they make themselves. His own voice should be strong enough to not need support from the narrator and to withstand her criticism.

I also think it would benefit from some re-formatting. You've got a lot of long stanzas and then one line stanzas and it looks rather untidy. The rule of starting a new line for dialogue is a prose one and shouldn't be carried over into poetry.

The empty stoup sang a hollow hymn to the circling coin; I knew it was [Alright you're jumping in at the deep end here. You've got three images in your first line alone. First, the empty stoup. So we get the image that they're at the entrance to the church and the stoup is empty which is symbolic of the persona being a vessel of God who is empty, etc. That already is rather complicated, then you add in the too lilting phrase of 'sang a hollow hymn' so now you're personifying the stoup just to be that little bit more complex and then the circling coin? I'm not roman catholic and have never been so I don't know if that's more church imagery or something else, but either way this line is just too run on and too much at once.]
his first time in a church and there was no one else about us, [Very prosey.]
but I was embarrassed.

God was watching, you know. [You don't need the gap before this line.]

He shuffled, weaving in and out of the pews, even though the [I'm not sure if shuffled and weaving in and out go together. I think of shuffling as an awkward action while weaving makes me think of something graceful and delicate. Maybe re-think one or the other or simply have him shuffling in and out of the pews.]
pious and the most devoted always sit in the back: wouldn't want
to show off our religion, even when there wasn't anyone else here. [Is this a thought she'd really have? No. This sounds more like your own voice speaking out through your persona. It doesn't fit. You can say the same thing but in a way that fits her voice better. Like, talk of how the pious should be modest, not boastful or something. You can imply the other sides but this poem is from the view of your persona.]
Must be quiet, must be out of the way, right?
I took his arm and directed his bumbling to the back,
hoping he'd know what to do then.

He didn't. [Hmm. I think I'd agree with MMM on this line: cut it. Or at least replace it with something more descriptive of what he did wrong.]

I knelt and laced my hands and
placed my head upon them, ready to talk to the
Almighty Creator His Majesty God, and from
the corner of my eye, there he was,
head lifted towards the heavens, eyes closed and smiling like
he was talking to an old friend he'd stumbled into.
His lips whispered and rasped towards the rose window. [Again, very prosey and lacking in imagery. I'd like to see more here.]

"What do you think you're doing?!" [She's too loud. She needs to stay in character. Yes, be angry, but in the Christian, loud hiss that religious people tend to use in churches when they're mad. It's very strongly ingrained that you do not raise your voice in a church.]

My cry felt so loud that it would shatter the stained glass windows,
yet his prayer held strong like an oak in a storm; the only signs
were his eyelashes trembling, leaves in the wind. For a moment,
he looked oaken and primordial, like he had sprouted
and grown into a giant, rooted into the pew in which he sat. [Now suddenly you have a whole flood of imagery but it's no good because you've got the persona painting him in a good light. No. She needs to stick to her guns and carry on criticising him. If you want lines like this, you'd have to write from a neautral perspective. That might be interesting actually. A third person, unobserved who enters the church and witnesses this?]
He didn't even kneel, just sayt with his legs crossed and his arms spread
about him, like some sort of bird or angel.

"You can't just chat with God like that!" [I'm not sure I like the colloquialisation of chat. It feels very out of place and bring the reader to an abrupt halt while they consider it. I think her language needs to be more strict, stiff and pious.]

His words came to a delicate close, and I caught the hush of "Amen",
before he turned to me, serene and quiet as ever. That smooth face of
blasphemy, soft and earnest: light leaked out from the windows
and shone gold over his eyes. For a moment I didn't recognize him.

"Why not?"

"He's... God. You can't look at God. That's like... trying
to know him. You can't know God." He looked at me [I'd like to see a better explanation and more certainty from your persona. For someone so opinionated, she doesn't have much to say.]
with a furrowed brow, and I wondered why I brought him here in the
first place. Such ignorance stained the very wood he sat on.
I moved an inch away from him.

"You can't?"

After this point, I didn't like your imagery or your portrayal of their conversation. It felt forced and it was too cut and dry. Here's this man who has never been to church before and yet suddenly knows everything and then there's your persona who's strongly Christian to the point that she's angered to a slight inflection he makes and yet is breaking the sacred rule of raising your voice and fighting in the church? It just feels very unrealistic and very loosely held together.

Like I said before, I really like your concept and I think this could be good but currently it needs a lot of work. It might actually work better as a piece or prose since it reads like that more at the moment.

Sorry I couldn't be more helpful but if you have questions, feel free to ask and I'll try to answer as best I can. All the best,

Heather xxx

Heya Perse!
I love how whenever I drop by the forums there's always something new and delicious by you.

I agree very heartily and passionately with the subject and theme of your poem, about knowing God in a familiar, friendlier manner. I think you portrayed the message quite well. But that's also where the problem lies. It felt a tad bit forced and preachy. I've read some of your other poems and I've really enjoyed the subtlety and finesse in the poems. This poem is too brazenly obvious about its message.

As Heather mentioned above:

I found your narrator's voice too forceful and yet at the same time trying to express both the positive and negative aspects of this other character. It doesn't fit with her words or her tone. She can't reject him one minute and then describe how he looked like an angel the next.

I agree with that and I also have a small idea that you may like to mull over. What if the speaker was just an observer? There could be two visitors, both with opposing views on how to talk to God and they could be having this conversation while the speaker of the poem observed from a distance. That way, you'll be able to show us both of these points of view, describe both positives and negatives. I also feel by using this method, the theme could be conveyed more subtly, without us feeling so conscious of the poet trying to feed us a message. Of course, this is your poem and you have a better understanding of what you want out of it, so by all means feel free to reject the idea if it doesn't suit you.

I knelt and laced my hands and
placed my head upon them, ready to talk to the
Almighty Creator His Majesty God, and from
the corner of my eye, there he was,
head lifted towards the heavens, eyes closed and smiling like
he was talking to an old friend he'd stumbled into.
His lips whispered and rasped towards the rose window.

By far my favourite part of the poem. Very beautiful!

Happy writing!

Ahhh Persy, yet another brilliant poem!

This is really interesting and contraversial, and pretty useful for someone like me who's trying to find the meaning of religion.

My cry felt so loud that it would shatter the stained glass windows,
yet his prayer held strong like an oak in a storm; the only signs
were his eyelashes trembling, leaves in the wind. For a moment,
he looked oaken and primordial, like he had sprouted
and grown into a giant, rooted into the pew in which he sat.
He didn't even kneel, just say with his legs crossed and his arms spread
about him, like some sort of bird or angel.

I really love this stanza. The use of metaphors and hyperbole is wonderful. I'd like to thank you for inspiring me to try writing some poetry of my own. I'm becoming a big fan of your poetry, it's dark, full of life, so interesting!

Keep Writing!
-Sops-