Young Writers Society

"Wooing in the Desert"

I: Gomer

Painted like a fool, I am
whiter than lilies in your arms,
though not near as sweet -- for lipstick is
not like cherries and beneath it my mouth
is dry like a leper's, ashen like dust.
How did I think that dark smiles would
make me a mystery or more
desirable for my scarlet promise?
You touch me and I do not feel love
or even lust, rather I am a desperate
landlocked lover of the sea,
tasting sand to remember the wet fresh brine
of what I've lost --
innocence, yes, and also freedom:
a vast stretching world before me which now
lies crumpled like bad ideas at the writer's feet.
I will never fulfill, my embrace could never sate;
I am now but a faded harlot with outdated renown,
and through me you will reach only sorrow,
in me you will taste only death.

II: Hosea

It matters little what I shout to the sky,
as if God were there.
I know in my soul that He is rather
in the burning dust beneath you,
the blinding heat in which you kneel,
waiting for the lovers that forsook you.
The thick wind grits your skin and I feel you
tremble as all their golden gifts dissolve to sand
slipping like broken hope through your fingers.
I am not a foolish man,
but are not women ever the folly of men?
For where is the sense in chasing a faithless heart --
are you not half-mad already,
and would this bondage not shatter you?
Gomer, do you think that because you are tasted
you have nothing left to give?

III: Gomer

What use have I with your charity?
Your righteousness falls flat in this heart,
for there is a certain beauty to tragedy,
a cheap redemption in this pride.
I know your kind, to charm and then violate --
for you are a man, you do as you must.
Your promises are sweet and fashioned to tempt,
yet what else do I know but that your God has
withdrawn His touch from mankind?
I have long since ceased to trust my own heart,
how can I now accept another's?
Do not mock me -- what could you want
from me but to toy with sin?
Yes, unchaste I am, and unholy,
but with what spirit I've left in me, I exert my own will.

IV: Hosea

You are senseless, woman!
But this I know: that God was
never in the thunder of a harsh word,
rather He is in my whisper as I speak to you,
my gentle touch upon your arm.
It has been said to let one's heart's desire
taste that freedom is far less satisfying
than the captivity of love.

V: Gomer

Pursuit is always seductive,
indeed, there is a thrill in the chase.
And if I were to accept you,
to dispose of my spirit, to become
your docile wife, would you then
still find me beautiful?
For a woman without soul is also without beauty.
Yet perhaps I am unlovely to you even now,
tainted and disgraced, bearing the touch of many men --
I see now that I could have no attraction to you
but that of the pitiable to the fortunate.
And thus we are ever connected, you and I,
though I shall ever resist, and while
I've still strength, I will rebel.
In this life and those thereafter I will be
your separate bride.


(useless and worn out as a prostitute, Gomer was sold into slavery for what could be gotten of her)


VI: Gomer

My maidenhead I relinquished
to the multitude --
must I now resign my independence,
am I to perish a beast of the burden?
They have stood me upon the auction block
naked, my indignities revealed to those who scorn me.
Their eyes prod me, branding me with
the mark of my own sin.
I fear I am bound for a pit to rival Hades,
and not a voice, nay -- not a whisper
will rise to speak for me.

VII: Hosea

She stands before the throng, shivering in the sun --
a wavering beacon-light before a dark sea.
Men haggle like vultures
descending on the dead and the dying.
But not a one touches her, for in their eyes
she is worth but little, thin and worn, wearing
nothing but her garment of suffering.
She cannot work their fields, and
her body can no longer entertain them.
I move through the crowd like
water from the rock to quench her crippling thirst.
Just as she begins to accept defeat,
I speak for her.
I give them all they want and more,
for she is the true prize.
My beloved gazes at me and in her
I see the sweetness of a lily,
the bright fresh gleam of new-fallen snow.

Wow, this is really deep. I love things like this and I really love how you worded this. Well done. I do have no nit-picks, but I want to put my favourite parts to say how much I liked it:

My beloved gazes at me and in herI see the sweetness of a lily,the bright fresh gleam of new-fallen snow.

Painted like a fool, I amwhiter than lilies in your arms,though not near as sweet -- for lipstick isnot like cherries and beneath it my mouthis dry like a leper's, ashen like dust.

Wow, both of these are really well thought about, you truly are a good writer and the keypad belongs to you.

As you kindly requested S.S. I am here to give you a review~

I'll happily do this for you considering you placed a lot of effort into the poem.

S.S. Rose wrote:"Wooing in the Desert"

I: Gomer

Painted like a fool, I am
whiter than lilies in your arms,
though not near as sweet -- for lipstick is
not like cherries and beneath it my mouth
is dry like a leper's, ashen like dust.

Not going to lie, once I looked up "Gomer" I was pretty worried you were taking on a lot in this dual persona poem. Interesting, and this quoted section hits well with me, you avoid cliches and given description that gives me a feeling of the speaker without knowing anything about the speaker. Nicely done.

How did I think that dark smiles would
make me a mystery or more
desirable for my scarlet promise?
You touch me and I do not feel love
or even lust, rather I am a desperate
landlocked lover of the sea,

Clumsy, the first three lines are full of three big words that kill your persona and emotional impact, also depleting your of image and sensory detail: "mystery", "desirable", and "promise". Nothing is happening with them, and even if it's related to "Gomer", so what? Never make assumptions, show me the assumptions at the very least.

tasting sand to remember the wet fresh brine
of what I've lost --
innocence, yes, and also freedom:
a vast stretching world before me which now
lies crumpled like bad ideas at the writer's feet.
I will never fulfill, my embrace could never sate;
I am now but a faded harlot with outdated renown,
and through me you will reach only sorrow,
in me you will taste only death.

This isn't wonderful, but neither is it awful. The beginning works, then you get it again with "lies crumpled like bad ideas at the writer's feet.", which is good for what it reads as (though consider just what the hell writers are: are we telling the truth? Are there good and bad lies? Therefore good and bad ideas? is there any truth for a writer? this takes me out of the poem personally, which I hate because I love this line). Then your final two lines, magnificent. Truly. You have a couple of good lines here, but this is "telling" as it should be done after preceding it with showing. I might actually read all of this with enjoyment at the rate you're going.

II: Hosea

It matters little what I shout to the sky,
as if God were there.
I know in my soul that He is rather
in the burning dust beneath you,
the blinding heat in which you kneel,
waiting for the lovers that forsook you.

Interesting images, yes. Burning dust, beneath, blinding heat in which you are kneeling...and wooing in the desert. See this is interesting between you're presenting me with so many possibilities and worlds and opportunities. I am adoring the multiple vantage points here, however, you surround this interesting detail and image with telling. Dry telling in a dry oppressive desert.

The thick wind grits your skin and I feel you
tremble as all their golden gifts dissolve to sand
slipping like broken hope through your fingers.
I am not a foolish man,
but are not women ever the folly of men?

Eh, I get the differences of the personas here, but your description isn't quite moving this poem. It's too much "tell tell tell some story" between the two personas now. If this were prose it would have sparse details and notes on setting and a great deal of information on the characters and hella lot of dialogue. Also, why the archaic words? I'm not sure they're helping you whatsoever.

For where is the sense in chasing a faithless heart --
are you not half-mad already,
and would this bondage not shatter you?
Gomer, do you think that because you are tasted
you have nothing left to give?

Well there's emotion in here, the second line, and the last line, but it's getting dryer. I think you've pushed the limits of exchange and numbered sections here and instead should have one whole poem, or at least consider cutting down some in this poem.

So I read the rest of the poem, and I've got to say....it sort of reads like play writing. The dialogue of an old Shakespearean play. It's your archaic words and phrasing in addition to how your rigidly structure your personas with rather interesting and well done imagery. But, as a poem, I'm not sure this works at all which is unfortunate, because I think there is something worth writing and revising in this. Ask me anything you like in messages and please revisit this in the future.