Young Writers Society

Over-
-head

They say I was born slightly
with a big trojan beard, but
I was not bearded,
I was not big. (I did not bear gifts)

The clouds could say in flakes
we overheard,
that time moved slowly in chairs,
while the years
tugged the skin from my head.

You see, I see
the ground has made a habit
of swallowing me sneakers whole,
especially the ones flashing
when I trip
and break my neck
three decades too quick.

So they tugged me born slightly,
tore the flesh from the bone
and the air settled
raw so maggots could crawl
while skies ripped, and my mother
howled before the earth she kissed.

We borne of sclerosis when I laid
eyes on Day; this was how I lived,
I will die like I live.


Soothe will Simmer

-taken down for fail-

H'okay, since I'm not a very strong poet, I'll have to take this apart bit by bit for proper feedback. Though I'm sure it matters not either way. o.o

Anyway, overall impressions on the first poem you have here: you have a very --how would I phrase it-- intricate way of getting around simple ideas. Which I can't say is a bad thing, god no. In fact, reading this, or most things you write actually, tends to make my brain stretch lengths I never thought it could. I pick apart every word for what it isn't in itself, but what you make of them as an overall whole. I'm then left trying to find it's center. You paint such complex pictures though. I wonder if it's simply me, or if there's any unneeded fluff laying about.

They say I was born slightly
with a big trojan beard, but
I was not bearded,
I was not big. (I did not bear gifts)

This is probably a pointless thing to regard, but I don't think the repetition was too strenuous. Or the rhythm I should say. Some stunning alliteration if I do say so. I quite like how it flowed here in my head; it was smooth. One thing I'm a bit at odds with (and it is quite the miniscule thing to pick out, I know) is the fact that you say I was born slightly. I keep looking at that and wondering what about it throws me off. Though, perhaps its intention is genuinely fitting. What I gather from this stanza conjures up ideas of great expectations pressed on a simple soul. But pay no mind to me if I'm reading you wrong. I just call things how I see them.

The clouds could say in flakes
we overheard,
that time moved slowly in chairs,
while the years
tugged the skin from my head.

Now, when I read this after the previous stanza, I'm searching recklessly for the coherency of it. Where am I? D: I feel found again when I read the third line --which, by the way, is my favorite. 'Time moved slowly in chairs'. Would've never imagined something so intriguing said in such few words. It's lines like this that suck me into your poetry, Mustard darling. Now that I've caught some stability with the line, I want to think the speaker is conflicted with life --his life. But again, don't knock me if I'm way off. I have the tendency to fly into space with such abstract writing. x)

You see, I see
the ground has made a habit
of swallowing me sneakers whole,
especially the ones flashing
when I trip
and break my neck
three decades too quick.

Reading this stanza reinforces the thought I had with the second one. Tripping through life, literally, has never been said more honestly. The 'three decades too quick' bit, is that suggestive of some indirect tragedy? Ffffff, I'm failing at deciphering you. Dx I want to think you're meaning to regard obstacles in this section, but I wish you might've been a bit clearer in where you're directing your audience. That's probably my only complaint. But perhaps I'm making a point of complaining too soon. I feel like this, of all stanzas, reaches out most profoundly to me at this point. Allow me to march onward a bit.

So they tugged me born slightly,
tore the flesh from the bone
and the air settled
raw so maggots could crawl
while skies ripped, and my mother
howled before the earth she kissed.

Okay, the first line of this brings me back to the first line of the opening stanza. (In case you can't notice, I'm reviewing as I'm reading my second gulp around. ;] ) At least there is the coherency I feared not grasping my first time around. Though, I'm still trying to figure out what you mean by it. I want to think --and this is my gut instinct speaking-- that you're contradicting things quite obviously to force your message across. Only I understand that you're referring to life's cruel sting. (Or so I hope that's what you mean) I'm not sure why I'm struggling to latch onto such basic reason though. Maybe it's extra fluff that I'm failing to see through? Is that what it looks like in your writing!? . . .hmph.

She was borne with multiple when I laid
eyes on the day; this was how I lived,
I will die like I live.

Okay, these few closing lines seem to wrap things up for me more collectively. But when you say 'She was borne with multiple. . .etc' again, you lose me. If I smudge that little bit out and carry on with the rest, I'm much more complacent with it. Maybe you can chew on that and make something useful of it, because I honestly couldn't pinpoint exactly how you could improve what you say in the opening of this stanza; for I don't understand it.

Sheesh, that was quite a lot to chew on for some reason. I may have to come back for my second wind. I hope you don't mind. But I'll be sure to jump on it soon. It's just almost 10:00, and I've had work and no food all day and I'm quite tired and hungry all in the same. O.O Poetry is a bit much to review on a good day for me it seems, so I'm sure you can grasp my dilemma. But, yes, will return. Probably will just edit the rest in if that's fine.

You have a great voice, Mustard. A bit of a intricately repressed voice, but it speaks no differently than any unique poet. You're right when you mentioned having a way with words on a sentence by sentence basis. I was pretty much analyzing things best when reviewing your work piece by piece in this sense. But don't let this lead you to believe your voice as a poet is any less impressionable.

Will return with a matching half to this review soon.

-Smylin <3

Over-
-Head

This poem was intelligently rhythmic and had an oracular but human voice. The surreal imagery is the emotional underscore for me when I read it. One thing I especially liked though about the imagery was the way this poem conflates the domestic and the external.

It's rather metaphysical though, and you can sort of see the poem thinking through itself with the words it uses and I follow along the lines (great enjambment by the way) to see what's developing whilst the thoughts are closely tied to the words rolling them out. Weaving it all together is every stanza containing poignant notes of self-awareness.

Overall well constructed and one your finer poems in my opinion.

I am unqualified to truly critique this, I must say. Whenever I critique poetry I feel inadequate, the fool choking down popcorn at the theatre, or the kids in black jeans scoffing at brass boys, but failing to handle an instrument themselves. I am sure, lady(or sir, I may never know,) that poets will flock to this with specks and red ink. Yapping or yawning.

Now it is my turn to be cryptic. One poem left me yawning, the other, yapping. One left me enamoured and mystified, the other disenchanted. One is strong, charged with rigid imagery and a clear, rolling metaphor. The other, too vague, too wanting, too desperate. I won't delve into the technical things that really don't matter, because poetry doesn't belong to the lab coats. It belongs to you and me and if you are happy, the rest of us canwill be damned. I will say this for your effort, you are a wonderful poet.

Hey there, me again! I can't seem to stay away from your pieces

Once I grasped the concept of what this piece was about, I read it again with new eyes. It was great the first time, and even greater the second time I love that about your works. You make the reader think. The rhythm of this piece was wonderful and the imagery gave me goosebumps, especially this line (Sorry I haven't taken the time to learn how to do the quoting thing yet):

"You see, I see
the ground has made a habit
of swallowing me sneakers whole"

It was spine-tingling. Extrordinary work.

~Jess

This was wonderfully rhythmic. I do not understand what it is like to have sclerosis, but my younger sibling struggles with it every day. It was detailed and accurate enough to leave those with the most vague expression of sclerosis understanding somewhat. It was also vague enough to leave room for Impressionism on the work itself. I hope to hear more of this joyous work from you soon.

Wow, this was really interesting and good! I don't really have many critiques, and I don't want to repeat what others above have said. The only thing though... "We borne of sclerosis...", is that a typo? I think there should be a comma after we...
Anyways, I REALLY loved this!
Sorry this was short/unhelpful... i just really liked it