Young Writers Society

Okay, I'll stop lurking and start writing a review: I have enjoyed all your poetry for its sweet simplicity. It brings up an image in my head that is at once commonplace, with just a touch of magic, and a hint of what hidden purpose you might have had when writing.

'Finding a way to adjust' - brilliant opening line - but (maybe I am not paying enough attention, but...) I did not understand the significance of the title. The first few lines are fine; but I think 'It gurgled' sort of ruins that 'swishy watery' effect you have created from the lines above. 'Gurgled' is a hard sounding word; it looks out of place. I did not care for the way this was written:

but it made my hand clean
and did not burn my skin,
and maybe it's alright.

I think you can be a lot more subtle about your 'message' than this! Leave something for the reader to figure out, for them to decode; a little mystery, a piece of a puzzle. I love the 'I was in snow/with the whole shower raining down' part and I think this should be more toward the start of the stanza to surprise us, and then say something about the whole bottle of bubbles. Well done!

'The Marketplace' was likewise a dainty poem; a single, innocent idea skipping in the simple - but not, by any means simplistic - lines. Have a think about rephrasing the last couple of lines so they are less direct - they ask a very interesting question, but for me they sort of broke the tone of the rest of the poem. But I loved it nevertheless

Thanks Dem, thanks Navita! You guys are so great.

Poem XII The Rain

It has finally begun to rain.The
whole square is deserted, just
me and twelve other street vendors
hauling away our too-present wares
and my lilies are crying.I

slip the only ten coins I have earned
into my pocket and look to the sky
so that the rain rushes into my eyes and
makes them sting and try to close.
What's that? The water wants me back?

Well maybe this is not
an adequate apology, this
rushing at me, throwing itself upon me.
I roll up my sleeves so that my arms get wet
and take my time, take my time, wring out my hair

with my flowerless hand, making a small pond,
and I travel beyond my washed out work place as
grey t-shirted men haul our tables away
and I wonder what I am off to do now,
stand and feel the rain fall down?

Or get in out of it, out, out, safe, cloistered away?

Poem XIII Finding My Feet

White as the drawing board
save for deep blue channels,
but I would hope they are
slightly more golden
now that they are not
going chopchopchopchopchop
under navy film,
but becoming more assertive,
pressing down and moving forward.

I stop to make my ankles
daisy chains, belated thanks, and
I win smiles, and maybe smirks,
but aren't my steps
much lighter now? Don't
the little gold centers,
the blushing purity
make me forget
the heavy brown seaweed
which twined in my hair,
the sand on my scalp,
the salt on my tongue?

Poem XIV Rainbows

I
am moving up in the world;
thirty stained glass lampshades,
genie already flown,
(Karen, my market neighbour
who taught me what I needed.
Thank you Karen, by the way.)
and, by my tanned skin,
they're selling!
I rotate them periodically
under the pretence of rearranging,
and they catch the sun and
fracture it and
split it into rainbow droplets,
which catch the eye,
and serve as bait
or opium.
And you, you come
and purchase one and
I wrap it for you and
I know you'll come back.
(Because your one was cracked.)

Oh, oh, oh!

You write some amazing lines - I enjoyed The Rain and Rainbows especially.

Poem XII - The Rain

It has finally begun to rain.The
whole square is deserted, just
me and twelve other street vendors
hauling away our too-present wares
and my lilies are crying.I

This is a brilliant opening stanza, right here. You say it has 'finally' begun to rain, as if it was somehow expected - and that captured my attention. I love how you quantify things as well - the 'twelve other street vendors' - it makes it more sweet, and also helps it ground the poem too, in a time and place, of sorts. 'Lilies are crying' I especially liked. And that was a genius finish - 'I' - as if your sentence is falling off the edge of your stanza like a raindrop .

However, this following bit I didn't enjoy as much:

makes them sting and try to close.
What's that? The water wants me back?

Well maybe this is not
an adequate apology, this
rushing at me, throwing itself upon me.

I don't know; it just didn't seem to sound right. It kind of doesn't fit in with the rest - maybe a little too direct? Try rewording it.

and take my time, take my time, wring out my hair

with my flowerless hand, making a small pond,
and I travel beyond my washed out work place as
grey t-shirted men haul our tables away
and I wonder what I am off to do now,
stand and feel the rain fall down?

I don't know why, but that image of 'take my time, wring out my hair,' really leapt out at me. It's innocent, and it's vivid, and that's what I loved about it. 'Grey T-shirted men haul our tables away' also had an impact on me.

I think you should have ended the poem on that last line just there - the question - 'Stand and feel the rain fall down?' The line after it didn't do much for me. And I think what it says is encapsulated in the penultimate line, anyway.

Poem XIII - Finding my Feet

I'll admit, I didn't enjoy this one as much - and I think that was because I didn't identify with the character throughout it. Plus, I felt it needed a bit more grounding - a time, place etc - to tell us where we are.

This was quite a strong set of lines, though:

the heavy brown seaweed
which twined in my hair,
the sand on my scalp,
the salt on my tongue?

It's so unbearably raw - but not too direct, all the same - it's easy to imagine and feel and see, but not too easy, if you get my meaning. Nice work.

Poem XIV - Rainbows

I LOVED the beginning lines - 'I am moving up in the world' - and then how you talk about your glass lampshades, to almost divert our attention sneakily - I liked that. I love your excitement throughout the writing of this - 'they're selling!' and 'they catch the sun and/fracture it and/ split it into rainbow droplets.' And the naughty brackets every so often to let us in on a hidden thought, these were very cute. However, I don't think the last line should be bracketed because it will look better by itself.

Well done, Jasmine, and good to see you're keeping up confidently with NaPo!

Poem XV Undispute

"It
was like this when I bought it, as
soon as I opened it I saw the crack and
I want to exchange it. I
swear it wasn't me that broke it."
I would not believe you if
I didn't know your truth.
So I smile and I exchange it and
I will you not to go.
" It's for my aunt," you tell me,
and push your hair back,
"Otherwise, I wouldn't make a fuss
over such a tiny crack." You laugh.
I would make a fuss.
I would make a fuss until you turned your back
and called me unreasonable, and I
got what I wanted but was left alone.
But the lampshades still glitter
when they catch the light and
positioned here,the sun is blinding.
"So, do you work here every day?" Cue Walk Away.

Poem XVI Dust

My lampshades
are getting dusty,
grey furred like
past-dying flowers
(darling, bring
my lilies back).
Why won't it rain?

I am past being ignored,
I am the fifth pole of my stand and
I can stand now for hours and hours a pop
and when will it stop? Oh, but stop?

Mick has just moved twelve bags
of oranges while I have stood here smiling
vapidly at people who're ignoring me,
and, oh I'd kill for conversation!

This is the curse of silent land, no
water ripples, just the breeze
which chills you, bites you, throws you back
constantly on the attack, oh please...

Please what, Ava? Please...don't dissolve?
"Thirty euro, stained glass lamp..."

Poem Seventeen Lunchtime

*submitting*

Poem Eighteen Dinnertime

I like you because you feed me.
This time it's a dinner invitation.
I'm not used to standing on ceremony
while I am sitting and eating.

You order for me and that irks me
and I'm not used to spaghetti and it
falls onto the plate and sauce
runs down my chin and then

you ask me where I come from
and I choke on my pasta
(I always choke around you)
and I murmur that you wouldn't know it

and quickly change the subject.
You tell me about
your work at the museum
and your dead father's favourite pair of gloves.

Dessert is hot and sweet and burns
the roof of my mouth 'til it's scaly and raw
and my eyes start to water
and you take the bill

and don't let me see it.

Poem Nineteen Consider

*submitting*

Hey Jas,

19

I like your opening line. It's so dry and compelling. You continue on with an interesting poem -- I enjoy the image of the broken lamp and its antisymmetry. I love the deeper metaphor of the lamp -- in fact I love the metaphor of the whole poem. I think I'm enjoying this piece more thinking over it and dissecting it than I did reading it -- which is not to say that I didn't enjoy reading it. Good stuff here, though I think you missed a couple opportunities to add a simile or two. But, you know how I have a weakness for those, and the minimalism here works.

-Kylan

Thanks a mil Kylan!

Poem Twenty Or, Why This Whole Thing Is Completely Ridiculous

*submitting*

Now, THAT was a masterpiece, Jasmine!

Stop asking me if I love you. That is so irrelevant.

This is one of my all-time favourite starters (here I was, saying the same thing to Kylan just a second ago) - I really want to leap up and down and shout, 'I LOVE, I LOVE, I LOVE THAT LINE!!!!!!!' I love your irritation, here, instead of you trying to glorify it. And the rather blasé 'That is so irrelevant' - which is, like, so funny .

I'll comment on the rest of the poem soon - just had to say that one bit - and lamps really seem to be a bit of a recurring theme for you, don't they? I like lamps - but maybe I've seen quite a bit of them in the past few days...

WATCH THIS SPACE (that's a 'note-to-self')

Thanks Navita.

Eeep,a little bit behind...

Section Three: Endings

Poem Twenty-One On The Cliff

I refuse to come with you and watch
the cliff face eroding, and sigh
like I have some deep thought in my head.

Insetad, I lie flat on my stomach with
my still-pale underarms pressed
against the cool, smooth rock

(which I rely on far quicker
than you,Vlada, Mick, even Karen)
and watch the water hurling

itself again and again, creamy, furious,
at the rock, as if it can get through.
You turn to me in the peace of eternity

and tell me you're not sure, you're not sure,
and I can see now that this is your backdrop,
your dramatic setting, but not yours!

This thrilling will to fall is broken by
your smileless lines and curves and I
haul myself up and am level with you

except four inches below, and
maybe it's time to let you go.
"Your arms are cold", you say, and warm them up.

Poem Twenty-Two Anchor

I've called in sick. My hair is whipping
around my face and poking me in the eye and
my face is spattered with salt-water and cold
and I can breathe properly now, I think,
watching this pathetic little touristy boat
dropping its anchor so that it may stay
afloat, still, in the middle of crinkling blue.

"I'm sick," I yell, when you call,
trying to drown out the sounds of the sea,
"earache! Deaf in one ear...can't hear you!"
I'd press the shell to my ear again
if I believed that it worked.
I believe little works, but please
don't call my nihilistic; I did not say nothing.

The gulls circle, shrieking, "liar, liar!"
"Where are you?" you ask. I say I have to go.
I sit and I dip my tanned toes in the foam
and it rushes away from me but
it always comes back and maybe
it's time for me to go back;
the sky's stained peach tonight.

Poem Twenty-Three Reaction

"But why?" you ask. And I sigh.
I have nothing to say. I've
been swimming every morning this week,
I've taken more shifts so I
can get out of here, but maybe I
can just go home and I
don't have to explain. I
can see the pain
in your watery eyes and
I wish I could care.

The sea lashes and rages it
won't be calm for me and I
want to beat my fists on the sand
so it whirls all around me,
want to kick up the shells,
want to scream out my soul and
I think I will be fuller for it.
But then it eases off
and I can't see how it ever moved and
I dip my head under; the silver
water runs off of me.