Young Writers Society

O-er. Via, that made my head hurt. too many rhymes! I never liked the good doctor, see.

One thing that bothered me (other than my fear of the rhyme!) was this line (which did not just rhyme. really): with stripes a lot

I was like.. wait, what? It doesn't make sense, and the rhyme and rhythm are off -- at least the way I'm reading it!

But, gah. I love you and hate you for this poem. It scares me and fascinates me. But it's cute, too. So, yeah. Confused, you have made this very tired poet. Here's to tomorrow's poem!

April 3: This is lovely, dear. You have a great sense of colour and you make the point so strongly. Just two small typos I noticed:

He [s]sneared[/s] sneered at

out [s]the[/s] tp face the world

April 4: Very powerful. Your poetry has such wonderful, strong statements and the atmosphere with this one is great. A few comments:

[s]shardes[/s] shards of broken glass

like a blonde our of hell. [I don't understand this line. Is there a typo? Should it be blonde hour?]

April 5: Poetically it isn't great. Generally? A lovely, fun little poem.

April 6: Love it. I think you're missing a few syllables in places but it's so very Dr Seuss! I think the end could have been stronger and gone back to the idea of a person not being made by the clothes that they wear (Seuss was always rather repetitive) but this is generally great. A suggestion on adding syllables:

by the clothes that they wear.
He strutted with pride
everywhere that he went,
for the pink furry hat

like a blonde our of hell. [I don't understand this line. Is there a typo? Should it be blonde hour?]

Yea, our is supposed to be 'out'...I actually saw this one but was too lazy to fix it lol.

Thanks guys! Shall post poem #7....after I write it.

Dedicated to Zeb!

#7. To the Seesaw Goes the Dream

A piece of wood teetered on a mid rock,
a blue dressed little girl providing the totter.
Blonde curls bounced with the flow
of the ocean breeze from the coast.
Her small lips parted and released
a heavenly giggle into the air.

Tulips danced in the garden,
a light buzz heard in the sky.
A small insect flew from flower
to beautiful flower and back.
The bee lifted and floated
across the sky to a doorway,
landing on the arm of an
older, blonde woman.

As ten small voices rang through the home,
the small child vanished from her seat--

a dream left behind.

April 7: Your description is beautiful. I found it a little hard to follow, how the subject matter seemed to change but the imagery surrounding the girl is lovely. It has a great feel to it. I don't understand what it's about but the natural images are well used and I like it.

Kind of been a crazy couple of days, I'm a day behind. Will make up for it eventually...I hope. But, won't get to write at all this weekend either.

#8. Little Heroes

The sun breaks through his irises;
a boy of only thirteen years.
An empty bucket sits by the door
beckoning to be filled;
he stretches and reaches for it,
making the two mile trip to water.

It is nearly noon when he returns,
three younger children linger
anxiously in the doorway, thirsty.
The oldest eight years,
the youngest not yet four--
He must provide for all.

Water is divided for drinking and cooking;
he travels to the fields to collect herbs--
their dinner, their one meal.
As the sun sets they lay upon
a small pile of clothing,
praying to survive another night--
for mosquitos to keep their malaria.

And in a world where they are orphaned,
they are not alone in their fight.




Inspired by Idol Gives Back.

This one is very prosey and yet very beautiful and poetic at the same time. The story it tells is touching and the simplicity of your phrases reflects the characters' lives well. I loved the line about the mosquitos. I'd suggest maybe concentrating more on how the children look, helping the reader to feel for them, rather than details such as age but other than that, I have no suggestions. Good work.

I decided to critique you work (but since none of them are on the same page, I'm only editing #7 & 8.

Via wrote:A piece of wood teetered on a mid rock,
a blue dressed little girl providing the totter.

I didn't really get this line. Mainly because it said '...little girl providing the totter...' Which confuzes me, because of the word providing. Is it supposed to be something else, or am I an idiot?

As ten small voices rang through the home,
the small child vanished from her seat--

a dream left behind.

I loved the ending, at first, I was trying to figure out how the stanza before it connected to this one, but then the ending made it clear. Awsome poem, loved it.

#8: I liked this poem, it would be helpful if you put in some description like someone already said, though.
Hope you get back on track with NaPo.
~MV

I agree about it being like prose...I think I'd read it aloud to get a better sense of the rhythm. I think;

"Water is divided for drinking and cooking;
he travels to the fields to collect herbs-- "
are a little long and clunky.

I love;
"The sun breaks through his irises; "

I'm not sure about "beckoning", maybe try something like "asking", "begging" or "hoping."

I think teh last four lines are very powerful, and you tell the story well. Maybe just consider the sound of the piece. Hope this helps.

Jas