Young Writers Society

the refreshing taste of nicotine smoke
and orange juice at four in the morning
the fabulous eeriness
of late night/early morning
children's tv
and the first few beams of sunlight
slipping through half-closed curtains
keep my round bleeding eyes awake.

recordings of clandestine utterances from
your sunny south european villa and
torn letters of a forgotten mutual adoration
cluttered on a wooden desk
with hidden drawers and keyboard pillows
discarded stationery and wet pictures
a white screen showing
a trashbox full of emo-esque e-mails
late night procrastination
and twilight justification

there's only so many times you can stare at the ceiling
and hope for fluffy clouds and flawless explanations
and no confusion or illogical emotions
life is never fair
you whispered intimately in my ear
as you cuddled me close and
told me everything
was gonna be alright
six weeks of hot sun
must have got to your fickle mind
and only stars orbit him, now


----

ick, this is rather "emo". I'd appreciate it if you could lessen some of the stupidly melodramatic parts.

Emo -- true. But then, so was every other major literary figure of the last millenia. This was well written, but the last stanza sinks into the realms of unforgivable technicolor shades of troglodyte meaning and the Valkyrie-esque clutches of cliche. Please, ditch it.

That gone, this poem will end on a much stronger note, and I think be one of the best, if not the best, poem I have ever read by a non-major poet.

You're a mind reader, I was just preparing to press the delete key when I saw your comment.

Anyway, thanks for the encouragement, it's really...I can't think of the word. But yeh.

Excellent. Excellent excellent excellent. I love it. It sounds like the narrator is feeling somewhat hopeless, and kind of thinking, "What am I doing here?" Wishing he could escape. *shrugs* I like the image you present. Very nicely done.

*smiles at Crysi*

The last stanza is what caught me.
The rest was decent...but I've never read anything of the calibur that the last stanza carried...wow.

all right, i've never critted your stuff and I have more time than I thought I would since Brad only posted one new poem.

the refreshing taste of nicotine smoke
and orange juice at four in the morning
the fabulous eeriness
of late night/early morning
children's tv
and the first few beams of sunlight
slipping through half-closed curtains
keep my round bleeding eyes awake

I would say your eyes are round. It breaks the flow. "bleeding" is just fine. Perhaps you shouldn't say awake, instead say open. ? why are your eyes bleeding?

recordings of clandestine utterances from
your sunny south european villa and
torn letters of a forgotten mutual adoration
cluttered on a wooden desk
with hidden drawers and keyboard pillows
discarded stationery and wet pictures
a white screen showing
a trashbox full of emo-esque e-mails
late night procrastination
and twilight justification

This is really beautiful. It paints such a perfect image, and does so in a way complex enough to feel like real poetry.


there's only so many times you can stare at the ceiling *aww....that sounds perfect*
and hope for fluffy clouds and flawless explanations *cut out fluffy white clouds and put something less cliche in*
and no confusion or illogical emotions *hmm...instead of saying "and no confusion, maybe say "and complete understanding*
life is never fair
you whispered intimately in my ear
as you cuddled me close and
told me everything
was gonna be alright *awww....that's really pretty*
six weeks of hot sun
must have got to your fickle mind
and only stars orbit him, now

That was overall, awesome. It was really thick and meaty. Okay, that sounds wrong. How about: for someone hungry for literary food, it was...oh geez I don't know what I'm trying to say. Basically, I like it a lot and it makes me want to read more of your stuff. Good job.

oh wow.

the refreshing taste of nicotine smoke
and orange juice at four in the morning

This gives me such a weird image... refreshing nicotine..

the fabulous eeriness
of late night/early morning
children's tv
and the first few beams of sunlight
slipping through half-closed curtains

so true.

a white screen showing
a trashbox full of emo-esque e-mails
late night procrastination
and twilight justification

This part is so.. idk real, i guess.

Last stanza is by far the best, though. Don't you love the stuff you can come up with at or going to school? amazing, really (yes, i read your blog). Excellent work.

I would say your eyes are round. It breaks the flow. "bleeding" is just fine. Perhaps you shouldn't say awake, instead say open. ? why are your eyes bleeding?

Well, generally, that last sentence of the first stanza was supposed to be evry dramatic and break up the sort of slow introduction. If in your opinion, it breaks the flow, this only seeks to emphasise it's break from the rest of the stanza. I used "bleeding" to symbolise the pain and loss of the reader and their subsequent weeping. Blood instead of tears could be comprehended in two ways - the pain is so great, it is not water he weeps, rather blood, or you could believe that he wounds himself because the loss is so great.

and hope for fluffy clouds and flawless explanations *cut out fluffy white clouds and put something less cliche in*

It supposed to be cliche, that's why I used it. I'm trying to say that everybody thinks of that...by using a cliche image, everybody can understand it.

Thanks for all your comments.

thanks for the description, the first part makes total sense but I still wouldn't put a cliche in something otherwise so perfect and...I dunno, I just think it would be better to put something in there that makes the reader think, like the rest of the poem. But I still think it's an awesome poem.

and, yw, anytime.