The day that had not a morning.

I could here the wind. A defining sound that shook me to my deepest core. I lay in my home, or what was left of my home, and waited. I prayed every moment, listening for anything, anyone outside that could possibly help me. I was trapped by own mistake. Why didn’t I run when I had the chance? One mistake could change my entire life.

I lay on the floor in my humble home. The structure swayed in the freighting wind. The world was trembling, surprised by the sudden turn of events. Nuclear winter. I could see the red from my window. The clouds of molten ash blotted out the warming rays of light that would normally be streaming through my windows. The sound. The sound was the most horrible noise a human could ever hear. Grinding. Grinding deep into the night. The last noise I heard, for there would be no morning.

Hey

Well, firstly, let me point out that this isn't exactly poetry...stanzas? lines?

And despite the fact that you actually have paragraphs shows that you weren't writing a poem.

Why don't you post it a more appropriate forum, maybe in other fiction?

Anyway, I'll forget that and crit.

You've painted a vivid picture here and I can see it really clearly. I'm not sure about the start of the second paragraph and why you seem to repeat yourself.

I lay on the floor in my humble home. The structure...

You've already said this in the first paragraph.

Work on getting it into a poem-like structure if that's what you are striving for.

Hope this is useful

Peace V

Commando588,


This is an undistinguished list of events that tries unsuccessfully to be profound at the close. A weak concept balanced by weak execution.

Throw this away. Try something else.


Best,
Brad

While the structure isn't the reason it's not poetry, I think you would do better to reconsider it. Think about linebreaks instead of a paragraph, because at the moment the structure doesn't help you get your meaning across. It seems vague, and I think you'd do much better to capitalise on the rhythm and give it some spark.

Hey there

This is meant to be poetry? I agree that it's not very poetic.

I didn't realise and read this as a story. Admittedly it has some flaws, but your descriptions are great and the introduction had me instantly hooked. I was hoping there would be more to read.

You should turn it into a story

That's all I can say really, I don't think I could judge this as poem.

I agree this can't really be judged as a poem.
I don't agree with Brad though...You shouldn't throw it away. It's a perfectly good piece of work. You could Change into a story like Tag said. I think that would end up being a very good short story. You could tell what happens before that part.
All in all i thought that it was a potential short story but not poetry.
Keep writing!


~Rachael

I realsie that it isn't poetry as the others have pointed out, but I'll still crit it, as I think it's worth it. This actually has some nice moments in it, and I quite liked it.

Firstly there are some spelling mistakes that need to be corrected.

I could here the wind.

should be hear.

I was trapped by own mistake.

by my own?

swayed in the freighting wind.

I'm not sure if this is supposed to be freighting, or frightning. If it is supposed to be freighting, perhaps a different word that means the same thing would be good, as this makes it look like it's a spelling mistake.

There were heaps of bits that I really liked. In Particular:

The sound. The sound was the most horrible noise a human could ever hear. Grinding. Grinding deep into the night. The last noise I heard, for there would be no morning.

This is a really good use of sentence variation, and makes it seem all the more thrilling, well done! and the last sentance is really powerful, it states the truth straight out, instead of beating about the bush, maing the impact all the more intense. That's great!

I could here the wind. A defining sound that shook me to my deepest core.

Great intro! Apart from the spelling mistake I've already pointed out, this really hooks the reader in! It makes me want to read more and more! I'm glad that you didn't insist on constantly using metaphors in everysentance like alot of authors do, (myself included) the change from this starting description to just plain events is great, otherwise I would get rather tired of it rather quickly.

I agree with Tag, you should turn it into a story, it would be great! I look forward to seeing more, PM me if you continue it.

Actually anything and everything can be considered poetry. Just because there are few line breaks or stanzas does not mean it is anything less than a poem. The thing this is lacking is poetic flow, and good imagination. There are some tid bits that work quite well, as for the rest of it, not so much.

The number of mistakes in this, quite frankly, disqualifies it from being even an attempt at poetry. Yes, the structure is missing; that, however, could be forgiven if there was anything even vaguely resembling an attempt at serious writing. Your images are also cliche, and I feel the need to point out the obvious here--

Grinding. Grinding deep into the night.

Maybe I'm just dirty minded, but the connotations to this are not only inappropriate, but made me burst out laughing when compared with the self-referential, ego-fluffing crap preceding it.

Better luck next time?

Boring
>.<

I could [s]here [/s] I'm certain you mean "hear" the wind. A defining sound that shook me to my deepest core. I lay Aren't you using the past tense, why the sudden transition? in my home, or what was left of my home, and waited. I prayed every moment, listening for anything, anyone outside that could possibly help me.

I liked the part about the home. It tugs my dear ol heartstrings.

I was trapped by own mistake. Why didn’t I run when I had the chance? One mistake could change my entire life.

It's better if you jumble them up. Like this:

Why didn’t I run when I had the chance? I was trapped by [there's a my there that needs to be added in between] own mistake--that damning one which changed my life.

I lay on the floor in my humble home

.

Maybe you could delve deep in descriptions? Like the feeling as he laid down.


The structure swayed in the freighting wind. The world was trembling, surprised by the sudden turn of events.

Nuclear winter.


I could see the red from my window. The clouds of molten ash blotted out the warming rays of light that would normally be streaming through my windows.

The sound.

The sound was the most horrible noise a human could ever hear.

Grinding. Grinding deep into the night.

I agree with the comment up here. It doesn't sound nice and appropriate. Use another word like, lingering or marching. Overall, it needed a bit elaboration and a few edits here and there but the idea was damningly beautiful so that's just a bit to work on. Make it a longer one. Make it a story I'd love to read it over when you've finished.

<3 JACE

[need me to critique more of yours, just PM me. ]

The last noise I heard, for there would be no morning.

Perfect---gave me chills.

Oh btw, i disagree with those who've taken this as NOT a POETRY , for clearly everything could be considered poetry as a comment up here has pointed out. Just re-arrange the sentences and wording, then it's a dramatic poem as you like it!

But this "poem" of yours should, as i have suggested, become a story.

I think that it was a good concept but the wording could have been better. It is a poem though, despite what some people believe. Poetry is poetry no matter what form. I think it could be a really good poem if you fix it up a bit.