Young Writers Society

I think there is sunlight behind these clouds,
but they're too thick, too old and gray;
it's like
the passing of time between success
and I hate them, these scars.
I think failure is just failure, void,
wasted sounds and heartbeats;
come with me downard, where it's lonely.

It makes me want to walk. Synthetic sunlight
is too much for me, this factory shit—
I need real, I need soul-searched

like mud-muffled footsteps. I'd rather commiserate
with the trees, because they don't talk; I'd rather
let these shadows
consume me,
than rebirth in floodlight. My tears echo upward
into space, a vision, a dream-lit and dream-crushed.
The clouds thicken, ice-hardened depressions;
I drink in the sunlit spiderwebs, like dew, but they are as parched
as I. The rain is just a mirage, just a mirage.

Try letting yourself be sucked into chants
and spiraling patriotism—but you can't even survive
Indian frenzies, religion, money. It's all headwear,
sacrificial, all that—

it's like
spider-spun despondence, woven into gray
and black. The clouds are rolling, keep rolling.

Hi there!
I thought this was a lovely piece! I had a bit of a hard time following it though, like it jumped a little. The best part, I thought, was the last part.

"It's like
spider-spun despondence, woven into gray
and black. The clouds are rolling, keep rolling."

It is beautiful!

Keep writing!

~chezka

waa,you're so amazing!You just create a great poem I ever seen n_n!
I really like the way you grab the theme there and the way you wrote it!

"I think there is sunlight behind these clouds,
but they're too thick, too old and gray;
it's like
the passing of time between success
and I hate them, these scars.
I think failure is just failure, void,
wasted sounds and heartbeats;
come with me downard, where it's lonely."
*especially for this part.Oh,nothing I can say anymore.I just cant stop to proud of you.Keep writing,wish to see more from you!n_n

Hi there Kafkaescence!

Hm... I really like this. You managed to make your poem flow neatly and the message is fantastic. The words and the metaphors are lovely, you're giving us something fresh and new born, not worn out. And that is wonderful. It makes you a great poet. Although, it's not very organized; the stanzas don't seem to have a pattern, or the same amount of words, but that's not illegal, so... lol... I just find it kind of confusing sometimes.

But it's certainly a piece of art. Great job! Keep writing!

~Solly<3

Kafka ;]

I believe I've owed you this review for eight days now. I'll try and make it worth your while -- despite the few words I have to offer and hardly any critique to lend.

I don't know how you manage to place yourself, a fourteen-year-old, in the shoes of some wearied speaker --clearly ages ahead of you-- in this poem. I just don't get it. And that's not a bad thing, obviously. A curious thing though indeed. I gather from this only what I understand, as generally any audience would. And from that I'm left with an almost taste of despondence. You touch the subject matter of a jaded being in helpless turmoil with such elegance, I feel like I should sympathize more. But I don't. And I think it has something to do with the tone in which this was written. It was almost like he had an affinity with simply being rather than the things that troubled him in life. Intriguing more than worth feeling sorry for.

In one part the speaker says he'd rather commiserate with the trees because they don't talk. Well, this speaker talks, and talks with such a mind I would expect myself of sharing some form of sympathy or sorrow for he. Still though I don't. And it makes sense that I don't, just as he wouldn't for another that speaks. I'm not sure how you've achieved writing on that level of detachment, but I was diggin' it.

I enjoyed how you continued to weave repeating imagery in and out in different, yet equally significant, ways. No single piece of imagery or line was left to flounder. It was all nicely stitched into a brilliant cohesiveness I can only come to know as something you'd write. *wonders how big Kafka's brain is* I'll be honest in saying I wouldn't know exactly where to start to help improve what you have here. Should I hold an opinion on whether it deserves sturdy critique or not though, it just feels like one of those pieces that is a great spill of one's sinuous thoughts. You envisioned a message, spilled your message, and your message is neatly said and done. It's hard to argue with how it could be altered or molded in any way differently.

Keep doing what you do, is the best sloppy advice I can give to you, I s'pose. xP Because I know your work will continue morphing itself until it's achieved touching every facet one's mind has to offer as both a poet and a writer. Which is obviously a journey that's never quite reached, as writers tend to always be discovering themselves in new ways. So I can only be glad that you seek so much out of writing and your work is so genuinely capable of deeper thought. I'll say again: keep doing what you do.

This piece was [insert some worthy compliment here].

-Smylin'

oh god your words are wrenching my insides. how in the world did you manage to get under my skin.
Please don't stop, your a brain box sir!!!
could i copy your work and save it on my USB?? i want to show someone who im sure will love it.
I promise to mention you wrote it. PLIZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZz

I think its about time you received a review from my, my dear Kafka. Far too long indeed.

And as all my reviews seemed to be doing these days, I'll start off with my consolatory clap on the back, followed by a few things I did enjoy about this as a whole. And there were many things I did enjoy, of course, so lets get those out of the way before the nitty-gritty, kay?

You, by far, are my favorite young poet on this site. You get it. You look at poetry for what it is and try to achieve it and there is something really admirable about that trait. You push aside the old faux-pas that seem to be be constantly butchering most poetic works right now and dig into structureless poetry. Free-based. Poetry where you are trying to prove something and are, as it goes, effectually getting that point across. I cannot applaud you enough for that.

And your diction, in itself, is also something I admire. And something I hope you will keep at. You flow well into each line and give this sort of masculinity to the emotional which is good seeing as the style or the topic of the poem in itself is rather.. depressing (in a vague way), which could lead to the idea of a feminine whining. A poem that complains. You keep your diction firmly at your side, though, and keep the words flowing in a classy, simplistic bluntness which suits this and you very well.

Now, the time in which I shall have to actually critique this. This pains me, dear. Honestly, it does.

As much as this shows your promise as a writer and your capabilities on being able to achieve, this is rather superficial. Aesthetic. You soft of balance on the idea of pain and on the idea of wanting to escape pain, but its this sort of basic, almost melodramatic idea of pain as a whole rather than trying to dig a little deeper and find meanings. Find reasons. Find that there are escapes, just, those escapes are hard to get to.

Pain is a fantastic thing to write poetry about, but it needs to be channeled. If you channel it one way, it'll make you sound as if you are complaining about all your life's woes and miseries. If you channel it another way, it feels fake and synthetic (as the sunlight is in this poem). You must tred extremely lightly.

In this case, you leaned towards the melodramatic, though not overly so due to your natural diction and lack of structure. It made this feel more you and more real, but ultimately, and unfortunately, a bit too overly pretentious and superficial to be all around fantastic. Good, for sure. Great, maybe. Fantastic? You're skimming it, dear. Really skimming it.

Example time? Example time.

This is my idea of the superficial in this poem;

like mud-muffled footsteps. I'd rather commiserate
with the trees, because they don't talk; I'd rather
let these shadows
consume me,

Its emotional and it gives beautiful imagery, but the idea behind it is rather.. contrite in variance and leaves this sort of 'I wish I was dead because then I wouldn't be sad' ideology whether or not you wished it to be so.

Of course, you follow up shortly with this;

I drink in the sunlit spiderwebs, like dew, but they are as parched
as I. The rain is just a mirage, just a mirage.

Favorite part of the poem, hands down. Its not overly 'this is how it is' and yet it gets the idea across so eloquently and so profusely that I can't get enough of it. This is what I love about your writing, kid. Honestly, brilliance.

So keep writing, and I mean really focusing in. You have so much talent it's ridiculous, and it would be a shame to see you not use it to the fullest.

Keep your eyes wide; the inspiration will come.

~Walker