Young Writers Society

Kitty,

So better late than never, nyeh?

I like the opening to this quite a lot. There's this easy cadence where I get snippets of this character's voice that is really kind of neat and engaging, but it's too clunky, so I'll lose it at times. Like this:

Before I scratched my balls or smoked my cigarette
or watered the flowers outside my window; make no mistake
it wasn't anything personal

I can only express my sincere regret
for what followed on. That it should fall on your day to be saved
that I needed to rest. But I think you'll agree that it had to be done.

couldn't count how many I've saved
from drowning or burning; the fire brigade.

Hi, Rydia!

I'm sorry for taking a century to get to this. Here I am! Granted, I probably won't have much to say about this piece in particular, I'm terrible with anything poetic and I shamefully had to google 'sestina' because I had no idea what it was. Anyway, onwards!

So, Carlito expressed her thoughts on this and what it meant and I'm glad I was thinking along the same lines so I guess I wasn't completely lost. Good news on my part.

I knew the moment I woke up. It was time for a break.
Before I scratched my balls or smoked my cigarette
or watered the flowers outside my window; make no mistake
it wasn't anything personal. I can only express my sincere regret
for what followed on. That it should fall on your day to be saved
that I needed to rest. But I think you'll agree that it had to be done.

I scratched my balls and I knew already, something had to be done
about the mountain of clothes that needed a wash, about the break

that I pissed on the flowers picked from my garden. But I lie, I digress for I also regret
the waking and wanting a break from the boredom. I couldn't count how many I've saved
from drowning or burning; the fire brigade. From guns or fire or knives or each other. Or break-
ing their necks like your sister or brother. Father, daughter, cousin or mother. My only mistake
was hearing the scream, half turning and doubting the thoughts that were churning. I'd done
at the shop and was slowly returning. Back to my house and my break; my next cigarette.

Hi there!

I'm here to review as requested. Finally *phew*

This is a very interesting poem. I'll be honest and say that I didn't know what a sestina was so I had to google it. You did a good job sticking to the form of this type of poem without making it sound/feel forced. Everything flowed beautifully and it worked well together.

Your imagery is good as well. Since this is more of a story, the imagery isn't very obvious. But it's definitely there and I think you did a good job with that. I also think the speaker leads an amusing life. It revolves around cigarettes and cleaning the house/yard. Sounds fun!

I have a few comments/suggestions/critiques for you. I pray that the codes work and everything I've written shows up perfect. I just found the codes the other day and I'm still getting used to them. Anyway, here you go:

A Hero's Day Off

I knew the moment I woke up. It was time for a break.
Before I scratched my balls or smoked my cigarette
or watered the flowers outside my window; make no mistake
it wasn't anything personal. I can only express my sincere regret
for what followed on. That it should fall on your day to be saved
that I needed the rest. But I think you'll agree that it had to be done.
This first stanza is great. I like the feeling of foreboding I'm getting from this. Especially when you said 'I can only express my sincere regret...that is should fall on your day to be saved that I needed the rest.' While I'm talking about that line, I think you should say '...that I needed to rest'. The way you say it in the poem makes it sound like the speaker needed the rest of something, not that he/she needed rest.
There's so much that you didn't say in this introduction. You did give me some outline however, and now I'm curious as to what is happening. You're drawing me in!

I scratched my balls and I knew already, something had to be done
about the mountain of clothes that needed a wash, about the break
in the fence that needed a patch, or the coupons I'd saved. I know the feeling. There's always too much to do
Nothing but mould should be spelled 'mold'in the fridge and on the side insert comma here my last cigarette
that I smoked as I pissed on the flowers - which I half regret
but it was later, after the screws and the scream that I made my mistake.
The last few lines in this stanza confuse me. Starting with the "Nothing but mold in the fridge...". It makes sense up until the part where the speaker talks about their cigarette. It just seems like a completely different thing from the mold in the fridge. The two ideas don't go well together.

My last cigarette in the pack had been smoked. It was a mistake
to think I could function on cravings alone. And after I'd I was done
and after the flowers I gave it a shake and thought with regret
that I needed to shop. I left with the coupons and left through the break
in the fence, reminded of screws that needed to follow my next cigarette
so I stopped by the house of a man from last week, a man who I saved

from a cigarette fire. It's hard buying cigs when the money you've saved
is from hand-outs or coins or those snack bar machines. An easy mistake
is to think I'm a bum from the way that I rummage or scrummage a quick cigarette
with the hook of my thumb. Resuming my walk to the shop on the corner, I'd done
some thinking about screws and then screwing your grandmother's daughter. A break
you remember, that's what you said. Hardware and hard times but I only regret

that I pissed on the flowers picked from my garden. But I lie, I digress for I also regret
the waking and wanting a break from the boredom. I couldn't count how many I've saved
from drowning or burning; the fire brigade. From guns or fire or knives or each other. Or break-
ing their necks like your sister or brother. I like the transition from the last line to this one. You did a good job fitting 'break' in there to keep with the structure of the poem. Father, daughter, cousin or mother. My only mistake
was hearing the scream, half turning and doubting the thoughts that were churning. I'd done
at the shop and was slowly returning. Back to my house and my break; my next cigarette.
I've misjudged this person. He/she seems like a nice person, or simply someone who feels the need to keep everyone safe.

I heard the scream, the sirens and shaking insert comma here I stopped. I stopped to light my next cigarette
and thought fuck them and carried on walking. But later I pined and watched with regret
the news on the telly that said you were dead. Deceased, passed over, done
with the living. The bucket was kicked, the daisies were pushed. Your soul was saved
from the mundane oblivion of life on the dole or living with us. My mistake
was hearing the screaming and thinking it might have been you but not, I was mistaken. The break

and the screws had you in my head until I found I'd done it again: smoked my last cigarette.
By the end of the break and the breaking the news I had one last regret
that I pissed on the flowers, that you wasn't saved, that was my last mistake.

YAYYY, my specialty !

A heroic.. poem?

1. I would say that this 'poem' is questionable at being a poem. The two bare bone minimum things in a poem do not seem to be here and that's:
a. One idea to each line
b. Rhythm
-Maybe I would say you got to caught up in making it a sestina and simply the rules got lost in that.

How I suggested fixing:
1.Start over, If you want a sentina, start over. That simple. You can always salvage the message using the same words.

(A) If you choose this then you might want to make each line simpler, carry the message through more lines and try not to compact to many ideas on one line. Never start the middle of the idea on one line; I've only seen it done one time in a positive way (from Poe on The Raven).

What Am I talking about exactly?

or watered the flowers outside my window; make no mistake
it wasn't anything personal. I can only express my sincere regret
for what followed on.

I'd done
some thinking about screws and then screwing your grandmother's daughter.

Hey Rydia!

I realized that I can totally review on my phone and that it could be a seriously great way to spend the next seven hours of my life so here I am

I am no poetry expert but this was a very enjoyable read. Even though the story of the poem was pretty dark I loved the rhythm of it and the way the story was told.

Here are my nitpicks:

I knew the moment I woke up. It was time for a break.
Before I scratched my balls or smoked my cigarette
or watered the flowers outside my window; make no mistake
it wasn't anything personal. I can only express my sincere regret
for what followed on. That it should fall on your day to be saved
that I needed the rest. But I think you'll agree that it had to be done.

but it was later, after the screws and the scream that I made my mistake.

And after I'd done
and after the flowers I gave it

from a cigarette fire. It's hard buying cigs when the money you've saved
is from hand-outs or coins or those snack bar machines. An easy mistake
is to think I'm a bum from the was that I rummage or scrummage a quick cigarette
with the hook of my thumb. Resuming my walk to the shop on the corner, I'd done
some thinking about screws and then screwing your grandmother's daughter. A break
you remember, that's what you said. Hardware and hard times but I only regret

that I pissed on the flowers picked from my garden. But I lie, I digress for I also regret
the waking and wanting a break from the boredom. I couldn't count how many I've saved
from drowning or burning; the fire brigade. From guns or fire or knives or each other. Or break-
ing their necks like your sister or brother. Father, daughter, cousin or mother. My only mistake
was hearing the scream, half turning and doubting the thoughts that were churning. I'd done
at the shop and was slowly returning. Back to my house and my break; my next cigarette.

that I pissed on the flowers, that you wasn't (weren't) saved, that was my last mistake.