Young Writers Society

nice... tried to read out the links, inspiring, good job. Thought shifts from image to image, line to line, heart to heart. Keep on writing. we expect your lines, thoughts, dreams, dreams, the world you perceive, and the experience you want to communicate. regards...

K,

As I was reading this poem, I felt like I was standing against a wall, trying to bore holes through it. As I got to the end, I might've dislodged a few chips and pieces where my mind thought aha! so there are some ideas behind this wall and so I'm forced to read through again and again until I can finally achieve my hole.

So point in point, this needs a bit of work, but doesn't everything? I am totes guilty of thick, cryptic pieces myself, so I think when I see it, I tend to be doubly-picky. Ideas are ideas are ideas. They are abstract and oftentimes unreachable. The hard part is trying to get these ideas to be tangible. It's not like an essay, where you have ideas and you're trying to logically go from point A to point B. But rather, it's about trying to create an experience for your reader.

You know the mythical story of Isaac Newton, where he sits underneath an apple tree, an apple falls from the tree, hits his head, and all of a sudden --eureka! He comes up with the theory of gravity. Poetry is the language of the apple: the beauty of its story from seed to fruit, to its decent from branch to branch, simultaneously creating bruises, and down to the TCHWACK when it hits Newton's head. Poetry is not Fg = G (m1*m2)/(d^2). It's not about communicating ideas, but communicating experiences. And through these experiences, an idea will inevitably form.

Learning about the world, in phases
we hunger for another’s face.

cries of a gutted mind hardly satiated on makeup and spoons full

We see
faces in bread, water, in stars; we live in our eyes

Let me copy below which sections were my favorite:

Learning about the world, in phases
we hunger for another’s face. The bend of a river,
digging deeply enough through the plowed earth
to fill and fit the curve of lips: to run to when too hot,
to open and hide in when tearing down all walls,
in a heated sigh. Not enough—
cries of a gutted mind hardly satiated on makeup and spoons full
of soft flesh that keeps us warm at night.
The body wraps around tighter than lips; leaves fall
because new life consumes, absorbs the dead.
At a funeral no one disturbs the deceased, but
a billion bacteria tunneling, tunneling through and through
a sandwiched body like Swiss-cheese. We see
faces in bread, water, in stars; we live in our eyes
and through a looking glass searching for beauty
after fretting over gods and beautiful creation.
The world existed long before the first face; in a single sigh
it would hardly notice the last.

The only thing I might change would be formatting. Let me see here:

Learing about the worly in phases,
we hunger for another's face.

The bend of a river,
digging deeply enough
through the plowed earth
to fill and fit the curve of lips.

To run when too hot,
to open and hide in when tearing down all walls
in a heated sigh.

Not enough-

cries of a gutted mind
hardly statiated on makeup
and spoons full of soft flesh
that keeps us warm at nigh.

The body wraps around tighter than lips;
leaves fall because new life consumes
absorbs
the dead.

At a funeral no one disturbs the deceased
but a billion bacterica
tunneling, tunneling
through and through a sandwiched body
like Swiss Cheese.

We see faces
in bread
water
in stars.

We live in our eyes
and through a looking glass
searching for beauty
after fretting over gods
and beautiful creation.

The world existed long before the first face
in a single sigh,
it would hardly notice the last.