The White Hand

Hello, LittleFox! I'm here representing Team Potter for review day today!

Let's jump right in, shall we?

I really like all of the imagery that you use in this poem. It's calming and relaxing.

That being said, there are a few places that you could improve.

First of all, there is barely any hint as to what the white hand really is. Is it the hand of a lover? Is it some kind of concept you came up with? Was there a writing prompt involved? Give us more hints as to what the hand represents. I feel like it must represent something.

You use the image of roses twice in this poem. While longer poems sometimes have repeated imagery, there is just too much imagery out there in the world for you to use roses twice in the same short poem. Think of other things that have color, for the second one. Like rainbows!

I like the second stanza a lot, but it is the one that made me wonder what the white hand was in the first place. Something that is meant to build up thin and flimsy things? I don't really understand. I like the line about the beasts and disease and miasma, though. Miasma is a good word. Though I think you might want to rearrange the words in that line a little. Perhaps say, "and spread a miasma of disease." It would be more straightforward.

You also use the word caress more than once in the poem. Try to find more synonyms for it.

Overall, I enjoyed your imagery and the calmness that comes from this poem. I hope that this review proves useful to you! Happy writing, and happy review day!

Ok, this gave me shivers down my spine, really really bad. But they were good shivers because I really like the poem.

My most chilling parts:

"A white hand curled into a fist,

No larger than rosebud, slowly opens.

Pale fingers unfurl to caress and smooth the cracks

From which black, shimmering liquids ooze.

And for a moment, life is lovely."



When roses seem colorless,

And music is harsh to the ear,

The white hand caresses

And for a moment, there is color again.



The white hand caresses

And for a moment, there is color again.

Alabastor knuckles slowly straighten,

And icy fingertips gently touch and extinguish the flames

That lick at open wounds.


These were my favorite and in my opinion most creepiest and chilling of them all. Great Job I repeat and I hope you write more.

~PoeticCoboy

Hey there LittleFox!

I like the wording of this poem, and I'm still trying to figure out what it means... but I feel like I can relate somehow... but maybe not. I kind of feel like it's a bitter-sweet piece about someone remembering a hard childhood- but that's a very abstract guess.

What I found that I wasn't too fond of in this, was the form, surprisingly. I absolutely love how it looks and how the words wave when you look at it as a whole, but when I read it it feels very slow and hard to get to the next line. The spaces matched with the tempo of the poem just don't seem to go together for some reason- in my opinion. While I was reading it it felt like an eternity that my eyes had to go from one line to another (I know that sounds ridiculous, and it could just be entirely me). I think honestly just if you didn't have spaces between the lines, it would flow a lot better with this poem.

Pillars ready to fall at the lightest whisper of wind.