Young Writers Society

Hello there fellow writer
I'm Buranko, member of this gorgeous society ever since yesterday, and I am here to give my honest opinion on ur wonderful piece.

First of all WOW! This is the third time I am reading this and I am still as impressed as I was when i first read it. The amount of ideas this poem conveys is just stunning.

When reviewing a work of someone else, almost all the time I try to stick not to the technical part, punctuation, rhyme, rythm etc. but the part that deals with ideas and feelings that certain piece contained. However, it's a little bothering not seeing any punctuation whatsoever, and if we take into account the effect on the reader you can say it has a rushed feel to it, like some poem you made really quickly on the way to work. There is also that part where it says "these origamis grows".

Perfect introduction. It lays off really well the theme and purpose that needs to be achieved in your work. The problem comes when switching from the introduction to the main point: "With ideas conceived in his head/Struggling to be born and take shape". So far so good. But when trying to ignite that flame of the poem it feels a little off. Again that rushed feeling "Somehow they escape through his pen". In the introduction you said that the ideas are struggling, there is a hard attempt they make to take shape. So the word "somehow" breaks all the effort by making everything seem random and not a big thing.

Other than that there is nothing more that bothers the natural flow of the poem. The philosophy is nice and I was surprised you tagged this profound poem as a fantastic piece. Great work and hope to read something else by you soon!

Hey there, Scribbler, I'm Lee and here to review your wonderful little poem!

I'll begin by saying the idea is fascinating. A writer, being the Creator of the universe as we know it? Wow! I'm sure some people have thought of it as a possibility, and some even deign to put it in words, like you; but you've surpassed them as far as I'm concerned. The imagery, diction, and touch of longing really impressed me.

There are a few particular things I'd like to point out:

Punctuation would really make this an even more enjoyable read. While it is acceptable not to use punctuation, I would recommend it here, simply because as it is the flow feels a little... scattered. I don't know how else I can describe it. Additionally, you actually have used six commas and two question marks in the entire poem; these stand out and feel out of place due to the lack of others. Let me quickly throw in commas and whatnot into the first part of the poem.

Writer, one of those poor wretched souls
Dwelling in lands known only to him,
With ideas conceived in his head,
Struggling to be born and take shape.
Somehow, they escape through his pen
And overflows onto the paper.

Somehow, they escape through his pen
And overflows onto the paper.

These origamis grows flesh

they are just puppets held with word strings

Their DNAs, dreams and destinies

That mind is a universe
And we are all gods

Good Morning/Afternoon/Evening/Night(whichever one it is in your part of the world),

Hi! I'm Harry here to give you a review!! I'm not that much of an expert on poetry but I'll do my best with what I know.

First Impression: I really love the idea behind this poem. As a writer this a really cool way to interpret the things that we do. It's definitely something that I have to say I've thought of before and its a nice message to see.

Anyway let's get right to it,

Writer, one of those poor wretched souls
Dwelling in lands known only to him
With ideas conceived in his head
Struggling to be born and take shape
Somehow, they escape through his pen
And overflows onto the paper
The paper breathes with life
Folds itself and takes shape
These origamis grows flesh
The dark ink paints in them hues
Yet, they are just puppets held with word strings
The writer, he wrote it all
Their DNAs, dreams and destinies
Oh then, what are we ?
Just stories written on blank papers
By another wretched soul just like us
Oh then, Why can’t it be true?
That mind is a universe
And we are all gods

Hi, Scribbler20! I'm here for a quick review.
This really a beautiful piece of poetry. It was wonderful reading this, and I should say the title is very intriguing. I love the way you write this, thoughtful, and it isn't just a poem it's after all a very creation of yours. It only not explains the writing and its the creator, it talks and it draws the picture and the scene in our own very eyes. You said you struggled to piece this together, but I think it's one of the most carefully pieced poetry I've read. I, also, as a writer have thought much about these things, what is special about my characters, my stories, what are they? After all, aren't they just stories, just puppets held with words string-as you've written here?

As I've said I truly enjoyed reading this, but I have some suggestions for this. Sometimes I might be a bit offense, please understand that it isn't done on purpose and it's just..Either my honest opinion or me being me.

First of all,
"Writer, one of those poor wretched souls"
"Writer" should be "A writer" or "The writer"
You might have a reason why you wrote that way, considering the first word of the poem without "a" or "the" is kind of distinctive, but I think it could be better with "a" or "the before it.

"Dwelling in lands known only to him
With ideas conceived in his head
Struggling to be born and take shape
Somehow, they escape through his pen"

"lands" should be "the lands".
"ideas" should be "the ideas".

Do you mean "form", not "born"? I think "to form" could fit here as well. "born" is okay, but then it kind seems right with "form", instead of "born. Just me saying you don't have to agree nor you should consider it as a suggestion that is helpful.

I think it's kind of abrupt to suddenly say "Somehow". Maybe you should add"But" or "However". And you could also add "always", "But/However, somehow they always escape through his pen".

I suggest you use spaces between stanzas when you change the way you're saying or the way you're describing.

Writer, one of those poor wretched souls
Dwelling in lands known only to him
With ideas conceived in his head
Struggling to be born and take shape
Somehow, they escape through his pen
And overflows onto the paper

The paper breathes(breathing) with life
Folds itself and takes shape
These origamis grows flesh
The dark ink paints in them hues
Yet, they are just puppets held with word strings

The writer, he wrote it all
Their DNAs, dreams and(,and) destinies
Oh then, what are we ?(we?)
Just stories written on blank papers
By another wretched soul just like us
Oh then, Why(why) can’t it be true?
That (the)mind is a universe
And we are all gods

Do you mean "the minds are a universe" or " a mind is an universe". I was uncertain here because you used "we".

Overall, I love reading this poem and I would love to read more of your writings. This is really impressive writing...I don't think you should worry about conveying it correctly. One thing I learn in this society is that you just have to be brave and publish it. The reviewer will help you improve them and it might not be hard as you expect it to be.


Thank you for writing this story.
You made my day!

Keep on writing!

Best wishes,
Chris