Language

The sun is awfully dark tonight.

A/N: bad poem is bad.

Four o' clock in the canyon,
a man with a slingshot shoots,
hits an animal,
then collects it.

A stern look on his face,
the man keeps shooting,
slinging rocks
with awful haste.

He appears to be fifty,
playing with a kid's toy.
Doesn't talk at all,
and is awfully shifty.

The Juicy Fruit
loses its flavor.
A small piece of it
is stuck on my tooth.

I start moving,
feet kicking against
the sand, but he caught me
as I was leaving.

"Hey kid!
Want to get
your ass beat?"
Oh, shi-

One rock hits my feet.
Others go past me,
darting me in my run
as I flee.

I try my hardest
getting away,
but halfway down the street
I lose my breath.

Not wanting a fight,
I keep running.
Once I lose him,
once there is barely any light,

I fall and lie
on the dirt,
looking at the
awfully dark sky.

Comments & reviews · 3
Note: You are not logged in, but you can still leave a comment or review. Before it shows up, a moderator will need to approve your comment (this is only a safeguard against spambots). Leave your email if you would like to be notified when your message is approved.

User avatar
Holysocks
Review

Hey Strange!

I actually found this rather entertaining. I mean, there's something really hilarious about the dull narration that goes on in this poem. I have a few things that I thought I'd mention, though... maybe you're not planning on doing much more with this, but still.

At first I was thinking that this didn't really seem all that poem-y, aside from the fact that you formatted it like one... but at the end it got a bit more poetic. I guess what it might have been was that at the beginning you start off, and it just sounds like a regular story... maybe because it's quite sequential rather than rhythmic...? I'm not sure.

I found it a little odd that the guy all of a sudden shoots the kid... the only indication of the guy doing something like that, is that the kid quickly states that this guy looks pretty shifty, though we're not told why he seems shifty. I also have no idea why this guy shot the kid. What's his motive? :-P Is he just a bully, that randomly attacks children?
Perhaps there's something I'm missing here?

I fall and lie


Wouldn't it be 'lay'? It is VERY possible that I'm wrong... but I'm not sure that 'lie' is used for the horizontal thing.

Last thing I wanted to comment on, was your language! Perhaps a rating is in order? ;) Maybe the swearing has to be stronger for that, but I don't know, I think it could use it.

In any case, I enjoyed this! You have a very interesting mind- I mean that only as a compliment. Keep it up!!!

-Socks

User avatar
Anima
Review
Anima wrote a review · Fri Feb 20, 2015 8:32 pm

Aww this is sad :( The poem wasn't bad as you claimed! Just sad... Although I'm slightly confused... Is it from the point of view of a bird or person? If its a bird, then the man is obviously cruel to animals and its a bad thing... If its a person then he's still bad but then the whole thing is suddenly weird and makes little sense >'_'< Why would a creepy guy play with slingshots, and why would people run? Some things suggest its an animal while others that it's a human... Although maybe that's intentional!

There seems to be some awkwardly placed rhyme in places (like in the third stanza), but that might be coincidence... Either way, it's inconsistent and feels weird! I love rhyme but it rarely sounds good without a meter (≥o≤) So that's something to think about!

But overall it was really interesting :D Have a nice day! ~Me

This is beautiful, in a way I can't completely explain. I really enjoyed your imagery, and although I can't say I fully understand the story except for its face value, I do love it. It is extremely vivid, and I kind of feel like it might be a metaphor for something. I don't have much advice, but I would like to understand it a little better. Excellent, I'd love to see more.



It had a perfectly round door like a porthole, painted green, with a shiny yellow brass knob in the exact middle. The door opened on to a tube-shaped hall like a tunnel: a very comfortable tunnel without smoke, with panelled walls, and floors tiled and carpeted, provided with polished chairs, and lots and lots of pegs for hats and coats—the hobbit was fond of visitors. The tunnel wound on and on, going fairly but not quite straight into the side of the hill —The Hill, as all the people for many miles round called it—and many little round doors opened out of it, first on one side and then on another.
— JRR Tolkien