Young Writers Society

Home » Literary works » Poetry » Lyrical


To Sit on the Edge of the Moon

by YellowSweater


I sit on the moon's round rim and um a half forgotten harmoney, fiddling to the tune of the tides. But regardless of the moon's phase, the sea wind will whistle and wind my strings too tight.

I walked on water last night, but my footprints were blown away. Drenched and dry, I shivered, caught on the edge of something, of evening, of ocean.

When it is dark, almost dark, death feels much closer. The dark is full of unknowable cliffs, footsteps, and filled space. I can close my eyes, but I can’t sleep.

So I’ll play my fiddle and stare into the black water.


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.







Is this a review?


  

Comments



User avatar
384 Reviews


Points: 25947
Reviews: 384

Donate
Mon May 31, 2021 1:42 am
whatchamacallit wrote a review...



Hey there YellowSweater! I've been meaning to leave ya a review since I first read this, so here I am at long last c:

AH gosh I adore prose poetry and always get WAY excited when I see some hanging around in the poetry tab :') And this poem definitely lived up to my expectations! I feel like prose poetry sometimes has the potential to fall prey to run-on sentences and overwhelmingly large, overflowing-with-imagery paragraphs - but you managed to evade both of those pitfalls! You've got great variety in sentence length, some short, some long, and the "paragraphs" are all just two or so sentences, so not overwhelming at all.

On a first read-through, to me this poem seems to be about insomnia and someone who's awake late and doing a lot of thinking. I mean, this idea comes up pretty literally in the line "I can close my eyes, but I can’t sleep." -> but also the overall restlessness that the narrator seems to be experiencing, and the kind of stir-crazy loneliness, seems to really fit the experience of insomnia to me at least. And the way the narrator describes being "drenched and dry" reminds me a lot of the feeling of being awake late at night and not being sure if you're hot or cold but just knowing you're not a good temperature (not a good feeling that's for sure!)

I agree with mordax that I get vibes of nostalgia, along with maybe some regret as well? "My footprints blown away" could maybe refer to past actions that cannot be undone, and their response to this of being "drenched and dry" and "shivering" implies that they don't necessarily feel so great about those footprints/actions.

I absolutely adore the images you paint throughout - you strike this really tricky balance of brand-new, WHOAH-inducing images that also somehow feel familiar and just make sense. Those are my absolute favourite types of images in poetry <3 Like "footprints blown away" AAAAH WHAT IS THAT SORCERY, that is such a unique but perfect image !! Even the opening image of "sitting on the moon's round rim" is *chef's kiss*

Also some great sound devices going on! "the sea wind will whistle and wind my strings too tight" especially has some awesome alliteration and assonance happening. "Tune of the tides" and "hum a half-forgotten harmony" are also both gorgeous alliteration. There's a sneaky little rhyme between "tight" and "night", too, which adds a lovely flow between those two stanzas/paragraphs.

I also noticed a couple of places where you used the "rule of three": "of something, of evening, of ocean" and "unknowable cliffs, footsteps, and filled space". That's a really great way to add a slight bit of repetition without it feeling overdone or redundant!

I honestly don't have many critiques for ya! One little nitpick is that I would suggest avoiding having two -ing verbs in the same sentence (for example the opening one, "fiddling" and "humming"), as I find that can sometimes make the flow a bit clunky. -> In the opening line, you could consider "I sit on the moon's round rim, fiddling to the tune of the tides, and hum a half-forgotten harmony." as an alternative or something like that - totally up to you!

The only other critique I have is that I feel like the closing line is lacking a bit of oomph perhaps - I feel like I'm expecting the narrator to do something where my reaction will be "oh wow that's a bit drastic", but then it just turns out that they're gonna keep playing their fiddle and keep staring into the black water. Maybe you're going for an anticlimax, in which case that's totally effective, but if not, I might suggest reworking that and seeing if you can make a more reaction-inducing ending ^^

Overall though this was such a gorgeous poem to read and I enjoyed every single second of it! The imagery blew me away, honestly, it was so vivid and satisfying to imagine. You did a great job of creating some very strong emotions, as well!

I hope this review proves useful, and if you've got any questions about anything I brought up, don't hesitate to ask c:

Keep writing,

whatcha






Thank you so much for your kind review! I am a huge fan of prose poetry as well. I don't know why, but when I write poetry in stanzas it just doesn't feel quite right. It's probably because I am crap at formating:) I actually did mean to go for the anti-climactic ending, but It's good to know that it feels a little off. Also, I really appreciate your suggestion about the sentence structure of that first line! I'll change it right away!



User avatar
47 Reviews


Points: 651
Reviews: 47

Donate
Thu May 27, 2021 6:21 pm
LilPWilly says...



Good job 👍




User avatar
87 Reviews


Points: 341
Reviews: 87

Donate
Wed May 26, 2021 1:21 am
View Likes
mordax wrote a review...



Hey there! Mordax here for a review.

First off, I love your imagery and wording. It truly is lyrical and beautiful.

I do recommend, however, breaking up your stanzas into more lines. For example:

I sit on the moon's round rim, fiddling to the tune of the tides,
humming a half-forgotten harmony.
Bur regardless of the moon's phase,
the sea wind will whistle and wind my strings too tight.

etc...
The way it is written now is awkward to read and reads less like a poem and more like a lyrical excerpt from a story.

Also:
Bur regardless of the moon's phase,

I believe you meant "but"

Beyond this, I have no critiques to provide, so here are my thoughts instead:

I just... wow. I love your imagery and wording in this. I have reread it three times and each time I gain something new. It has tones of nostalgia, fear, and loneliness all wrapped into one. Each stanza takes its own tone while connecting seamlessly with the others. For example, your first stanza feels rather nostalgic, this sense of a half-forgotten harmony (not even a melody) and the way this beautiful scene seems so far away, a mere memory. Then, the following stanza feels like someone who is forgotten and alone, the sign of their life blown away with the wind. Following that is this fear, this fear, perhaps, of other kinds of memories. Of the scary edges of the world and the noise that fills it when the moon hides away. Then, finishing it with that last line is so simple yet perfect. This entire emotional journey just occurred and the narrator simply goes back to their music because that is far easier than facing the horrors in sleep, searching for lost footprints, or even unwinding tight strings and finding forgotten melodies. It's this response to overwhelming thoughts and emotions that I can relate to so well.

Overall, wonderful writing, really, I am so impressed and jealous of your talent.

Mordax






Thank you so much for your suggestions and for sharing your thoughts! I am so glad you got so much out of it. And I am really happy with all those things shown through the poem. (sometimes I worry my stuff is too abstract)




Who wants to become a writer? And why? Because it’s the answer to everything. It’s the streaming reason for living. To note, to pin down, to build up, to create, to be astonished at nothing, to cherish the oddities, to let nothing go down the drain, to make something, to make a great flower out of life, even if it’s a cactus.
— Enid Bagnold