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Beckendorf

by erilea


I am was the camp's best mechanic.

They say said I can could make anything.

My skills are were unlimited.

I think I'm still getting used to my death.


My father, Hephaestus, is an underdog.

(Or should I say, undergod.)

Everyone expected me to be the same.

But I sacrificed myself to save the camp.

That makes me as worthy as a demigod son of the Big Three.

Who says parentage defines you?


I now wander the Underworld.

I am in Elysium, where the honorable souls go to party.

(You won't believe the food there.)

But I expect that my memory lives on in the camp.

I am Beckendorf, my name passed from forger

To mechanic

To welder.

I am Beckendorf, whispered about among campers

To warriors

To archers.

I am Beckendorf.



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45 Reviews


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Wed Jun 20, 2018 2:53 pm
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Lives4Christ24 wrote a review...



Salutations @Lupa22, as promised I read some of your other work, and am here to review it.
I hope I don't offend anyone with my reviews,my only intent is to edify and encourage other writers through constructive criticism.
I almost cried when I read this, I love the series and I really get into books. I always liked to pretend that Beckendorf lived and was stranded on an island somewhere, but this poem accepts that he died and talks of his legacy. I love this poem and like how the whole thing is in italics to show that these are his thoughts.




erilea says...


Thanks for the praise!



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103 Reviews


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Tue Dec 13, 2016 8:11 am
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Burrow says...



Brings back memories :D




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Mon Dec 12, 2016 3:30 am
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Halfbloodcheetah wrote a review...



This poem is giving me feels, legit feels. O_O I loved Beckendorf's character in the Percy Jackson books.

I really love the stanza of how he was the son of Hephaestus is his father, but in risking his life, he feels he has become worthy of being a child of the Big Three. And I feel that he is more than worthy and am glad that this poem finds him in Elysium (hopefully with his girlfriend Silena)

I loved this poem. Please write more like this :D




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Mon Dec 12, 2016 3:25 am
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Dracula wrote a review...



'Tis me once more.

I am was the camp's best mechanic.
They say said I can could make anything.
My skills are were unlimited.
I think I'm still getting used to my death.

Yesssss! You used this past/present style in another poem and I loved it. It's just as effective in this one, more so, in fact, because you finish with I'm still getting used to it. You don't want to lose that effectiveness, though, and lay it on too hard. I think you should erase the present tense in this line: Everyone expects expected me to be the same. We've already established that he's not used to his death, and I think this style is better suited to just the opening stanza.

(Or should I say, undergod.)
I liked your use of brackets to add an extra bit of commentary and some humour. The overall tone of the poem, though strong and powerful, is also sad. These light-hearted comments even that out which is good.

I don't have anything else to point out. This is great, especially the affirmative 'I am Beckendorf' at the end.




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Mon Dec 12, 2016 1:48 am
NightKaizer wrote a review...



HEELLO Artemis,
A poem about the son of Hephaestus. It's kind of like how people like to be the son/daughter of Hades or Zeus. I like how you crossed out some words to make them past tense. It's almost like Beckendorf is writing in a journal, keeping track of his life.
You could specify what "camp" is. For people who haven't read your other poems (if camp is mentioned in them) it's confusing.
Other than that, it's pretty interesting. Seeing that it's a fanfiction, is Beckendorf a real person? I've never done much research on Hephaestus. Like you said, he's an under"god". Nice pun there.

You're punny,

Night Kaizer




erilea says...


I put a warning on every poem to read the Percy Jackson series before reading, but it's called Camp Half-Blood. And Beckendorf is real in the series, but not in real life. Thanks! :)




The mind of man is capable of anything - because everything is in it, all the past as well as all the future.
— Joseph Conrad, Heart of Darkness