Young Writers Society

Pudding! Okay, this took far too long, and I’m very sorry. I won’t explain, I won’t bore you with the details of my life during a review.

I. NITPICKS

It's a cold dark night << Not the best of hooks, if I’m honest.
waiting for the moon to appear up high
sparkling with the lights of the scattered stars
and from the our corners of the town,
a freezing wind comes, a wind of change << repetition of wind, not good. Repetition needs to be used wisely.
cold and harsh, is running through town. << This doesn’t make grammatical sense. Also, cold and harsh?

The children run, singing happy songs << again, I feel this is a little flat.
dancing to the beat of the gypsy tambourine << why gypsy? There is no significance of this, as far as I’m aware, this is a good image though I suppose. It would be better if the significance of the tambourine being gypsy is explained.
laughing at there senseless elation. << I don’t understand the purpose of this line, I know this stanza is supposed to show contrast, but I don’t think it all adds anything, you need to make it necessary if you want to include it.
And the parents think, realizing the wind is here << think about what? It seems as if you’re going to tell us, but then just forgot.
hitting against their faces, freezing their will << hitting is a weak word, also, freezing their will seems drab and cliché.
and drying their blood. << How can a wind do this? I don’t like this image… why is it here?
But sill enjoying the dark night's beauty. << What an odd contradiction. Also, I’m pretty sure most nights are dark to be honest!

And from sown the street, a young boy shouts, << down* also, why would he be shouting, I don’t see why he’s included, other than to tell the reader that there’s war.
crying silently. << Do you mean crying out, or sobbing? Either way, I don’t think he should be quiet.
"War,war,war" << Don’t like this, it’s the easy way out of introducing your theme.
The godforsaken cry is a lamentation. << Don’t know why, just don’t like this. Seems cliché, a little boring.
A lamentation for the living, << I don’t like the repetition here.
a lamentation for the dead. << Just puts me off by now. It’s just totally unnecessary to even include this.
The hidden uncertainty of the fate << if it’s hidden then of course it will be uncertain, lose one of these descriptions, having the two makes the one you’ll get rid of superfluous, decide which you think suit’s the mood of this poem best.
the country awaits. << if he’s only young, why does he care so much? Obviously he would be scared, but why is he running around screaming war?

It's coming with the wind, << back to this again? It just feels as though we’ve heard it before a thousand times. Can you think of something better, more original?
It rises from the pit of hell << war is always described as hell, try to use something different.
It crushes, breaks, fills the air with the hate of a killer.
War! The proud chanting of a soulless impaler. << impaler isn’t a word apparently. Also, I don’t like this line, the way you use an exclamation mark after war, it just doesn’t work for me. Also, if it’s soulless it won’t feel pride, surely?

They march singing the damned melody of death, << why damned? It just seems such an obvious description.
firing their guns with the movement of one hand,
sending the children to a cold wet dungeon << why cold and wet? Why a dungeon? I don’t see why this is included if I’m honest.
where the tambourine has lost its deep sound << I like this. I think you should somehow make the tambourine into a central metaphor for this poem.
and the spirits of hope had shattered and fall. << Tense issues, have another read through.
and not even the dreams of the ancient dreamer are left. << dreams, dreamer? I like this, but find another word.

The wind is blowing harder << couldn’t you think of a better thing to say?
becoming fire as it crushes against the skin << nice idea, try to show rather than tell us this idea though.
burning the houses, setting fire on all places. << setting fire on all places doesn’t make sense. Also, this whole line isn’t up to your awesome standard. Just discard it, would be my advice, it’s not needed to make the rest make sense.
The howls of desperation rise from the center of the earth, << centre*
becoming the nightmare of a summer reverie. << Eh, feels somehow wrong for this. Also, it feels used.

Its crawling under their skins, << why plural? Just say skin. Also, slightly cliché I feel.
leaving the flesh exposed to its sins. << I don’t know whether this was purposeful, but there’s rhyme here. It sounds forced, and generally not good. There’s no rhyme in the rest of the poem, why here?
And its the wind coming from the inside out, << Really don’t like the wind image that keeps appearing.
leaving the strongest and killing the weak, << why even include this? Me no like…
breaking their souls with the sound of a gun. << how can you break a soul.

Dawn is coming from the horizon, << Eh, not really needed, is it?
crying for the barbarian disaster of the wind.
The whole nature cries and its hidden heart mourns
while human kind scream a the sight of the wind. << humankind, how can you see wind?

But it's abruptly ceasing, becoming only a rough breeze << No no no, telling alert! Be a little more imaginative, please.
whispering in every ear like a buzzing sound, << don’t need the like.
disturbing in every way. << Not your best description to be honest.
Bringing back the small pieces of blood, that stain the streets. << a piece of blood? Hmm…

The children are coming out of their dungeon,
breathing the atmosphere of cruelty that the wind takes, << breathing atmosphere? Why use atmosphere, you’re just trying to make it sound better, but I get a totally different idea in my head, there is more to atmosphere than air.
leaving the ashes of broken dreams and forgotten memories << Good. I like this.
that lay in the street as a dead body waiting for the sea
to ask for its soul. << Like!

But the wind is now a breeze, a soothing breeze
caressing the imagination,
blowing softly through their nostrils. << I had a beautiful image before you said nostrils lol… sorry, just don’t like it.
Giving hope, teaching dreams, running along << Don’t like. :/ I think you could use better images. This feels amateurish to me, not as good as your usual standard for me.
with memories long gone. << I think they should stay with the voice. It would have had an impact.

Hey Pudin Here as requested! Lovely poem, such length always impresses me.
Demeter has gone over like everything. So mine will seem like repetition to you, but I'll try my best.

It's a cold dark night
waiting for the moon to appear up high
sparkling with the lights of the scattered stars
and from the our corners of the town,
a freezing wind comes, a wind of change
cold and harsh, is running through town.

The children run, singing happy songs
dancing to the beat of the gypsy tambourine
laughing at there senseless elation.
And the parents think, realizing the wind is here
hitting against their faces, freezing their will
and drying their blood.
But sill enjoying the dark night's beauty.

And from sown the street, a young boy shouts,
crying silently.
"War,war,war"
The godforsaken cry is a lamentation.
A lamentation for the living,
a lamentation for the dead.
The hidden uncertainty of the fate
the country awaits.

It's coming with the wind,
It rises from the pit of hell
It crushes, breaks, fills the air with the hate of a killer.
War! The proud chanting of a soulless impaler.

They march singing the damned melody of death,
firing their guns with the movement of one hand,
sending the children to a cold wet dungeon
where the tambourine has lost its deep sound
and the spirits of hope had shattered and fall.
and not even the dreams of the ancient dreamer are left.

and the spirits of hope had shattered and fall. (fell)

and not even the dreams of the ancient dreamer are left

The wind is blowing harder
becoming fire as it crushes against the skin
burning the houses, setting fire on all places.
The howls of desperation rise from the center of the earth,
becoming the nightmare of a summer reverie.

Its crawling under their skins,
leaving the flesh exposed to its sins.
And its the wind coming from the inside out,
leaving the strongest and killing the weak,
breaking their souls with the sound of a gun.

Dawn is coming from the horizon,
crying for the barbarian disaster of the wind.
The whole nature cries and its hidden heart mourns
while human kind scream a the sight of the wind.

WOW! I thought that was incredible!

Only like three typos so i can't nag on you for that, the only one i really recall off the top of my head without looking back was you put an a where an at belonged. Oh and you said sown and i believe you meant town. It was so good though honestly. The only thing I didn't like however was your stanza where the wind turns into fire. You said fire to many times. Maybe use the word flame instead? It was wonderful.
Simply poetry. bravo.




I always feel fancy and artsy when commenting on poetry.

One word, WOW. That was incredible! I don't think there's a single part of that i didn't enjoy. The title was but mediocre though. It fits with your story, but I think it could be better. Besides that, it's evident you put a lot of thought into this and i really enjoyed it beginning to end! Looking forward to any new work from you!

Tyler

Thanks so much for the reviews!!!
I'm extremely grateful and I'll continue to edit this poem. And to be honest, This is like the third draft I never inished because I had exams and totally forget about it.
So thanks so much for helping me!!

I'll see if I post the edited one and Snoink thanks so much for reminding me of such awesome poet!!

PS. I actually lived where he was born-Chile.

Wow Puddin!!! This poem totally rocked!!!! It really kept me going till the end. This was extremely well written. You have amazing talent!!! I did notice a couple of errors but it seems that they were already pointed out. So yeah I'll definitely read more of your stuff!!! See you soon!!! Bye!!!!

Keep writing
wookielover17

Hi, Pudin!

It's a cold dark night
waiting for the moon to appear up high
sparkling with the lights of the scattered stars
and from the our corners of the town,
a freezing wind comes, a wind of change
cold and harsh, is running through town.

The children run, singing happy songs

laughing at there senseless elation.

But sill enjoying the dark night's beauty.

And from sown the street, a young boy shouts,
crying silently.
"War,war,war"
The godforsaken cry is a lamentation.
A lamentation for the living,
a lamentation for the dead.
The hidden uncertainty of the fate
the country awaits.

The godforsaken cry is a lamentation –
one for the living,
and one for the dead.

sending the children to a cold wet dungeon
where the tambourine has lost its deep sound
and the spirits of hope had shattered and fall.
and not even the dreams of the ancient dreamer are left.

The wind is blowing harder
becoming fire as it crushes against the skin

Dawn is coming from the horizon,

Bringing back the small pieces of blood, that stain the streets.

Hey pudding!

There were a lot of good things about this poem! For one, you actually talked about something real that we could visualize. So that gives us a sense of conflict and drives us to finish the poem--something you always want to do with your readers.

What you want to focus on is making sure that you don't clog your poem with adjectives. The more forceful your poem is, in fact, the less you want to use adjectives.

I learned to love poetry through your language, so let me use an example from Pablo Neruda:

"El fuego cruel" por Pablo Neruda

AQUELLA guerra! El tiempo
un año y otro y otro
deja caer como si fueran tierra
para enterrar
aquello
que no quiere morir: claveles,
agua,
cielo,
la España, a cuya puerta
toqué, para que abrieran,
entonces, allá lejos,
y una rama cristalina
me acogió en el estío
dándome sombra y claridad,
frescura
de antigua luz que corre
desgranada
en el canto:
de antiguo canto fresco
que solicita
nueva
boca para cantarlo.
Y allí llegué para cumplir mi canto.
Ya he cantado y contado
lo que con manos llenas me dio España,
y lo que me robó con agonía,
lo que de un rato a otro
me quitó de la vida
sin dejar en el hueco
más que llanto,
llanto del viento en una cueva amarga,
llanto de sangre sobre la memoria.

Aquella guerra! No faltó la luz
ni la verdad,
no hizo falta la dicha sino el pan,
estuvo allí el amor, pero no los carbones:
había hombre, frente, ojos, valor
para la más acribillada gesta
y caían las manos como espigas cortadas
sin que se conociera la derrota,
esto es, había poder de hombre y de alma,
pero no había fusiles
y ahora les pregunto
después de tanto olvido:
qué hacer? qué hacer? qué hacer?

Respóndanme, callados,
ebrios de aquel silencio, soñadores
de aquella falsa paz y falso sueño,
qué hacer con sólo cólera en las cejas?
con sólo puños, poesía, pájaros,
razon, dolor, qué hacer con las palomas?
qué hacer con la pureza y con la ira
si delante de ti se te desgrana
el racimo del mundo
y ya la muerte
ocupa
la mesa
el lecho
la plaza
el teatro
la casa vecina
y blindada se acerca desde Albacete y Soria,
por costa y páramo, por ciudad y río,
calle por calle,
y llega,
y no hay sino la piel para pelearle,
no hay sino las banderas y los puños
y el triste honor ensangrentado
con los pies rotos,
entre polvo y piedra,
por el duro camino catalán
bajo las balas últimas
caminando
ay! hermanos valientes, al destierro!

Wow. That was really well written. I actually enjoyed reading it! It really turned my blood to ice, and it made me sad, but it is true. I only saw like one or two mispellings, and only a few grammatical errors. Still, it was really awesome, and it really made me think. Thanks for posting that.