|  Write Away is a virtual writers' workshop where writers of all skill levels are welcome to join and participate. We welcome original works from poets, non-fiction writers, and fiction writers of all genres. Please remember to read the rules and comment on your fellow writers. If you have issues with something or someone, you can contact moderators privately here; since comments on that post will remain screened, please have an alternative way of contacting you back available if you want a response. Useful links:
| Hey everybody - haven't posted in a long time. (Pretty sure I'm good on crits - if a mod could give me a count?) I've been having a lot of emotional, fairy tale content in my mind - I'm sort of unintentionally channeling Anne Sexton here - and though I normally only write prose, it seems to me that poetry is really the only medium for the ideas in my head right now. So, this is my first serious attempt at poetry, and I thought I'd post it up and ask where improvements might be made. It's a telling of The Maiden Without Hands, focusing on the first part of the story. ETA: Oh, and the story has often been interpreted as being symbolic of incest (reflecting other tales about incest in which the victim's hands are severed). I kind of tried to refer to that. (And I edited a typo. >.>) ( Read more... ) | |
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| Colgate
Pink
Blue
White bristles.
On a slightly curved handle
Fresh out of the package
Manufactured aesthetic with
A holographic spot for my thumb
Ready to be used
Green and white.
Tastes minty
Manufactured too.
Field Party
"All my songs are about trees,"
says the Dylan lookalike before us
his white tee and golden face
backlit by the oddly rigged treelamp
Subtlety scorns
the microphone upside down by a ropebranch
as he sings into the stand
of folk songs and cherry bombs
It's an peculiar distinction
says a friend to the side
"Shame he won't get picked up"
Hearing the joker speaking between
the guitarist singing
"Damned if he cares"
says all the audience gathered outside.
I'm not entirely sure where I am at this point in my writing. Planning on picking up a couple of poetry books from the library soon.
By the by, I really enjoy the tag "type: angst inducing answerless question"
Cheers~ | |
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| I am 99% sure that I posted an intro here but when I went to go look at the tag list (to verify I had the proper critque to ratio in order to post something new) I couldn't find username. At any rate I'm posting something for critque now and am 99% sure I have the proper ratio for that, too. I just figured I would let the mods know I haven't been tagged in the interest of community organization. I could always find my post and tag it myself in order to make things easier, if that is easier. : ) At any rate here's a poem for you all to comment on. Please be as honest as possible. | |
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| Name: Carmina Age:16 Writing Experience: I've been writing for as long as I've been able to form words....though I didn't start doing anything seriously, or started finishing things until I was about 12/13 Preferred Genres: At the moment I'm really into writing/reading poetry, though I sometimes write some short stories. I don't really find myself sticking to any genre, though. Education: High school Country: United States What do you hope to get from this community: I hope that I will be able to get feedback, as well as constructive criticism from others, if I can. I also like to see what other people are creating, and how they write so that I can consider it for myself. Where did you hear of us? I'm not entirely sure, actually. I was randomly going around LiveJournal looking for poetry and I stumbled upon a member of this community. | |
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| I know it's arrogant to say it, but I went back to reread this poem and I thought it was very beautiful. Even if no else ever liked it, it's the sort of thing I could hold privatley, like a picture. And that's really my aim in writing poems, to capture some moment like that. I want to see if any of you agree with me. So, again, feel free to burst my bubble and smack my arrogant self. ;)
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| So...I'm not sure what I think of this but I'm interested in any criticism people may have
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| Thanks for warm reception. Here is a piece my daughter wrote last week.
Total Control
I will take over your mind
total control of your being
dominance of your life
beware my clutch
I will take you against your will
careful or I will strike
be wary,
be wary of your mind
you are not safe...
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| ( Possessions )Thanks for taking the time to read. Feel free to be honest. | |
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| Ginseng MacKay-Tisbert
In the Garden
Standing here, I feel so large The Milky Way is pinned Safely to my toes, the galaxy unfurls up, and back on me, wordless | |
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| ...odes to the men (pl) who govern(ed) my life | |
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| Okay, so I've posted in this community once before. In retrospect, it was probably a poor example to post for critique, because it was meant to be as more of a personal piece. But since then I've done some critiquing of others' works, and would like to post a couple other things I've written. Both of these have been posted to other communities, but I figure I'll post them here for further and more specific feedback. =X=X=X=X=X= ( Two untitled )=X=X=X=X=X= I think I like the second one more. The first one, to me, seems a bit cliche and it doesn't flow as well, not to mention there are some repeated words that I think kind of throw it off. It was my first stab at poetry in quite a while, after getting really into LiveJournal and beginning to really take note of what I liked in others' poems, and was basically just kind of messing around with what I could do with that. The second one, I think flows a bit better and makes more sense and has more of a solid concept to it. I don't know whether any of the technical stuff is any better necessarily, but I'm still learning. =) | |
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| Sorry I haven't been around here much since I joined; I've been really busy this semester...
Anywho, I finally popped out this poem which has not only been in my head for three years, but which will be the title poem of my collection I'm working on. How good that'll actually be depends somewhat on how good this is, as it will hopefully comprise the thematic core of it, so to speak.
Yeah, can you feel my excitement? Crush away!
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| A child of less than eight summers
I had my first sighting of frangipani
in all childish naivety
"Mama, that white cute thing
does it represent innosense
and um... (I bit my lip.) p-p-pureity?"
(oh I sure was precocious
though I'd failed my spelling bee.)
it soon reached into my window
the softest smoothest white petal
fell onto my bedroom floor
settled at my furry-slippered feet
I thought it'd heard a crow cackle
two months later my innocence died. | |
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| Name (A first name, or pen name will do): Faustina
Age: 17
Writing Experience: Not a lot
Preferred Genres: Poetry
Education: High School
Country: Singapore
What do you hope to get from this community: constructive feedback
Where did you hear of us: a bit of clicking here and there and I found this. Two short little poems for an introduction (: ah stilettoes, ah kitty heels I wish you didn't move in for the kill - you make my delicate skin peel yet... I buy you both still. (and)
pretty, pretty
wee lil' poetry
collects in the
tiny basin of your mind
pen it down and
let us enjoy the imagery! | |
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| okay so this poem is a little strange for me. nobody in this community is on my friend's list but right now i studying and russia and i often visit the hermitage, which is basically the louvre of st petersburg. and i wrote this poem after a visit because i was in a bad mood due to friends (drunken jerks) and the weather (dark, cold, sleety). so that is my explanation, and this is the poem: ( the hermitage ) | |
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| you know who i am
smelling like sperm and cigarettes
still you choose to lie
next to me tied at the wrists
the swelling stomach
the bursting lungs
the swollen tongue i keep
the bottle up to my lips
in hopes to kill what i imagine is growing
the disarmored strength
this life that's rowing upstream
i had a dream and you were next to me
where the hospital split me at the seams
it's too late for drum machines
cymbols and bass computerized for teens
and i've never loved enough to believe
that a life was worth it
and it's my fault i feel it's my fault
because a part of me secretly
wants a baby | |
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| jealousy is an old woman prying pisatchio nuts, never quick enough,
hunger gobbling them down,
shells in her shirt , in her lap if I'd only done that, ,
never singing or dancing, hardly masturbates --- when we link ourselves to our lovers ankles, it is dangerous to hang weight there,
force movement to the right,
from places into corners, one day his feet fall off, and you, cuffed at the wrists, are together on the floor | |
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| I'm resubmitting this poem, as it got no views when I submitted it as a reply. | |
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| she is
alive and radiant,
emitting delicious moans,
music to my deprived ears
she is
reacting so explosively
like chemicals, we react
still pretty as her glossy lipstick smears
she is
warm and writhing,
dripping in molten chocolate,
and the essence of sin
she is a valentine,
cut from bright red carboard...
just with more exposure
and graced with silken skin. | |
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| Memories
Of us seeing
Of us in the beginning
Of us actually fitting
Of us forgetting
Of knowing
Of us permitting, the thought of wondering
If it should be the ending
This is a poem for the writing prompt
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