Critiques and Revision

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  • Rookie - 0 Points Gyongyi Mcdonnell (2/8/2015 8:23:00 AM) Post reply
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    Hi, Does anyone know if there is a translation of Az Alfold by Petofi Sandor?

  • Rookie - 20 Points Dria Del Rey (2/6/2015 3:47:00 AM) Post reply

    Lovers to Friends: Part I
    I still remember the day I told my mother I was gay.
    She just laughed and studied my face.
    She didnt take me serious until the day she met Brittney.
    She told me I was too young to know my sexuality.
    She told me that curiosity had only gotten the best of me,
    but I knew since the age of ten that I liked girls as more than friends.
    I was only fifteen when I fell in love and it was with a female.
    A female i grew to know and love very well.
    You see this isn't a fairy tale.
    There isnt a happy ending.
    This is the tale of two lovers who became enemies.
    It started five years ago, when I was just a sophomore.
    We shared the same class and nothing more at all.
    To this day I cant recall what made us meet.
    I just know I saw her as someone funny, and sweet.
    I loved the braces on her teeth.
    I loved the shoes that were on her feet.
    The gray hairs on her head, and her fat chubby cheeks.
    She was just so perfect to me.
    So perfect and unique.
    She would barely speak.
    Her words turned to laughs and giggles.
    Sounds that made me weak, and made my heart leap.
    Over a course of weeks I grew feelings I couldn't sweep under the rug.
    I knew than in that desk behind her that she was my preferred drug.
    I gave her my number and reminded her to call.
    My mind was gone that entire day between those school walls.
    Even on the bus trip home it was still gone.
    I rushed through the front door and I ran to the phone, and I waited and sat there for what felt like too long.
    When the phone rung time stopped.
    The only sound that was present was the ring ring as my stomach dropped.
    I wonder if she could hear my heart singing, because it was singing and it was singing beautifully.
    Our conversation was long.
    My words were clumsy as I worked up the courage to ask her if she would date me.
    when I finally asked she didnt give me the answer I wanted to hear.
    It was clear her feelings werent the same.
    They werent even a tad bit near the same.
    Soon after reaching the truth to what I feared the conversation ended. I showered and I went to bed.
    I dreaded going to school the next day.
    In my head I pictured her laughing in my face.
    I nearly fainted when her friend came up to me.
    She asked if I really liked Brittney.
    Part of me wanted to lie, but for some reason I replied yes.
    She pressed me with more questions and to her I confessed the feelings that I had hidden in the abyss.
    The conversation was dismissed as we rushed to our classes.
    In the class with my crush I avoided her eyes that watched me through her glasses....

  • Veteran Poet - 1,451 Points Brian Stafford (2/5/2015 6:44:00 AM) Post reply

    Poem: Blueprint of a Dream

    I've got the blueprint of a dream,
    That I'm not sure I understand,
    Why the people hurry bye,
    And never look me in the eye,
    But often stop and stare.
    At the endless shifting sand,
    In the hourglass in my hand.

  • Freshman - 544 Points Adam M. Snow (2/3/2015 8:21:00 PM) Post reply

    I've been working on this poem since Sunday night... The fog that morning was what inspired me.

    A Visitor in the Morning Fog
    Written by Adam M. Snow

    Oh, what a stage this morning break;
    on waking to a misty light.
    My heart is weak, I feel it ache
    upon this morning sight.

    So thick the fog the dawn opaque,
    which blocks the morning bright.
    Unlike the sun my heart won't hide,
    nor in the fog where it dwells.

    And even though with all my pride,
    this hateful heart, I knew so well,
    had left this man alone to stride
    in this small smoky hell.

    But in this fog a creature stirs,
    with wings to which to flutter.
    And though my eyes a blur,
    I hear those wings begin to sputter.

    But if it is as I should infer,
    'tis some black bird aflutter.
    To be here now where I have stood
    amidst the winter's fog.

    It perched itself upon a wood,
    a branch that fell into a log;
    as nature shaped itself, it would
    remove the gowans frae the bog.

    O blackened creature piercing eyes,
    It pierces my soul and steals my heart.
    I hear its scornful cries
    as it rips my soul apart.

    As truth be told, I dare not lie;
    I cannot cease this beating heart.
    The crow that craves its carrion,
    can never hide from me.

    The pair of us shall carry on
    in this fog, no men can see.
    Nor shall they hear its clarion,
    its squawking in an offset key.

    It mocks me with its devilish stare,
    in this fog upon this stage.
    Such risk this foulest bird would dare,
    then as to assuage
    the gripes of this a smoky air
    in a fog-like cage.

    It speaks to me on this wise,
    " I shall never let you die."
    said he with his scornful cries,
    spreading wings now as to fly.

    That ol' bird now on arise,
    soaring to the sun on high.
    Now I'm left alone to ponder,
    who or what that crow may be.

    Alone am I left to wander,
    while that bird is flying free.
    In the mist now yonder,
    I am stricken with this misery.

    For it twas I the darkened bird,
    that tore my soul apart;
    Stole my voice, my words,
    my virgin beating heart.

    I feel this day absurd;
    cursed me since the start.

  • Veteran Poet - 1,451 Points Brian Stafford (1/31/2015 9:12:00 AM) Post reply

    title: If You Could

    If you could step... Back,
    where would you be,
    what would you see,
    would you see me;

    If you could step... Back,
    what would you change,
    what would you re-arrange,
    would you change me;

    If you could step... Back,
    who would you be,
    and if you could be,
    would you be me.

  • Rookie - 25 Points Terence Willson (1/20/2015 4:39:00 PM) Post reply

    Just looking for some opinions and what not about my poem

    Life has a funny way
    Of unfolding itself
    You can be happy one day
    The next, forgotten on a shelf

    People come and go
    Nobody sticks around forever
    Eventually you get used to the flow
    Do you get over it?Never

    You still venture forth
    Living like everything’s fine
    You try to forget and move on
    Never giving anybody a sign

    You start to stay inside
    Both your house and yourself
    Deep down a part died
    Easier to leave your feelings on that shelf

    You notice yourself start to change
    Not who you used to be
    You start to feel strange
    As you adapt to this new “me”

    Life makes you wonder
    Why do you deserve this?
    Why is your life in sunder?
    What did you miss?

    You wrack your brain
    Figuring out where you went wrong
    Only thing you find is pain
    You start to think you don’t belong

    Slipping into a dense fog
    Your mind begins to shut down
    Feels like your life’s in a bog
    In bad thoughts you drown

    Your sorrows are all you’ve got
    Joy has completely gone
    Everything you’ve sought
    Disappeared, still you carry on

    Soon you stop and think
    Why carry on this pain?
    How much further can you sink?
    Why is it so hard to explain?

    Death creeps in as a thought
    The only way you can find
    To end all this suffering you’re wrought
    To escape the prison of your mind

    Life unfolds in many ways
    Not everybody gets a good hand
    Your whole life could turn ablaze
    Because not everyone’s life is grand

  • Rookie - 0 Points Anthony Michaels (1/18/2015 7:55:00 AM) Post reply

    I have two versions of this poem. I need help picking the best one and then polishing the grammar. I'm not a poet, this is the only poem I've ever written and that was 20 years ago. I have no idea about syntax and how to structure a poem?

    Version 1:


    Tool, key to understanding, window to the world, friend to all.

    Family tree that unifies all people and things.

    Lover of history, the arts, science, and all things good.

    Who feels the triumphs, victories, and downfalls of humankind.

    Who needs to be cared for and nurtured.

    Who fears ignorance and misuse.

    Who gives everything to all who ask.

    Inherent in all people.


    Version 2:


    Tool, key to understanding, window to the world, friend to all.

    Family tree that unifies all people and things.

    Lover of history, the arts, science, and all things good.

    Who feels the triumphs, victories, and downfalls of humankind.

    That needs to be cared for and nurtured.

    Who fears ignorance and misuse, yet gives everything to all who ask.

    Inherent in all people.


  • Rookie - 169 Points Melissa Robinson (1/17/2015 3:52:00 PM) Post reply


    These words are torn from the mind of the hopeless-
    Far to fragile to be spoken; repressed to self-destruction in motion.
    For their own sake I will insist I’m not broken
    as i alter each thought with methamphetamines narcotic potions.

    Terror reeks havoc every night in my dreams;
    My veins are the canvas, image them as they bleed.
    I keep my demons alive, for off my sorrow they feed-
    and my past repeats in my head as if in black and white scenes.

    I draw ice from my pipe- recall his grip, fearsomely tight,
    Then my world shatters around me; I must stay, I must fight.
    Each days darkest hour, each sullen night’s cries-
    Self-Infliction of pain is the only way I know I’m alive.

    Since my earliest of years I have craved suicide-
    images of nooses and razors infect the back of my mind.
    So don’t mourn for me, love, when I choose to die,
    each day on this earth amounts merely of much wasted time.

  • Rookie - 169 Points Melissa Robinson (1/16/2015 12:34:00 PM) Post reply | Read 2 replies

    Sick in the Head
    (Looking for members to read, rate and comment on poetry,
    I'll do the same.!)

    Empty inside, but not empty at mind-
    For i know this place is not my home.
    Not an ounce of this misery will mend with time-
    In the arms of loved ones, still I feel alone.

    Sick inside of my body, sick inside my mind-
    An illness that spreads deep into my bones.
    Not a thing changes with each waking sunrise-
    I've carved my fate into my tombstone.

    I can't find the strength to simply get out of bed,
    I feel ill in my body because i am sick in the head.
    My thoughts reek of anguish, contemplations of dread
    With an anecdote that has narrowed down only to death.

    But still I grasp hope, maybe one day I'll be fine.
    Don't cry for me, I'm returning home.
    To see bliss on this earth- my eyes, they fall blind.
    But as i fade from existence, i hear them cry, " please, don't go."

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 169 Points Robert Alston Jr (1/25/2015 5:00:00 AM) Post reply

      Such lamentation, and vividness. It is as if the speaker turns to the reader for comfort; for a deeper connection. But at the same time doubts there will ever be a connection or for that matter a bit ... more

    To read all of 2 replies click here
  • Rookie - 338 Points Susmita Kumari (1/13/2015 3:59:00 AM) Post reply | Read 1 reply

    please read this and give reviews.

    Last Moment

    the trumpets of sign of leaving begun,
    just some months left, to cry, miss
    the voyage that we' ve done till now

    the old memories haunts,
    move aside every now and then,
    fills the gaps formed in the deep of the never ending consuming mind,
    retrieve the thirst of the desert with little joys of tear,
    and soon it turns all black,
    the place where we learn, play
    and dream with all our crazy fantasies,
    sheded off quickly in the blink of eye

    the fostering of mind that have obtained
    cries loudly, deep in the core of the heart,
    strong enough to overcome, but afraid
    to take next stair of this new world

    world is like a up-down stairs,
    some falls, some lives,
    but the best part, it never stops
    whosoever may come, he' ve to go
    meet the real world, that falls aside you,
    challenges you, tries to find a place that suits you

    mind ponders it all through
    but who is responsible for this???
    yet don't know

    Replies for this message:
    • Rookie - 338 Points Melissa Robinson (1/16/2015 12:31:00 PM) Post reply

      There is minor grammer issues, but that doesn't matter much to me. It's a beautiful peice, Seeking answers in life, expressing it beautifully with carefully Chosen words. Good job.! ??????

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