This is a sad one. But I guess many boys would be like that. Although luckily, there are several who are quite respectful too.
Haha, love this!!
Been writing poems since 2016, and my style has evolved over time. If you read throug my poetry collections on Wattpad, you’ll know what I mean.
I must’ve read too much of certain type of poetry because at first glance I associated this stanza as a depiction of an empowered or furious woman…something along the lines of “hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” (but that’s error on my part)
I like the alliteration here and the stanza as well. Very strong word choice & imagery
I really liked this as well
only thing I can suggest is, maybe use a comma? It’s a little easier on the eyes or use line breaks, but I can also see how you can create (a sense of) urgency without using punctuation (italicization can replace that/ mimic if you do decide to use punctuation)
Overall not a bad poem, some very strong imagery and strong, bold words that evoked strong reactions.
sorry I wasn’t able to offer more help as I’m not skilled at poetry nor good at critique, so I can’t offer you much help on how to better it.
As for the title, is the focus of the poem on the phobia of spiders or the nightmare & having nightmares? I’d try to perhaps use a title that emphasizes the topic/theme.
aw, thank you!
to further add, this is the strongest metaphor & line in the poem. A very unique and interesting imagery & metaphor, I’ve never seen something like this. I also liked the irony it incorporates.
HOLY WOW THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE HELP and for the compliments haha
that was more than i could possibly ask for!
I can see how you you thought that lol
I was going to, but a friend of mine suggested i don’t use them to create urgency, like you said. I’ll probably change it to punctuated though. It would probably help
what you gave me was honestly perfect so dw
I titled it ‘An Arachnophobe’s Nightmare’, based on your advice.
Thank you so much! I really appreciate it!
The ancient oak reached upwards,
Branches sturdy and strong.
The leaves held withered pictures,
Lost for far too long.
The bark wrapped like blankets,
Around the huge trunk of old.
The roots stretched through the frigid dirt,
As my cheeks stung from the cold.
Wool encased my hands,
The red a shocking sight.
Against the bland around,
Shrouded in the light.
I laid my palm against the tree
The rough bark strangely smooth.
I saw a young me sitting down,
Recalling to my youth.
I remembered picking apples,
From the other trees nearby.
But from this one in specific,
I would watch the world drift by.
Under the bough of tales and times,
I would sit and stare.
I had watched a thousand birds
Flying through the air.
Soaring among the winds of life,
The birds would hoot and call.
Searching for their lifely mate,
And hiding from the squall.
Every morning since my youth,
I would take the daily trek.
To sit up here and remove the weight
Of life bearing on my neck.
It wasn’t just me who walked,
To the top of the hill and back.
The ones I loved through blood,
Would often stay ‘till black.
We loved this tree forever,
My parents and sister’s delight.
And now I am the only one,
Who walks the path tonight.
The chill digs through my skin,
And down to my bones.
I stand amidst the base of the tree,
Accompanied only by stones.
The large grey slabs were carved,
With names I knew by heart.
The game of life is sometimes cruel,
But always is an art.
My joints ached with withered age,
Begging for a younger time.
One that could reach the top,
One that could make the climb.
I leaned my third leg against the tree,
The handle worn from it’s trial.
Then lowered myself amidst the stones,
So I could stay a while.
(I made this one as part of a final project in Writer’s Craft, along with a bunch of other stuff. I just happened to still have the file for it. Guess it comes full circle.)
You’re so talented! The figurative language didn’t fully make sense till the end, but when it did, the meaning in its magnanimity left my eyes wide and mouth hanging open. Great job!
I’ve had people tell me how to write,
It was so annoying, it made me feel
Like a horrible writer because
I thought they were right
To think such things about me.
My self-esteem was lowered,
Having been reduced to nothingness,
My confidence completely lacking,
Losing all motivation to construct
Any piece of writing due
To fear of getting criticized.
For all the times I thought
I was displaying great talent,
Those times I thought I deserved
An audience to see my work,
I was shunned, told that I wasn’t good enough.
I believed them, believed every
Word they said, so I got better
Or at least I thought I did,
Either way, I was conforming
To their standards.
But no matter what I did,
People were displeased,
I tried to meet the standards
Of what they deemed to be
The perfect writer,
But no matter what,
They still criticized me.
My style changed because of people,
I’m not sure if my style was ever unique
Because they were dependent
On my audience’s opinions.
Honestly, most of the people
Who read my stuff never said
Anything negative about my writings,
Fact is, most said positive stuff.
Sure most had positive things to say,
But I always went with the minority
Because I thought they were right,
Thought they weren’t gullible readers,
Thought they knew what
They were talking about.
Even to this day,
I am a victim of people’s criticisms,
I try to improve for them,
At least I think I am,
But I have to ask myself if I’m really.
What if my writing is fine the way it is?
What if the fact that I’m listening
To people’s criticisms is ruining
My style, ruining the chance
Of developing a style so unique
That I stand out among people?
That’s a question I must ask myself,
Answer in detail, but alas,
There’s another question I must ask.
How different would my style be
If I didn’t listen to people’s
Advice on how to write?
Would I be a better writer,
Worse writer, who knows?
I don’t know the answer to such questions,
All I can say is that my style
Would be different, it is the best
I could say, I can’t be certain.
What can I do now?
My confidence is low,
My doubts of being a great writer
Is stronger than ever.
It makes me question
If writing is even worth my time.
Maybe I should find another interest,
Writing was once my calling,
That was until the haters
Ruined everything for me,
Now I just sit in my room and mope.
I gotta ask myself,
What is my life without writing,
How will it look like without writing,
Who will I be without writing?
I’ve been writing for a long time,
So long that it would feel weird,
But what choice do I have?
I can either continue
Or find a new interest,
In either case, I risk losing my mind.
you can create 2 different versions of the poems (for visual reference), and compare them side by side to see which works best.
Another example with punctuation is to use commas but remove the space between commas
Her arms,her legs,her torso,her chest
Her arms,her legs,her torso,her chest
Hmm visually seeing it now I’m not too sure.
Honestly, not using punctuation can also be a stylistic choice, especially if done with intent
I suggest getting a second opinion. Furthermore, seeing the sentence and punctuation choices you decided to use incorporated in the whole poem will be easier to judge.
Alright, glad I could be of help and no problem
I’ve came up with a small list of titles last night. Nothing too great. But if you still wanna see it to bounce off ideas let me know
I’m glad everyone is liking my thread!
i did change it to that and it seems easier to read
hit me with them!
its a cool thread
I’m glad you think so!
Dead Of Night
Disturbing My Sleep
Dream Death Traps
2:00 AM (or any other number)
Eight-Legged Creatures of the Night
Can’t Fall Asleep
Can’t Escape The Terror
and then the first words that came into my head when reading the poem:
Creepy Critters Crawling
How Phobias Lead To Insomnia
& sleep vampires that drain your energy
Whoaaaaaa that’s a lot
but if you don’t mind, I’ll stick with ‘an arachnophobe’s nightmare’ haha
nah of course I don’t mind - it’s your poem
good luck with the contest!
Tiny poem I came up with at class:
Dead eyed children
Sit in their classes
Driven by ambition-
But not theirs.
Mom and Dad watch
Their every motion.