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Young Writers Society


Why the Wolves Scream



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Tue Dec 20, 2011 5:05 am
creativityrules says...



We are all calling
out to the other voices who yell,
wanting to be heard,
to be told
that silence is the enemy,
not a normality or a friend.

Do you hear us?

My father told me that the wolves talk
when they scream at the moon,
because they see something
they cannot obtain,
and that they are asking the others
to come, armed with fangs
and blood hot with desire
to tear down the wretched thing.

I am a wolf with hollow eyes,
an enraged skeleton cloaked with skin
that lurks in the shadowed places, panting
as I desire it, desire him,
the celestial taunter who glares unseeingly through me,
unknowingly killing me.
“...it's better to feel the ache inside me like demons scratching at my heart than it is to feel numb the way a dead body feels when you touch it."

-Brian James
  





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Wed Dec 28, 2011 4:00 am
Meshugenah says...



I really, really like this - I'm just not sure what to do with the first two stanzas. I'm having a hard time relating them to the rest of this poem or to the title. They have an entirely different cadence to my ear, which makes it harder for me to relate them back to anything else you have here.

That aside, I do think you can improve your use of punctuation, instead of relying so heavily on commas. This is entirely hypocritical of me, since I tend to overuse and abuse commas in general, but this reads a bit too out-of-breath, I think? If that's your intent, then leave it! If not, see where you naturally pause when reading this aloud, and experiment with some dashes and semicolons and periods.

Anyway! I really enjoyed read this, and thanks for sharing!
***Under the Responsibility of S.P.E.W.***
(Sadistic Perplexion of Everyone's Wits)

Medieval Lit! Come here to find out who Chaucer plagiarized and translated - and why and how it worked in the late 1300s.

I <3 Rydia
  





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Tue Jan 03, 2012 2:47 pm
TheEstimableEelz says...



I liked this. It was a neat story about wolves and things. Forgive any lacks of clarity, I'm writing this on zero hours of rest, haha.

First things first, the "out" starting the second line would sound better ending the first. It flows better, and keeps more of a constancy between the lines in the first stanza, helping establish some sort of comfortable rhythm for the reader to wade into the depths of the poem.
I agree with Mesh in that the first two stanzas seem a bit unrelated, but I agree only partly. I think that if you made a few links within or even merely at the end of those stanzas the connectivity of your poem would greatly increase.

I like some of the lines particularly, with the way you enjamb them.
to come, armed with fangs
and blood hot with desire

These lines are, as my old professor would say, "hot." Pretty raw-sounding, especially with the line immediately following. Probably my favorite individual part of the poem.

I don't feel that there is much of an issue with punctuation, although one or two mid-line periods or semicolons could do you some good. Perhaps, for example,
My father told me that; the wolves talk

This would add some double meaning that could help meld the stanzas, easily and organically. The father might have told her the previous stanza, the following, or both - beautifully benign.

Overall, this was a nice piece, really sensual in places (expand perhaps or spin off into another piece?), and all-around lovely; the ending and aforementioned bits really beg for a sequel.. =D
Keep writing!
Formerly 'ilyaeelz.' Others experiment with drugs. I experiment with punctuation and grammar.

"Research your own experiences for the truth, absorb what is useful, reject what is useless, add what is specifically your own." - Bruce Lee
  








The tools of conquest do not necessarily come with bombs and explosions and fallout. There are weapons that are simply thoughts, attitudes, prejudices; to be found only in the minds of men. For the record, prejudices can kill, and suspicions can destroy. A thoughtless, frightened search for a scapegoat has a fallout all of its own.
— Rod Serling, Twilight Zone