Young Writers Society

These are blue words, sad songs
that men write in the snow between sips of scotch
and the hum of a lady’s voice on the radio. Man, can she sing the blues;
like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.
You see, this is how you write out your blues.

But no man can live by ink alone.

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

Because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks.

Hi Lumi!

Okay, this was the best stanza of the whole poem:

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

It's really powerful and driving and oh-so-intense. It moves really quickly. The rest of the poem kind of dawdles around, not sure of what to do. I mean, the first stanza is rather rambly (as opposed to being hard and driving) the second stanza is kind of like, "I AM A TRANSITION TO THE COOL PART." And the last line tries to combine the cool part with the intro part, but because the intro part is kind of awkward, it doesn't really work out as well.

Anyway, trim and/or rework your first stanza and you should see things getting better.

Just returning the favor, dear

Now I was wondering when I would stumble across something along these lines from you. Not that the poem is melodramatic or anything of that general sort. Merely, you have this original flourish to every piece, and then this one was the first one to remind me of another. It connected to a prior thought, whether intentional or not, and that's kind of interesting.

You see, when I was reading this, all I could think of was lady sings the blues. Your tone, as of late, has been melancholy and directed towards love, which makes me wonder where all of this inspiration is coming (though I wouldn't necessarily put this towards a romantic form of love). It all seems to ache, and the ache sort of continues on into every piece. Its haunting.

Now, dear, there is something particular about this piece that I liked and that I didn't like. First and foremost, I liked the way you create that sort of ache without letting anything through. There is no problem, nor solution. The reason is not laid bare for us to see, and yet it clear enough to form an opinion, which is definitely interesting.

The quiet observation of this is beautiful in its simplicity.

But what I found is that, in reading that second stanza, I became unsure of whether we spoke of the woman or the man. His opinion of her, or her opinion of herself. It was all very.. cold, and sad. Which is reason enough to love the poem, but also reason enough to not know where my opinion lies as well.

In certainty, I will say that I think you are brilliant.

One nit-pick, though, I must add in would be this;

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.

Next to the rest of the poem, these lines feel a little bit lifeless, as if the original comparisons sort of faded out and that you had so much excitement and spunk for the next stanza that you wished only to finish and introduce. Its pretty, aesthetically, but a bit superficial in retrospect.

Other than that, you're diction is superb.

Keep writing, hun. It would be a shame if you didn't.

~Walker

This is so simple, yet so absoloutly perfect. I loved the line "No man can live by ink alone" I also loved how you isolated it by making it a stanza on it's own. I also liked the closing line "because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks." because the references to angels and sirens made me think of old timey stories of tragedy and love, fitting perfectly with your theme. It had such an honest, melon-choly feel to it. Just beautiful.

Luuuuuumi,

I love this piece. I think it's very blues-y, and I'm wondering if the 6/8 refers to a particular time signature (though I'm not all that adept at music, so I wouldn't know.)

I do agree that first stanza can't hold a candle to the third. Though I do love:

Because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks.

Not so much liking the "fair" word-choice. I feel like it'd feel/read the same if you crossed out "fair" which stands to reason that there could be so many other word-choices that can be used instead. But what I love is the "sirens on the rocks" part. That double/triple meaning of the myth reference, the disaster-sound connotation, and a good old scotch to drown your worries with. <3 Love.

Your line breaks here:

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like

not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but

WHY break it here at all? And with inconsequential words/conjunction to boot. I can't find a reason. I'm not too big a fan of these kind of breaks, because it reads too
jagged. It's uncomfortable.

My two cents.

~ as always, Audy

Hiya! Your poem is great, that's why I'm here!

So that's all. I liked how your words exemplified things so colorfully and imaginatively, but still staying in the emotional, frozen stage.

The only thing I noticed about this work is the length of each verse. It seems like I'm reading sentences instead of lines, see.

That's all! Good work! Keep on writing!

Lumi, this was such a strong and emotional and descriptive and fantastic all around piece! I loved it so much! I loved how you used such powerful words and metaphors and everything! Just perfect in my opinion! I really liked this a lot!

Keep up the good work!!!! Happy Writing!


TuckEr EllsworTh

Lumilicious,

I dig it. Sort of. I really like the oh-so-subtle reference to Miles' All Blues. 6/8, blues, even the sirens motif. Cool. I think, however, that Snoink hit the nail on the head; it's as if you thought up a great little bit that turned into the third stanza, but struggled to make it stand up by itself. The first stanza has glimmers of your usual flair:

that men write in the snow between sips of scotch

and

like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.

I especially like the play of mourning and morning. But these two alone are not enough to save the day. They're pretty, but as Walker mentioned, the whole section just seems ill-considered, a mish-mash of images and technique that just sort of hangs together and doesn't actually go anywhere.

But no man can live by ink alone.

Ugh. That's like a kick in the guts. The sentiment is good, and the direction is there (finally), but it's unwieldy. Definitely needs refining. Think less sledge-hammer, more surgical scalpel.

As I mentioned above, you hit your stride in the third stanza. The first line had me hook, line, and sinker. It was easy to see exactly where you were going with it, but I don't care. You really seem to grit your teeth, get stuck in, and rip out great bleeding chunks. Awesome. This is what we all like to see.

But then you ruin all the good work. That last little off-hand lick just doesn't do anything for me. It's a bit of a trend around here to have a twist in the tail, and sometimes it's great. But man, I'm just not feeling it here. The juxtaposition of virtuous angels and villainous sirens is clever, and the throwback to scotch on the rocks in the first stanza earned a smile, but square pegs in round holes. It feels so contrived. It feels like it's superglued onto the end, rather than sitting nicely in its spot like it should. You're clever, you know how to fix this.

Finally, the picture. The jury is still out on that one. I definitely think it adds nothing, but whether it detracts or not is still undecided.

It's a rough draft Lumi. But I'm liking where you're going.

K.

I feel that former reviews ruined my opinion of this poem. I indeed enjoyed this poem, it's refreshing to read something that isn't cliche. I do agree with the reviewers above, I think that midway through was when the strenght showed in this poem. The last stanza brought tears to my eyes simply because it was so beatiful. I love how you connect with the reader, it's almost like you talking to us with pictures.

(Sighs) You have so much talent my friend, anyone would be lucky to be so blessed with your talent. I really did enjoy this and must stalk your writing now ^_^.

-Flow-

That was beautiful! Really, really emotive!
The descriptive language features you used were very effective.

this particular part flowed really well:

These are blue words, sad songs
that men write in the snow between sips of scotch
and the hum of a lady’s voice on the radio. Man, can she sing the blues;
like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder.
You see, this is how you write out your blues.

But no man can live by ink alone.

"No man can live by ink alone."
If that's not beautiful, I don't know what is.
Well done!

NightWriter x

I love this! I thought the imagry was great and I really like the subject. You had a smart choice of language here and I especially loved the "mourning bird" reference. I look forward to seeing more of your work in the future

These are blue words, sad songs
that men write in the snow between sips of scotch
and the hum of a lady’s voice on the radio. Man, can she sing the blues;
like a mourning bird in the early dawn, like
a whisper between cracks of thunder. <<<<<Loved this
You see, this is how you write out your blues.

But no man can live by ink alone. <<<<And this!

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

Because they’re fair angels, those singers, like sirens on the rocks.

Hello Lumi , Farz here !

Oh my god. This is a very touching poem. I love reading poems and this one is so simple and inspiring yet so perfect.
My favourite part of the poem is the part where it says

So say it’s the blush behind the powder, the blood behind the blush
that makes men hurt. It’s not in their hearts or their fingers,
not in their jaws or necks or backs. It’s not a pain of labor, but
a smoulder of misery beneath their eyelids
when they remember what her face looked like.

Very powerful poem and the way it has been written is just brilliant...

GOOD JOB!