# Sweet Child of Me



## Tiamat384 (Mar 7, 2016)

A poem(?) about me and my life. I won't say more, but I hope you enjoy.

The light of the Sun, its first touch on my skin, as glorious as being held for the very first time by my mother. A wonder, just what those moments were like, what those days were for. A few glimpses in mind, a few I can see. I love that child, sweet child of me. 

Now those days are past and the Sun is smaller than before and a wind picks up speed as we fly away from home. Far far away...Too late to return to what was and what may never be again.

There used to be three and then there were two away from our home, away from our dreams, where we were always meant to be. Now one has left, yet to die to me, but I did not know, still a sweet child of me.

I dream, never a child should dream the dreams that I dreamed of terror and horror that that sweet child of me deemed to be reality. A child to be cuddled and warmed, to be joyous and brave, not with the tears and the fears that swallowed my sleep. 

Now I can see, the deep blue below as I fly, fly, fly to my home. Growing up fast, growing up slow; love to me could never be told, only be shown. And I alone, as one, flying, flying to my home, hugging that which gave to me the second of the two.

What a short time back at my home. What should be eternity, days. Here in my home to find that I little by little no longer that child, no more sweet child of me. Guitars, bass and drums roared in my ears as gods denounced by immortals with long hair. As tyrants denounced by those with less steam. 

Still, the sweet child of me, that is no longer, no more a child, found inspiration in sorrow and whirled for years alone, in silence and in known words, a world of despair. But when time for home came round love was found and when home was gone, the second of two was there.

That first love strange and short, but I, I dreamed of a new home, of a new form of three, only more. What sorrow, what sorrow crossed the land and tears like rain on that very first eve, but no more, no more, no more rain. Dark clouds covered the blue sky, but with lightning strikes dispelled! 

That final time to be at home...oh what then had happened? Time after...and a second love came. This one sweet and how it came to be! Well marvel and wonder that the gods must be true! Under the sky where white crystals were spawning and the wind coldly passed by I said three words...and so it was done.

This love another tragedy, another to end. This one with length, but time not enough, and kisses and embraces, never felt more...

Still this final epoch continues. No search for new. Realization. Love comes when it comes.


----------



## Darkkin (Mar 7, 2016)

This is feels like prose.  Poetry, even free verse and prose versions have delineating elements, like stanzas and enjambment.  It is more condensed and concise.  With this you're edging into boggy ground, without much progress in any direction.  Take a critical look at each statement, each clause...What is its purpose?  What does it tell the reader?  Does it explain anything or is it filler, an attempt to sound poetic?  As a reader, the latter seems to be be case.  This is why editing is a must.  Prune, savagely...Be ruthless if necessary, but establish your imagery and meaning.  Make this cohesive because right now this is reading as an ambiguous collage of mythologies and sentiment.  

Define your parameters and try to engage the reader's empathy.  Currently, that is my biggest issue.  The writing doesn't establish a link with the reader. You are telling the reader this is a sweet child, but the reader doesn't have proof to quantify that.  You need to make the reader believe it.  You're heavy on sentiment and light on quantifiables.  Look for balance in writing.

- D. the T.


----------



## Tiamat384 (Mar 7, 2016)

Since when is writing based on quantifiables? Especially poetry. Such is absurd. As to the poetry-prose debate you are right it is boggy? I'm assuming middle ground, but then with your arguments the Iliad and the Odyssey are not poems. Unless my memory is truly horrid a not epic is a form of poetry. And yes each line means something, none of which is filler as to empathy, no. This is not about being a sweet child.


----------



## Darkkin (Mar 7, 2016)

The Iliad and the Odyssey are epic narratives, done in verse with defined parameters and quantifiable mythologies.  _The Divine Comedy_ and _Virgil_, as well.  So too, are the epics of Gilgamesh and _Beowulf._  I fail to see the congruency between those and this.  You posted for critique and critique is opinion and observations, subject to the reader's perception.

Good poetry has delineation, it isn't ambiguous or so obscure that only the writer knows what it means.  It takes many forms, yes, but it has quantifiable properties and elements.  Look for balance.  And a reader's empathy is what makes them continue reading...

Also, the poetry discussion forum is further down the boards.

Take some time and look into prose poetry of established poets.  Mary Oliver is decent, so is T.S. Eliot, and Charles Bukowski.


----------



## Tiamat384 (Mar 7, 2016)

Literally means what it says.


----------



## Darkkin (Mar 7, 2016)

That would be the basic function of words.  To say what they mean, but the style is rambling and more than a bit generic, even as prose. Ask yourself, what about this makes it unique?  Where is your voice as the writer?  You have a plethora of cliches and contradictions that negate prior statements.  How does this add to the piece?  You write yourself in a circle, going nowhere.

Consider too, one of the beauties of writing is the possibility for progress.  To be able to move forward, both figuratively and literally.

Determine what you want the piece to embody.  Define the piece to yourself first and foremost.  Figure out if you want it to be, poetry or prose.  You said this was about your life, currently, it could apply to just about anyone.  Let the reader hear your voice, _show_ us that it is about _you_, not some guy from the latest power ballad on the radio.

Connect with the reader, beyond a simple scrolling browse on a media feed.  Good writing has layers, depth.  It is for you to add the depth, to illustrate the layers and allow the reader to see the piece as you envision it.


----------



## aj47 (Mar 7, 2016)

Tiamat384 said:


> A poem(?) about me and my life. I won't say more, but I hope you enjoy.
> 
> The light of the Sun, its first touch on my skin, as glorious as being held for the very first time by my mother that first time. A wonder, just what those moments were like, what those days were for. A few glimpses in mind, a few I can see. I love that child, ... sweet child of me.



You have *way* too many words--that's why it reads as prose rather than poetry.  The extra words dilute your voice, your intent, your power.

I'm also not disagreeing with anything Darkkin says.  I think her points are all valid, but rather than rubber-stamping her words, I wanted to demonstrate my take on exactly why what she says is true.

You probably have something valuable to say here.  Otherwise, why are you sharing it with the world?  The problem is, your medium of communication is muddled so your message is not getting through.  

An idea on how to improve this is to make bullet points of what you want to convey and then craft each into a stanza. Either use one unifying image or use one image per stanza that are connected somehow into a theme.  

I would really like to see what this is once you've put some work into it.  Right now, the connection between writer and reader is not being made.


----------



## PrinzeCharming (Mar 7, 2016)

*Hey Nicholas,*

I am going to give you as much advice and *feedback *as possible. Now, that you've experienced critiques for technicality, I am going to dive into my own method. 

The *subject of feedback *will be in blue. Anything added, removed or suggested will be red.




Tiamat384 said:


> A poem(?) about me and my life. I won't say more, but I hope you enjoy.



I am looking forward to it. Thanks. 



Tiamat384 said:


> The light of the Sun, its first touch on my skin* [1]*, as glorious as being held for the very first time by my mother. *[2]* A wonder, just what those moments were like, what those days were for. *[3] *A few glimpses in mind, a few I can see. I love that child, sweet child of me.



I love the relationship conveyed here between you and your mother. It's warm, vibrant, and full of life. It's a sentimental touch with verbosity. Let me explain further. "The light of the Sun" has a beautiful feeling behind it. It's warmth guiding the reader into the work you provided. Although this opens the reader into a memory, is it necessary for stating the obvious? This is no different to saying, "The breeze of the wind." The Sun is essentially an implied source of light. It is _the _light. As you dive deeper, I am immediately seeing myself in the hospital room with the windows casting rays of light against a newborn. Now, depending how you want this structured, we can shave off a few words to make it a solid piece. 

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 

[1]* The Sun's first touch against my skin 
*[2] *swaddled with mom's love 
*[3] *Questioning existence 




Tiamat384 said:


> Now those days are past *[4]* and the Sun is smaller than before *[5] *and a wind picks up speed as we fly away from home. Far far away...Too late to return to what was and what may never be again.* [6]*



I like the overall concept here. I am not sure about the sun being smaller. I had to scratch my head on that thought. The idea of flying is intriguing. It's a literary device to suggest someone is moving ahead and away from something. It can imply strength, character and maturity. Again, we see a lot of words here to covey the past, elements of life (fire and air), and the cycle of life. 


*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 
*

*[4]* Blurred memories from the distant past 
*[5] *Unless you can let the reader know why the Sun is smaller, this is confusing for someone taking it literal  
*[6]* Why are we flying? Define home. What's not going to be again? The relationship with your mother the minute you were born or the fact that you're older? A theme of lost innocence? 





Tiamat384 said:


> There used to be Three and then there were two away from our home, *[7]* away from our dreams, where we were always meant to be. *[8] *Now One has left, yet to die to me, but I did not know, still a sweet child of me.* [9] *



Okay, this is becoming more of the desired message to address to your readers. I am sorry you're feeling this way. In the sense of birds, the babies are old enough to fly out of their nest. I love the word choice here. I am going to emphasize on this for anyone who might have read over it. "_*Our *_home, _*our *_dreams, where _*we *_were _*always *_meant to be." 

I cannot emphasize enough on the passion here. A sense of love, family values, and ties are drawn into this piece. A sign of possession and fate provide the foundation for this segment. The death of someone is transparent as the death of someone's existence in another person's life. Your life. They're not dead, but they are - emotionally and physically - to you. This is beautifully crafted with raw emotions. I can sense the gap between you and this person. I can sense the loss without being a literal loss. A loss in time, wanting to go back and make things right. A loss in communication, wanting to go back and say what needed to be said. Perhaps, erasing what has been said and replacing it with what was meant to be said. Strong. Great job!

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 
*
*[7]* Try to break this down a bit. "Two of the three left home" approach. 
*[8] *Unless you can expand on the reason to bring up the dreams, the dreams are just dreams. Everyone has them. This may leave the reader clueless. 
*[9] *If you want to convey naivety and innocence, under the impression someone is leaving your life, try to refine it to convey the message effectively. You have a beautifully crafted concept but the structure falls apart. Imagine a flower inside a cracked vase. We want to spend more enough and admiration for the flower, but the vase (structure holding the flower in place) is taking the spotlight. 




Tiamat384 said:


> I dream, never a child should dream the dreams that I dreamed *[10]* of terror and horror that that sweet child of me deemed to be reality. *[11] *A child to be cuddled and warmed, to be joyous and brave, not with the tears and the fears that swallowed my sleep. *[12]*



I like the _*trial *_of the creativity, but here's the _*error*_. It's a tongue twister. 

"I *dream*, never a child should *dream, *the *dreams *that I *dreamed" *

In addition, it's a whole bunch of redundancy. As the reader, I can empathize on the fact that I should empathize for empathy, you know? It's like that. We get that a child shouldn't dream these dreams that were dreamed. But what makes these dreams not suitable for children? All we can feel is the terror and horror, but we have a hard time connecting the pieces together. It's like throwing something against the mirror. Was it out of anger to release tension or something you saw? We can value a dream for its existence, but without any understanding of what was dreamed - it's simply as a bad dream (a nightmare). The sweet child of me is a theme, but I feel like it gets in the way rather than the essential piece of conveying naivety and innocence. This entire struggle is something meaningful to you, but it's difficult on my end to understand. I admire the sentimental touch with the necessities of a child's life. I love the word choice - "swallowed my sleep" - very powerful. 

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 


[10] *Refine this. *Omit *the dreams, and go straight to describing the dreams. *
[11] *You can refine this as well. Omit deemed to be reality. It's heavy and it's not needed. *
[12] *Although it's nice to understand what children need, what do YOU need? Make this more personal for you here. 




Tiamat384 said:


> Now I can see,  The deep blue below as I fly, fly, fly to my home. Growing up fast, growing up slow; *[13]* love to me could never be told, only be shown. *[14] *And I alone, as one, flying, flying to my home, hugging that which gave to me the second of the two.* [15]*




Okay, so we're flying over an ocean going back home. Why are we going back home? Are we flying back home from the previously said dreams? Just come out and say you're flying over the ocean. I like the freedom to travel to a "security blanket" but the verbosity is sucking the strength of this piece. The lapse of time is important, and I admire it, but it's still uncertain why it's important to bring up. I admire the unconditional love expressed here. The last bit is confusing. Hugging throws it all off. Did we miss something here? 


*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 

[13] *Is it an ocean? *Say *it's an ocean. Deep blue / deep black = anything deep in color can be something powerful. Ocean. Abyss. Black holes. Don't lose the connection with the reader. Express it. Own it. Sell it. *
[14]*  This is about unconditional love. Express it as that way. *
[15] *Just come out and say you're flying solo. Literally, just let us know you're alone. Unless you explain the last part, *omit *it. It takes value away from flying solo.



Tiamat384 said:


> What a short time back at my home. What should be eternity, days. *[16]* Here in my home to find that I  little by little am no longer that child, no more sweet child of me. *[17]* Guitars, bass and drums roared in my ears as gods denounced by immortals with long hair. As tyrants denounced by those with less steam.*[18]*



The flight is over, we're home, and we're now walking through a _museum of memories._  Our own childhood home. This is beautifully crafted until we reach further into this segment. You take a lot away from the sentimental feeling freshly introduced. You introduced your reader into a world of _personalized history_. We had something, and now it's lost. You dive into the *time *rather than the *place*. Although it was a brief visit, explain what happened. It feels like I was invited over a friend's house just to see the front door. Invite your reader _*inside*_. The music has a nice vibe, full of possible talent perhaps lost or an entrance into memorable times, but the gods threw me off. The hair - I'm done. I'm lost. The last bit threw me out of the house or into the basement. Dark. Completely gone from the scene. Everything you beautifully crafted in the beginning is now questionable and drifting my attention to asking, "Why does this matter?" We were just flying solo, and now we're tossing around the theme of time instead of the importance. 


*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 
*
*[16]* Okay, I get it. It has been a while. Don't emphasize the importance of distance and time, but the reason why you came home. 
*[17]* We already know you're home. Invite us into the memories. You realize you're older now. I like the reality check, but it was short lived. Expand this. 
*[18] *The music was nice, until the gods came home. I mean, seriously, why are they invited? This is your home. This is the reason why this literary piece exists. Make it shine. 




Tiamat384 said:


> Still,  The sweet child of me, that is no longer, no more a child, found inspiration in sorrow and whirled for years alone, *[19]* in silence and in known words, a world of despair. But  When time for home came round love was found and when home was gone, *[20]*the second of two was there. *[21] *



So, we travel from memories of childbirth to your nest where love and everything was fostered. Now, we're _*still *_emphasizing on the time lapse, the life cycle of a child becoming an adult, and the indirect implication that life is too short. We bring up the sorrow (from the nightmares) without any solid purpose. The whole fuzzy warm feeling of being home is now becoming obsolete. We're now seeing the world as corrupted and miserable. Perhaps, the child is corrupted and miserable. The child wants their life back. When the child grew up too fast, time was not handled effectively. This could be expressing regret, guilt, and self-discovery. Self-discovery of being someone that deserved a better outcome. Now,  we can only access memories instead of realities. The child is now an adult living in a life without love. This is a strong piece with lots of potential, but there has to be some structure in here to reach to others about the raw feelings enclosed. 


*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 
*
*[19] Omit *"that is no longer" as it's followed by another negative. Not necessary. 
*[20] **Omit *"and in known words" and understand "a world of despair" is vague. They might be known words, but everyone has a different perspective and possibly even more tragic experience.  *Omit *the filler, "but" and capitalize the following letter. You can refine this and make it a stronger sentence. 
*[21] Omit *this line. When you refine the previous *[20]*, you don't need to worry about this area. 



Tiamat384 said:


> That first love strange and short, but I, I dreamed of a new home, of a new form of three, only more. *[22] *What sorrow,  What sorrow crossed the land and tears like rain on that very first eve, but no more, no more, no more rain. *[23]* Dark clouds covered the blue sky, but with lightning strikes dispelled! *[24]*



Okay, so the childhood home is the first love. It's strange because - it was new, fresh and alive at one point? A materialistic love? A love simply for the sake of providing security? The duration is still questionable. Why is everyone moving from this home? Is it simply for the sake of age? Growing old and apart from each other? However, you dream of a new home. A new form of three - a family of your own? The sorrow bit causes a detour. It's poetic, in a sense, but it's not aiding to the fact that you dreamed of a new home and caring for a family of your own. The rain is symbolic, but it's confusing. Sorrow. Rain. It's just raining on a beautiful raw segment. Lastly, I know what it's like to create fluffed up imagery, but it's an unknown inspiration or interpretation. I like the visual image of the dark clouds. The dark clouds represent the questionable sorrow. The blue sky is what you once had before the clouds came through. The love before the despair. The lightning is essentially the conflict that broke the world apart. I understand it, but not many will without further analysis. It's a strong piece of emotion, but it's still uncertain. 


*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 


[22] *I admire the connection to the previous home. It's a natural separation. I faced it multiple times before. I'll be facing it again, and possibly a whole new geographical (country) change. I am not sure if this is implying a new family. 
*[23]* *Omit *"what sorrow" and capitalize the following letter. The reader can grieve with you without the redundancy. Although this is a nice touch, it's confusing. Explain this sorrow. At this point, all I know is that the sorrow is from people separating from each other and if the nightmares are separate or correlated - then that's all I know. 
*[24] *As I said previously, I admire the poetic part of this, but it's sugarcoated and vague. Unless you can explain to the reader why this is important, *omit *it. 




Tiamat384 said:


> That final time to be at home...oh what  then had happened? Time after...and a second love came. This one sweet and how it came to be! *[25] *Well marvel and wonder that the gods must be true!  *[26] *Under the sky where white crystals were spawning and the wind coldly passed by I said three words...and so it was done. *[27]*



I can admire the transitional period for you, but this can be expressed effectively without all the extra words. The connection with the gods is a matter of opinion, and does not add anything to the transition from old home to new home. It's just an added value to discovering a new home. If someone tries hard enough, they'll do the same. The white crystals threw me off. Are you trying to imply stars? The last part can be strengthened and straight to the point. 

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching: 

[25] Omit *to be. *Omit *then. This is describing the next move. The next love. The next home or as I said earlier - _museum of memories_. You can cut this down a lot just to say just that. *
[26] *This _*adds *_nothing to the existence of the new home. It's stating personal beliefs and overwhelmed enthusiasm. It steps away from the value of transitioning home to home, and loses focus. What makes this home any better? The reader needs to understand the importance. We can't see it unless you describe it. *
[27]* White crystals? I immediately thought - stars. Yet, you state they're _*under *_the sky. That threw me off. What are these crystals? Stars? How _*under *_are we talking from the *high* sky? You see what I mean? Yet, spawning implies being randomly placed. This sentence can be refined and made clear. The three words seems vague and cliché. Whether it's "I love you" or something close, the exaggeration isn't necessary. We can feel the emotion you do. It's a big step into the world. We understand.



Tiamat384 said:


> This love another tragedy, another to end.  *[28]* This one with length, but  time not enough *insufficient time,* *[29]* and kisses and embraces, never felt more...* [30]*



I can understand why it's a tragedy in the sense of leaving, literally, the comfort of your own home. The emphasis of another tragedy to end seems a bit overwhelming. We understand there's a lot of emotional concern here. We're not sure about the other tragedies yet an idea of what they could be. So, the transition to move was cut short yet the length throws me off. Length implies length. Time implies length of time. Is it not? I am confused here. I admire the emotion, but still not sure what's going on. 

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching:
*
*[28]* Refine this. I understand a lot is going on, but there's uncertainty. I get the _*love*_ is a *new home*, but the previous concern is murky. 
*[29]* one with length = prolonged, extended. Try to cut down on the filler words. You can craft a powerful piece without them, delivering the same message.  Instead of "time not enough," insufficient time? 
*[30] *I admire the emotion here, but where are these kisses and embraces coming from? Your mother? 



Tiamat384 said:


> Still  This final epoch continues.* [31]* No search for new. Realization. *[32]* Love comes when it comes. *[33] *



You say the _*final *_epoch, but you state it _*continues*_. How is something finalized yet progressing? I can understand the comfort of moving into a new environment, but this completely throws me off. You imply and define finding love as moving into a new home. You are now realizing you're at a stable time. However, you now imply that it persists. So, what is it? What's going on? 

*Possible Suggestions / Idea Branching:

[31] Omit *still and capitalize the following letter. *
[32] *Why are we still searching? What are we searching for at this point? Just come out and say you realized you're at your final stage to grow from the past. *
[33] *But in context, love to you is explained through homes. This is also with what I've been telling you previously when you brought up the gods. Is this necessary? It's confusing. Why are we still searching for a new home? 


*The Final Impression of the ENTIRE Piece: 
*

_Coming Soon! _


----------



## Mesafalcon (Mar 8, 2016)

So close to a GNR song...

_PrinzeCharming, that is a long detailed post. Wow. You're a good mentor I'd say._


----------



## Nellie (Mar 9, 2016)

Mesafalcon said:


> _PrinzeCharming, that is a long detailed post. Wow. _



Too many details, IMO. Too long and detailed that I didn't finish reading. 

And I have a question for all you who have critiqued: Isn't prose a form of poetry, just the same as haiku is considered a form of poetry? 

Here is what I found from the Academy of American Poets:



> *Prose Poem
> [FONT=founders_grotesk_textlight]While it lacks the line breaks associated with poetry, the prose poem maintains a poetic quality, often utilizing techniques common to poetry, such as fragmentation, compression, repetition, and rhyme. The prose poem can range in length from a few lines to several pages long, and it may explore a limitless array of styles and subjects.
> [/FONT][FONT=founders_grotesk_textlight]
> "The Prose Poem" is an example of the form; it begins:
> ...


----------



## Darkkin (Mar 9, 2016)

You've highlighted the difference between prose and a prose poem.  The key being the poetic elements and condensed word play, nicely illustrated by your post.


----------



## aj47 (Mar 9, 2016)

Academy of American Poets (apparently) said:
			
		

> *[FONT=founders_grotesk_textlight]While it lacks the line breaks associated with poetry, the prose poem maintains a poetic quality, often utilizing techniques common to poetry, such as fragmentation, compression, repetition, and rhyme. The prose poem can range in length from a few lines to several pages long, and it may explore a limitless array of styles and subjects.[/FONT]*


(emphasis mine)

Exactly so, Nellie.  Good spot.  That's why I wasn't on about line breaks, but about the poetic aspects.


----------



## PrinzeCharming (Mar 9, 2016)

Mesafalcon said:


> So close to a GNR song...
> 
> _PrinzeCharming, that is a long detailed post. Wow. You're a good mentor I'd say._



Thank you. I appreciate that. 



Nellie said:


> Too many details, IMO. Too long and detailed that I didn't finish reading.
> 
> And I have a question for all you who have critiqued: Isn't prose a form of poetry, just the same as haiku is considered a form of poetry?
> 
> Here is what I found from the Academy of American Poets:



Nellie, I am sorry you felt that way. I am sorry I have caused an inconvenience to cease further reading. I am curious. Is there a limit on feedback if it promotes growth and understanding of one's cognitive abilities?


----------



## Nellie (Mar 9, 2016)

PrinzeCharming said:


> Nellie, I am sorry you felt that way. I am sorry I have caused an inconvenience to cease further reading. I am curious. Is there a limit on feedback if it promotes growth and understanding of one's cognitive abilities?



My cognitive abilities are a bit compromised, due to ADD. That is why I like things short and to the point.


----------



## Mesafalcon (Mar 10, 2016)

Nellie said:


> Too many details, IMO. Too long and detailed that I didn't finish reading.



Well, Nellie, I think you have a point that a critique thats too long won't be read. But, its still good effort on Prinze's (he is a mentor afterall) part and as long as the OP reads it and gets some value from it, cool.


----------



## escorial (Mar 13, 2016)

i never read it as a piece of poetry....looking at it for the first time i knew i would read to the end but my poetic experience was lost..good read though


----------

