A Civilization Dies (first poem to be reviewed)

[jasmine+clovers]

Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.



My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.

I will stay here, I think.

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.
I am pulled up from the ground.

“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”

I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.

He raised me, and so I follow.
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.

Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.

He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,
And two figures approach.

Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.

But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.

“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.

Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.

“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.

Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.

[Todd]

Hello, welcome to the site! Here are some comments for your consideration.

Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.

The title needs some more thought. If one of the surprising moments in the poem near the end is pretty much the title you lose a lot. Think of another aspect of the poem perhaps something that has tension pulling against the conclusion and work to construct a title from there.

My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.--This seems to suggest that this is somewhere the speaker wanted to set up roots and live, bury the heart seems to mean invest themselves in the land.
But here instead, I buried myself.--Nice parallel idea
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.--This opening is one of the better parts of the poem. I still think you could condense "I surrendered myself to the Day of Judgement (probably needs a capital Day)

I will stay here, I think.

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.--condense this. strong is a throw away word bring these lines together and you could have a good image.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.--unnecessary line. Let the voice simply speak. Don't announce it. If words are sparingly chosen you will see that in the text. Strong being reused at a minimum should be cut.
I am pulled up from the ground.--we sort of already get this idea at the opening of the strophe. If you wnt the ground in it blend it into the opening of this strophe

“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”--I'm not sure what T3aa means so this disconnects me from the poem. Perhaps translate in some way. Just a thought.

I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.--This is a little too telling with the characteristics. This line could probably be cut.

He raised me, and so I follow.--another possible line cut
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.--You've already introduced the dust. Maybe blend cobblestones in the above line and stick with the air here.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.--Is this truly important? Another possible cut line.

Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.--Nice
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,--You could condense to "tenements are in rubble"
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.--This is still an observation without the "and I see" type additions. It works better.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.--Is this truly important. Try not to get to connected to a linear narrative focus only on what needs to be here. What is important?

He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.--Adhan is a nice addition to set locale.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,--This needs to be rephrased a bit. I know what you mean but it isn't quite right.
And two figures approach.--Forget the lead up line just blend in the boy and girl here somehow.

Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.--Modifiers are not as good as a solid image. Find the right image to describe the clothes instead of multiple adjectives.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.--Not necessary

But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.--Condense this
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.--voice chokes is not quite enough. The dust from the street fills my mouth. Something more evocative.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.--Condense
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.

“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.--Show the emotion some other way. No holding back of tears it's too leading.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.

Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.--Probably too much dust at this point.

“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.--I like the language choices. I just would like you to demonstrate the speaker's reaction (after heaven) with an action instead of a shouting question. An action that demonstrates the emotion. Or focus on an image that captures it.

Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.--Show this.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.--Choose specific memories. This is the right idea but what you have is shorthand.
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.--Show don't tell.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.--Go one step further with this image push yourself to go one more level down.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.

I hope some of the comments helped.

Best,

Todd

[jasmine+clovers]

Hello, welcome to the site! Here are some comments for your consideration.

Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.

The title needs some more thought. If one of the surprising moments in the poem near the end is pretty much the title you lose a lot. Think of another aspect of the poem perhaps something that has tension pulling against the conclusion and work to construct a title from there.

My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.--This seems to suggest that this is somewhere the speaker wanted to set up roots and live, bury the heart seems to mean invest themselves in the land.
But here instead, I buried myself.--Nice parallel idea
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.--This opening is one of the better parts of the poem. I still think you could condense "I surrendered myself to the Day of Judgement (probably needs a capital Day)

I will stay here, I think.

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.--condense this. strong is a throw away word bring these lines together and you could have a good image.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.--unnecessary line. Let the voice simply speak. Don't announce it. If words are sparingly chosen you will see that in the text. Strong being reused at a minimum should be cut.
I am pulled up from the ground.--we sort of already get this idea at the opening of the strophe. If you wnt the ground in it blend it into the opening of this strophe

“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”--I'm not sure what T3aa means so this disconnects me from the poem. Perhaps translate in some way. Just a thought.

I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.--This is a little too telling with the characteristics. This line could probably be cut.

He raised me, and so I follow.--another possible line cut
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.--You've already introduced the dust. Maybe blend cobblestones in the above line and stick with the air here.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.--Is this truly important? Another possible cut line.

Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.--Nice
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,--You could condense to "tenements are in rubble"
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.--This is still an observation without the "and I see" type additions. It works better.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.--Is this truly important. Try not to get to connected to a linear narrative focus only on what needs to be here. What is important?

He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.--Adhan is a nice addition to set locale.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,--This needs to be rephrased a bit. I know what you mean but it isn't quite right.
And two figures approach.--Forget the lead up line just blend in the boy and girl here somehow.

Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.--Modifiers are not as good as a solid image. Find the right image to describe the clothes instead of multiple adjectives.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.--Not necessary

But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.--Condense this
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.--voice chokes is not quite enough. The dust from the street fills my mouth. Something more evocative.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.--Condense
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.

“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.--Show the emotion some other way. No holding back of tears it's too leading.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.

Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.--Probably too much dust at this point.

“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.--I like the language choices. I just would like you to demonstrate the speaker's reaction (after heaven) with an action instead of a shouting question. An action that demonstrates the emotion. Or focus on an image that captures it.

Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.--Show this.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.--Choose specific memories. This is the right idea but what you have is shorthand.
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.--Show don't tell.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.--Go one step further with this image push yourself to go one more level down.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.

I hope some of the comments helped.

Best,

Todd

Hello, Todd. Thanks so much for your critique. It will be very helpful with editing.

The line where it reads "I trip many times but over what I cannot tell" was supposed to be over dead bodies which the speaker doesn't realize at the time because of the dust/bad vision and also inner denial of the situation. I will have to make that more obvious.

Also, I agree I did use dust quite a lot. I wanted to set a scene where the dust symbolizes denial, ignorance, and not wanting to face the truth. Once it clears, that's when there's the horrible realization. I will also try and rethink this.

Thank you for being so thorough. Take care

[i.might.be.a.bit.sad]

Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.



My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement. <-- if you decide to go into present tense after this stanza, i would at least change the last lone of this stanza to present tense. It would help tie it in and make it seem less like a mistake.

I will stay here, I think.

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen. <--the two "then"s don't work for me...i would change or take away one of them
I am pulled up from the ground. <-- you have already been raised up by this line. Repetitive.

“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me” <-- is the 3 a typo?

I cough, the air is thick with dust all around, <-- this line doesn't work for me. maybe "I cough trying to breathe in the dust all around" or something with different syntax.
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.<-- try to think of different ways to describe. Here, you are telling us that he has kind eyes above protruding cheekbones, but it would be a lot more vivid if you SHOWED us that his soft eyes sat above cheekbones that were trying to escape thier confining skin or something like that (not that, please. its horrible).

He raised me, and so I follow. <--saved? helped? something other than raised again
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat. <-- maybe try a synonym to dust here
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.

Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.

He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence. <--try to delete one of the the's from this line
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets, <--again dust
And two figures approach.

Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.

But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets. <--where did the body come from?? wouldnt the N have passed it if it is behind them?? im a bit confused here.
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.

“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.

Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.

“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him. <-- if the kids disappeared and went to heaven, how does N know that here is heaven also? I would make this a little more clear. Are all the characters in heaven? Did the kids just die in the last stanza?

Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living. <--this is really nice
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else. <-- try a more descriptive word than memories
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.

Hope I wasn't too harsh. I really like that you chose to write about this subject matter, as i have never seen a poem in these terms before. The image that come to mind, of heaven being a wasteland and destroyed, is powerful. I really loved the read. Thank you!

[billy]

for me, the following is the backbone of the poem;

My face is pressed in earth,

In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.

I will stay here, I think.


Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here. no need for really
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”. how would it look if you left a line space and put “This is how a civilization dies”. on it's own line?

as it stands the above is a good enough read. most of what comes in between  however, diminishes/weakens it. taking out anything that's fluff
example;

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.

suddenly, hands calloused from life raise me up

you could edit out a large part of the poem and make what's left a more compelling read.

Hello, everyone! This is my first poem on here. I actually wrote it last night. There's not really any meter or style, I just kind of wrote it free form. I would definitely consider it a first draft and would love constructive feedback. It's very personal but I would still like to edit it and make it better. Thanks for reading.



My face is pressed in earth,
In the plot I picked to bury my heart.
But here instead, I buried myself.
I surrendered to wait for the day of Judgement.

I will stay here, I think.

Then suddenly a pair of strong hands raises me up.
They are calloused with time and work.
And then I hear a strong voice, with words sparingly chosen.
I am pulled up from the ground.

“T3aa ya Noor. Follow me”

I cough, the air is thick with dust all around,
But I can see the form of a man in front of me,
His face wrinkled and browned by the sun,
Harsh cheekbones protruding but kind eyes.

He raised me, and so I follow.
I am led through curving alleyways.
Cobblestones are blanketed with dust, the air thick with heat.
I trip many times but over what I cannot tell.

Dead vines cover garden walls like barbed wire.
I can make out the remnants of tenements in rubble,
And ancient columns fallen on the avenue.
The man still walks ahead of me, so I run to catch up.

He stops.
The faint echoes of adhan and church bells pierce the silence.
Somehow the dust begins to clear the streets,
And two figures approach.

Two children, a boy and a girl,
Their clothes are ragged, worn, and dirty.
They hold hands as they hop over heaps of rubble,
And come closer.

But to my surprise, they pass us without notice of our presence.
I turn to call out but then my voice chokes.
The girl turns over a body strewn across the street, checks the pockets.
The boy picks up a nearby AK47, checks the bullets.

“What happened here?” I ask, holding back tears.
“Ya Ein Mulayyetein…A catastrophe happened…” he replies.

Suddenly the children are gone, vanished in the dusty haze.

“Wait. Where are they?”
He turns to me, “In Sham,… In Halab… In Homs… In Hama…In Raqqa… In Idlib… In Deraa… In Jannah…”
“Jannah? In heaven? How could this be happening here?” I shout at him.

Disoriented, I know I cannot really be here.
I am a ghost but this is not the world of the living.
I close my eyes, try to recall sweetness, warmth, memories, anything else.
But yes, this is Souriya.

“They destroyed everything.” I say with tears falling down my cheek.
He embraces me. I see pain in every line and crease of his face.
“Yes,” my father says “This is how a civilization dies”.