Posts: 5
Threads: 2
Joined: Apr 2026
Out the glass panes
Winds slash waves
on a spring lake
The sunlight
repelled by gloom-
like phantoms
bore by people born
from different worlds.
One, grown out of the soil
looking up
One born in the sky
peering down
through clouds
Living in shifts
of coexistence
wearing leather hoods
to avoid each others eyes.
Terrified that they might
see their own contempts
reflection.
Sharp words escape
under whispered breaths
digging in the other’s neck
The one saving grace
in this house on the lake
is telling yourself
There are worse places
to be unhappy.
I have only been writing for about one month. All criticism is appreciated thank you!
Posts: 20
Threads: 4
Joined: Dec 2025
I found this disconcerting (which is a compliment, because you meant to make me -your reader- disconcerted). You set up the beginning nicely. Then you latch on to the two figures, using the word “like”. You tricked me a little bit. I thought the simile was over and you were going to talk more about the waves, the landscape. But you don’t. Instead you zoom in very close (very hostile) to the two figures. I don’t want to live in this lake house with you (this, too, is a compliment).
One thing I wonder. The leather hoods bit. It is detailed. It very pointedly gives your figures a 3-D presence, a breathing weight. It of course calls to mind the figure of the executioner, two mutual executioners in a death-dance evidently, by the end of your poem. But something about that detail of what they are wearing, or the way of phrasing it. It wobbled me a little past being disconcerted and started to pull me out of the scene a bit. I had to re-read that part over before proceeding.
I don’t have recommendations. It could be because you started to intellectualize or abstract your language in the line “of coexistence” but then zoomed back in to something very palpable and visceral: the leather hoods.
You have a strong start and I want to see your next draft! On a personal note, I live near one of the Great Lakes and lake houses are honestly so terrifying at night. Those waves! The sounds! Not picturesque, nope.
Posts: 468
Threads: 403
Joined: Sep 2014
Out the glass panes
Winds slash waves
on a spring lake
The sunlight
repelled by gloom-
like phantoms
bore by people born
from different worlds.
In this poem, what could make a big difference is working with what can be assumed without words.
Glass or panes, maybe waves and sun or light, phantoms (unless it can be more effectively bled into the context of the poem) can spawn a synonym trek, born or bore.
One, grown out of the soil
looking up
One born in the sky
peering down
through clouds
Living in shifts
of coexistence
wearing leather hoods
to avoid each others eyes.
Terrified that they might
see their own contempts
reflection.
Sharp words escape
under whispered breaths
digging in the other’s neck
The one saving grace
in this house on the lake
is telling yourself
There are worse places
to be unhappy.
The end of the poem is what people mean when they say cliche, but worse, as it is what the whole thing leads to and is founded on.
