The Devourer

[RyanRader13]

I feel I've been beating around the bush too much with some of the things I've been posting. I'm still a little shaky on how much I should do my own thing. I'm not used to anybody really liking or paying attention to my work and I don't mind negative opinions I just want opinions at all. So here is a small little narrative and I apologize in advance, this is an 'egg' (courtesy of tectak) It's gonna be long so tell me what to keep and what to scrap

here is a visual reference
https://scontent-b-dfw.xx.fbcdn.net/hpho...9400_n.jpg

I stumble,
dead and cold,
through the pitch black of
cardboard and concrete woods.
Beneath the stairs I catch my breath
And I have to wonder,
where am I?

I look,
up the long and dreadful terrace,
the stinging stone grey,
and smell of hard water,
the buzzing of the flaring heater.
I can feel the cold nipping at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

So I move to escape,
the underground copse.
To be free of the stairs,
and to relieve myself.

I climb and I struggle,
step by step, agonizingly slow
my vision is faint,
under the eerie yellow glow,
Halfway up I stop,
to catch my balance
lest I tumble back to my doom.

At last the top is reached.
The open air and the cold,
envelopes my lungs.
I step out the door from the parallel incline,
as I turn right,
my heart leaps into my throat.

Standing in the middle,
of the blue tile sea,
is the imp.
The Devourer returns.

My old phantom,
black as the endless pit,
that leads to hell,
with neon orange eyes,
hollow and chilling,
and long and twisted vexing fingers,
crouched like a gargoyle
with smooth curving horns,
holding his trinket
with one thumb and forefinger
guarding its light
so I can never see,

"So here we are once again,"
he hisses in whispers.
"Sleepwalking again old friend?"
his voice bites at my senses
and my body locks up.
"did you miss me boy?
It has been so long."
he turns away
and his head bobs,
almost like a soundless cackle.

I stare in silence,
petrified in ice.
It's been so long,
since I've seen those eyes.
He turns back
and those hollow orange voids
pin to my stare.

"You know what comes next,"
he whispers coldly.
I feel the memories of his voice,
tearing away at my sanity.
I almost wish to beg,
but I'm to frightened to move.
He lets out his call
and my head implodes.
He begins to feed,
off my fear and my rage,
and he devours my peace.

As I fall into the sea,
I feel my defeat.
At the bottom I'm met,
with the searing cold tile.
And I'm finally awake,
I look up to see the Devourer.
In his place is a chair,
with a jacket draped over,
like a looming curtain.

[Nick]

I feel I've been beating around the bush too much with some of the things I've been posting. I'm still a little shaky on how much I should do my own thing. I'm not used to anybody really liking or paying attention to my work and I don't mind negative opinions I just want opinions at all. So here is a small little narrative and I apologize in advance, this is an 'egg' (courtesy of tectak) It's gonna be long so tell me what to keep and what to scrap

here is a visual reference
https://scontent-b-dfw.xx.fbcdn.net/hpho...9400_n.jpg

I stumble,
dead and cold,
through the pitch black of
cardboard and concrete woods.
Beneath the stairs I catch my breath
And I have to wonder,
where am I?

I look,
up the long and dreadful terrace,
the stinging stone grey,
and smell of hard water,
the buzzing of the flaring heater.
I can feel the cold nipping at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

So I move to escape,
the underground copse.
To be free of the stairs,
and to relieve myself.

I climb and I struggle,
step by step, agonizingly slow
my vision is faint,
under the eerie yellow glow,
Halfway up I stop,
to catch my balance
lest I tumble back to my doom.

At last the top is reached.
The open air and the cold,
envelopes my lungs.
I step out the door from the parallel incline,
as I turn right,
my heart leaps into my throat.

Standing in the middle,
of the blue tile sea,
is the imp.
The Devourer returns.

My old phantom,
black as the endless pit,
that leads to hell,
with neon orange eyes,
hollow and chilling,
and long and twisted vexing fingers,
crouched like a gargoyle
with smooth curving horns,
holding his trinket
with one thumb and forefinger
guarding its light
so I can never see,

"So here we are once again,"
he hisses in whispers.
"Sleepwalking again old friend?"
his voice bites at my senses
and my body locks up.
"did you miss me boy?
It has been so long."
he turns away
and his head bobs,
almost like a soundless cackle.

I stare in silence,
petrified in ice.
It's been so long,
since I've seen those eyes.
He turns back
and those hollow orange voids
pin to my stare.

"You know what comes next,"
he whispers coldly.
I feel the memories of his voice,
tearing away at my sanity.
I almost wish to beg,
but I'm to frightened to move.
He lets out his call
and my head implodes.
He begins to feed,
off my fear and my rage,
and he devours my peace.

As I fall into the sea,
I feel my defeat.
At the bottom I'm met,
with the searing cold tile.
And I'm finally awake,
I look up to see the Devourer.
In his place is a chair,
with a jacket draped over,
like a looming curtain.

Very drawn out. No true tension. No payoff nailer.
There is a difference between hammering nails into wood and doing it with your eyes closed for a few of the nailings.
This is a way of showing how to bring suspense into a long repetitive action.

[tectak]

I feel I've been beating around the bush too much with some of the things I've been posting. I'm still a little shaky on how much I should do my own thing. I'm not used to anybody really liking or paying attention to my work and I don't mind negative opinions I just want opinions at all. So here is a small little narrative and I apologize in advance, this is an 'egg' (courtesy of tectak) It's gonna be long so tell me what to keep and what to scrap

here is a visual reference
https://scontent-b-dfw.xx.fbcdn.net/hpho...9400_n.jpgNot interested. Is this a poem or a promo?

I stumble,
dead and cold,You are dead. Be careful. Mixing words is easy, mixing meanings can cause disconnects. Dead people just tend to stay where they are.
through the pitch black ofPitch black? Have you never heard that before? You have? Then it is a cliche.
cardboard and concrete woods. It is a pity you chose "woods" because now you have cardboard, concrete and wood. What does it all mean?
Beneath the stairs I catch my breath
And I have to wonder,
where am I?These last three lines are so disconnected that the intent is lost. Let's examine the sentence. You are beneath stairs but when you were not you were breathless. We know this because once BENEATH the stairs you caught your breath. Is that sense? Now, AS WELL as being breathless you are taken with a ponder. You cannot help it. You HAVE to wonder. Does that make sense? Now, we know you are beneath the stairs. You were above the stairs a short while ago ,with breathing difficulties...but now you are BENEATH THE STAIRS. Where are you? You are BENEATH THE STAIRS. Is that sense? Tighten this up. You KNOW what you want to say but you are damned if you will say it. Just be clear.


I look,No comma
up the long and dreadful terrace,
the stinging stone grey,What? I look up the stinging stone grey? Again, slow down and READ what you write. Someone has to.
and smell of hard water,You look up the smell of hard water? Ditto to last comment.
the buzzing of the flaring heater.You look up the buzzing of the flaring heater? Ditto to last comment plus what is a "flaring heater"?
I can feel the cold nipping at my toes,Cliche
and the dust beneath my feet.Dust has suddenly appeared from no where. Are you still under the stairs? Calm down. You are getting ahead of your thoughts and mine. Compose. Compose. Compose.

So I move to escape,
the underground copse.
To be free of the stairs,
and to relieve myself.I wouldn't bother. Piss away. You have other things to worry about. Anyway, bears shit in the woods...admittedly, not the woods beneath the stairs...but hell, what's a piss? You are obscure. I cannot say it is intentional. That worries me. Should I understand this? Recap. Asthma attack over, you bivouac beneath the stairs and take a breath. Hey....you are in a forest. That's a such a surprise your bladder spasms. You gotta get out of this sub-stairs copse...and quick. Which way to go? We shall see.

I climb and I struggle,Yep. In every movie they always head up. The public conveniences are on the GROUND floor. OK . There may be one upstairs, but if there isn't you sure as shit will not make it back down.
step by step, agonizingly slowNo way. Speed is of the essence....or have we moved on. Look, relieving yourself was pretty important...now it is not. You MUST prune out all inessentials OR develop them into something worthy. If you do not follow through with moot points the reader loses interest very quickly. Thematically, you are telling a story here. A story MUST be chronologically sequential to be believable...unless you end with "...and then I woke up" Groannnnnn.
my vision is faint,
under the eerie yellow glow,I suspect fluorescent urine and a UV light...or are you going to tell me I am wrong?
Halfway up I stop,Up what? I do hope we are still on the stairs, above the woods, going to the loo. This is getting very familiar. Please...not the dream thing. Please.
to catch my balance
lest I tumble back to my doom.Arcane. lest this lest that. Once was poetic 'ere the turn of years should best the word, ne'r turn the hand o' time. Sheesh.

At last the top is reached.
The open air and the cold,
envelopes my lungs.
I step out the door from the parallel incline,
as I turn right,
my heart leaps into my throat. Dah da da da! Dramatic cadentic violins. What will we see??????...apart from a heart leaping, throat choking cliche, that is.

Standing in the middle,
of the blue tile sea,
is the imp.Oh...him. Domestos will sort him out
The Devourer returns.Yep, he does that.

My old phantom,
black as the endless pit,Serious crit again. We have had fun. Black as the pit --short, long, endless--is a wanking cliche. Change it. In fact, try to write the whole thing without "black".
that leads to hell,
with neon orange eyes,
hollow and chilling,Peurile horror. Comic book stuff. You are better than this. I hope.
and long and twisted vexing fingers,
crouched like a gargoyle
with smooth curving horns,
holding his trinket
with one thumb and forefinger
guarding its light
so I can never see,Why the comma? You have got by for so long with enebriated punctuation, why try to sober-seem now? Luckily, this stanza is so malformed that the punctuation is irrelevant. Punctuate to clarity. READ your work. Read it OUT LOUD. Read it to your goldfish. Read it to your lunch. Read it and LISTEN to what you are writing.

"So here we are once again,"
he hisses in whispers.
"Sleepwalking again old friend?"
his voice bites at my senses
and my body locks up.
"did you miss me boy?
It has been so long."
he turns away
and his head bobs,
almost like a soundless cackle.What is "almost" like a "soundless" cackle?
He moved imperceptably towards me. So how do you know? He spoke silently to me. So what did he say? Do you understand the point? How can a head bob like a soundless cackle. It is all too much.

I stare in silence,
petrified in ice.
It's been so long,
since I've seen those eyes.
He turns back
and those hollow orange voids
pin to my stare. Enough. Orange, orange. Give it up. Shorten this.

"You know what comes next,"I am very much afraid I do
he whispers coldly.
I feel the memories of his voice,
tearing away at my sanity.
I almost wish to beg,
but I'm to frightened to move.
He lets out his call
and my head implodes.
He begins to feed,
off my fear and my rage,
and he devours my peace.

As I fall into the sea,Oh, good grief....how the hell did we get here. Please...tell me it's not a dream. Please.
I feel my defeat.
At the bottom I'm met,
with the searing cold tile.
And I'm finally awake,GROAAAAAAANNNNNNNNNNNN!
I look up to see the Devourer.
In his place is a chair,
with a jacket draped over,
like a looming curtain.

You overestimate yourself in all departments. Calm down. Write something simple and well. This gothic, gargoyled, bedevilled, monster, nightmare stuff is just so juvenile. You have imagination. Use it to write something new! In fact, read more or you will not know the difference.
You write because you feel the need....let the reader share in that.
Best,
tectak
You were right...it is long. Far too long. I fell asleep.

[Wjames]

I feel I've been beating around the bush too much with some of the things I've been posting. I'm still a little shaky on how much I should do my own thing. I'm not used to anybody really liking or paying attention to my work and I don't mind negative opinions I just want opinions at all. So here is a small little narrative and I apologize in advance, this is an 'egg' (courtesy of tectak) It's gonna be long so tell me what to keep and what to scrap

here is a visual reference
https://scontent-b-dfw.xx.fbcdn.net/hpho...9400_n.jpg

I stumble,
dead and cold,
through the pitch black of
cardboard and concrete woods.
Beneath the stairs I catch my breath
And I have to wonder,
where am I?

I like the start, but I would remove the comma after "dead and cold," and change "and I have to wonder" to simply "and wonder,".

I look,
up the long and dreadful terrace,
the stinging stone grey,
and smell of hard water,
the buzzing of the flaring heater.
I can feel the cold nipping at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

Some interesting imagery here, but the rhythm and flow of it is awkward and you are overusing commas. It reads almost like a list of images/senses. I would try something like:

As I look,
the long and dreadful terrace
stings the stone grey smell
of hard water buzzing
on the flaring heater.
The cold nips at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

So I move to escape,
the underground copse.
To be free of the stairs,
and to relieve myself.

You don't need the comma at the end of the first line in this stanza.

I climb and I struggle,
step by step, agonizingly slow
my vision is faint,
under the eerie yellow glow,
Halfway up I stop,
to catch my balance
lest I tumble back to my doom.

With all of these commas, reading this stanza is agonizingly slow, with a weird awkward rhythm. The forced slow/glow rhyme doesn't help.

At last the top is reached.
The open air and the cold,
envelopes my lungs.
I step out the door from the parallel incline,
as I turn right,
my heart leaps into my throat.

Standing in the middle,
of the blue tile sea,
is the imp.
The Devourer returns.

My old phantom,
black as the endless pit,
that leads to hell,
with neon orange eyes,
hollow and chilling,
and long and twisted vexing fingers,
crouched like a gargoyle
with smooth curving horns,
holding his trinket
with one thumb and forefinger
guarding its light
so I can never see,

Way too many comma's in here for a real rhythm or flow to develop for me.

"So here we are once again,"
he hisses in whispers.
"Sleepwalking again old friend?"
his voice bites at my senses
and my body locks up.
"did you miss me boy?
It has been so long."
he turns away
and his head bobs,
almost like a soundless cackle.

I stare in silence,
petrified in ice.
It's been so long,
since I've seen those eyes.
He turns back
and those hollow orange voids
pin to my stare.

"You know what comes next,"
he whispers coldly.
I feel the memories of his voice,
tearing away at my sanity.
I almost wish to beg,
but I'm to frightened to move.
He lets out his call
and my head implodes.
He begins to feed,
off my fear and my rage,
and he devours my peace.

As I fall into the sea,
I feel my defeat.
At the bottom I'm met,
with the searing cold tile.
And I'm finally awake,
I look up to see the Devourer.
In his place is a chair,
with a jacket draped over,
like a looming curtain.

I don't really "get" the poem, but you have some interesting images. You are really, really, really overusing comma's though.

Just my thoughts as I read the poem. You shouldn't just let people tell you what to keep in your poems though. Take any and all advice, and only use whatever advice you genuinely agree with.

[milo]

Just my thoughts as I read the poem. You shouldn't just let people tell you what to keep in your poems though. Take any and all advice, and only use whatever advice you genuinely agree with.

Please try to avoid giving life advice in the critical forums. focus on the poem.

/mod

[Wjames]

Please try to avoid giving life advice in the critical forums. focus on the poem.
/mod

Well that "life advice" was about writing poems so I thought it was relevant.

[RyanRader13]

I appologize for irking you so much tectak, I was recounting a personal experience regarding my troubles with my sleep disorder.

"Not interested. Is this a poem or a promo?" this was actually URL to a picture that i couldn't get to appear on the post. I dont know why it would only put the link
"You are dead. Be careful. Mixing words is easy, mixing meanings can cause disconnects. Dead people just tend to stay where they are." I can respect that
"Pitch black? Have you never heard that before? You have? Then it is a cliche. " just trying to add a common color
"It is a pity you chose "woods" because now you have cardboard, concrete and wood. What does it all mean?" I was in a cluttered unfinished basement with a cement floor exposed beams plastic shelves and boxes everywhere. it was just supposed to be abstract imagery
"These last three lines are so disconnected that the intent is lost. Let's examine the sentence. You are beneath stairs but when you were not you were breathless. We know this because once BENEATH the stairs you caught your breath. Is that sense? Now, AS WELL as being breathless you are taken with a ponder. You cannot help it. You HAVE to wonder. Does that make sense? Now, we know you are beneath the stairs. You were above the stairs a short while ago ,with breathing difficulties...but now you are BENEATH THE STAIRS. Where are you? You are BENEATH THE STAIRS. Is that sense? Tighten this up. You KNOW what you want to say but you are damned if you will say it. Just be clear." I will give you that one.
"What? I look up the stinging stone grey? Again, slow down and READ what you write. Someone has to." the progression was actually I look up the long and dreadful terrace, the stinging stone grey....etc so you missed a line there.
"You look up the smell of hard water? Ditto to last comment." I look wasnt meant to repeat,
"Dust has suddenly appeared from no where. Are you still under the stairs? Calm down. You are getting ahead of your thoughts and mine. Compose. Compose. Compose." yes. standing on a nasty, dusty concrete floor.
Yep. In every movie they always head up. The public conveniences are on the GROUND floor. OK . There may be one upstairs, but if there isn't you sure as shit will not make it back down. Basement.
"Peurile horror. Comic book stuff. You are better than this. I hope." I can be. twas my first shot at a narrative.
"Serious crit again. We have had fun. Black as the pit --short, long, endless--is a wanking cliche. Change it. In fact, try to write the whole thing without "black"." I can level with you there,
"What is "almost" like a "soundless" cackle?
He moved imperceptably towards me. So how do you know? He spoke silently to me. So what did he say? Do you understand the point? How can a head bob like a soundless cackle. It is all too much." When someone laughs out loud and obnoxiously their head moves. here the head was moving like the thing was laughing but there was no sound. but I do see how the detail of that is lost on the reader
"Enough. Orange, orange. Give it up. Shorten this." Yeah, I'm starting to get you arent a fan of the colors for descriptions. but I do agree that line was unneccesary and the flow did better without.
Oh, good grief....how the hell did we get here. Please...tell me it's not a dream. Please. you were almost right, parasomnia hypnagogic sleepwalking is more of hallucinating than dreaming. I think that is where I have greatly lost you on this. Apparently I've been out of thee poetic scene long enough that every other writer on the block took to the horror approach and does the whole wake up scene. its a cliche I was unaware of.
"You overestimate yourself in all departments. Calm down. Write something simple and well. This gothic, gargoyled, bedevilled, monster, nightmare stuff is just so juvenile. You have imagination. Use it to write something new! In fact, read more or you will not know the difference.
You write because you feel the need....let the reader share in that." I'm here to learn from you guys. I expected to ruffle some feathers since i don't really work in a straight line as it is. I am sorry I ruffled yours so intensely. From this I am understanding this piece is a scrap and I know when to take responsibility in my wrongdoings. thank you for giving me an honest critique,

---

I feel I've been beating around the bush too much with some of the things I've been posting. I'm still a little shaky on how much I should do my own thing. I'm not used to anybody really liking or paying attention to my work and I don't mind negative opinions I just want opinions at all. So here is a small little narrative and I apologize in advance, this is an 'egg' (courtesy of tectak) It's gonna be long so tell me what to keep and what to scrap

here is a visual reference
https://scontent-b-dfw.xx.fbcdn.net/hpho...9400_n.jpg

I stumble,
dead and cold,
through the pitch black of
cardboard and concrete woods.
Beneath the stairs I catch my breath
And I have to wonder,
where am I?

I like the start, but I would remove the comma after "dead and cold," and change "and I have to wonder" to simply "and wonder,".

I look,
up the long and dreadful terrace,
the stinging stone grey,
and smell of hard water,
the buzzing of the flaring heater.
I can feel the cold nipping at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

Some interesting imagery here, but the rhythm and flow of it is awkward and you are overusing commas. It reads almost like a list of images/senses. I would try something like:

As I look,
the long and dreadful terrace
stings the stone grey smell
of hard water buzzing
on the flaring heater.
The cold nips at my toes,
and the dust beneath my feet.

So I move to escape,
the underground copse.
To be free of the stairs,
and to relieve myself.

You don't need the comma at the end of the first line in this stanza.

I climb and I struggle,
step by step, agonizingly slow
my vision is faint,
under the eerie yellow glow,
Halfway up I stop,
to catch my balance
lest I tumble back to my doom.

With all of these commas, reading this stanza is agonizingly slow, with a weird awkward rhythm. The forced slow/glow rhyme doesn't help.

At last the top is reached.
The open air and the cold,
envelopes my lungs.
I step out the door from the parallel incline,
as I turn right,
my heart leaps into my throat.

Standing in the middle,
of the blue tile sea,
is the imp.
The Devourer returns.

My old phantom,
black as the endless pit,
that leads to hell,
with neon orange eyes,
hollow and chilling,
and long and twisted vexing fingers,
crouched like a gargoyle
with smooth curving horns,
holding his trinket
with one thumb and forefinger
guarding its light
so I can never see,

Way too many comma's in here for a real rhythm or flow to develop for me.

"So here we are once again,"
he hisses in whispers.
"Sleepwalking again old friend?"
his voice bites at my senses
and my body locks up.
"did you miss me boy?
It has been so long."
he turns away
and his head bobs,
almost like a soundless cackle.

I stare in silence,
petrified in ice.
It's been so long,
since I've seen those eyes.
He turns back
and those hollow orange voids
pin to my stare.

"You know what comes next,"
he whispers coldly.
I feel the memories of his voice,
tearing away at my sanity.
I almost wish to beg,
but I'm to frightened to move.
He lets out his call
and my head implodes.
He begins to feed,
off my fear and my rage,
and he devours my peace.

As I fall into the sea,
I feel my defeat.
At the bottom I'm met,
with the searing cold tile.
And I'm finally awake,
I look up to see the Devourer.
In his place is a chair,
with a jacket draped over,
like a looming curtain.

I don't really "get" the poem, but you have some interesting images. You are really, really, really overusing comma's though.

Just my thoughts as I read the poem. You shouldn't just let people tell you what to keep in your poems though. Take any and all advice, and only use whatever advice you genuinely agree with.

I agree with you on the commas. It was early in the morning and I was shooting for a dark and dreary feel and just spat it all out. I'm getting the general sense that nobody is a huge fan of this piece. as far as rhythm and flow I did just kinda let it happen so there really wasnt a clear flow and that was a bad call on my part. I think the funniest thing about your critique was "The forced slow/glow rhyme doesn't help." I didn't feel I'd forced it I actually didn't even know I rhymed right there in the first place haha. but I see why it threw you off. I am glad you gave it a read and gave me your opinion, I wish I could have done better on this but as it stands I'm putting this one in the 'toss'