Son

[Kaldwin]

Hello there! I sincerely hope that I haven't misunderstood the rules and am correct in posting in this forum before I have written all five of the reviews necessary for full membership. If this is incorrect, well, I assume the moderator will let me know.

So , I'm Lawrence, 14 year old aspiring poet from Australia. This one I wrote about a boy in the grade below me, who used to be a good friend of my brothers. To give the poem some reference, his father died of leukaemia when he was four. This is not a love poem, but an admiration of someone I once knew.

And so, with out further rambling from yours truly...

SON

At first glance, he's average.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Skinny.
Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.
His hair doesn't twinkle with a light from above.
Maybe a little tall but when push comes to shove,
He's normal.
But his eyes, I realised, aren't really brown.
But the colour of presidential car windows.
One way light, so you're always in his sight,
and he's never in yours.
Watching the world from tinted glass.
And his hair is the colour of scorched earth.
I thought once that he looked like the son of Hades.
Tall, dark, and kinda handsome, with collarbones sharp enough to kill,
and hands just made for wielding a scythe.
But his father isn't death; he's just dead.
And maybe that's why his skin is the colour of bone; because the death has grown into him.
He’s the type of boy who girls think they can change
But of course, they never can,
And he’s the type of boy who girls fall in love with,
When they’re under the arm of another man.
A child of mixed dimensions,
One part flesh, one part heavenly ascension.
Constantly crushed in the tension of their permanent divorce.
Did I forget to mention, that he often sails off course.
The custody battle is brutal, and he doesn’t know where to stay,
One foot in each house, and it could go either way,
Between his mother in their bungalow,
And his father in the grave,
He lives his life on a tightrope,
And eventually, he will fall,
For despite his mother's loving grace,
He’s his father’s son after all.

[Todd]

Hi Lawrence, welcome to the site! I appreciate your contributions so far. Let me give you some comments on your poem.

SON

At first glance, he's average.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Skinny.

So as openings go, if this were a story and not a poem I would like your first line. With poems I feel you need to get to the point faster. I'm also not confident that skinny is enough to hold its own line. A couple options staying as close to how you have it:

At first glace, he's brown hair, brown eyes, skinny.

You could also go with a more parallel structure.

At first glance, he's brown hair
Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.
His hair doesn't..."
Brown eyes

Then you kind of bounce from characteristic to observation. I could live with your first line as it is, but not the later repetition of idea of he's normal and the like.

There are of course other options but you get the idea.

Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.--Great specific detail with this line
His hair doesn't twinkle with a light from above.--This line is fine, you may be able to condense "doesn't twinkle with a light from above" into something that means the same thing but is more tightly phrased
Maybe a little tall but when push comes to shove,--This line is too vague, doesn't play off skinny well, and has a cliche. I'd cut it
He's normal.--consider cutting
But his eyes, I realised, aren't really brown.--I don't think you need the "I realised"
But the colour of presidential car windows.--Nice image
One way light, so you're always in his sight,
and he's never in yours.--These two lines are a great characterization
Watching the world from tinted glass.--this could probably be pared down by cutting the line and moving tinted after "But" on the presidential car windows line. Just a thought
And his hair is the colour of scorched earth.--Like this too
I thought once that he looked like the son of Hades.--Probably cut "I thought" and "that"
Tall, dark, and kinda handsome, with collarbones sharp enough to kill,--The collarbone part has promise with the Hades line above. Tall, dark, and handsome in any construction is cliche. Find another way to show that he was not always as he now appears.
and hands just made for wielding a scythe.
But his father isn't death; he's just dead.--These two lines are nice
And maybe that's why his skin is the colour of bone; because the death has grown into him.--don't need the second "the"
He’s the type of boy who girls think they can change
But of course, they never can,
And he’s the type of boy who girls fall in love with,
When they’re under the arm of another man.--this is a solid sequence you may want to put an "Only" before the "when"
A child of mixed dimensions,--You may not need this line. You could lead the next line with "He's"
One part flesh, one part heavenly ascension.--like the phrasing
Constantly crushed in the tension of their permanent divorce.--feels a bit wordy
Did I forget to mention, that he often sails off course.
The custody battle is brutal, and he doesn’t know where to stay,
One foot in each house, and it could go either way,
Between his mother in their bungalow,
And his father in the grave,
He lives his life on a tightrope,--This last part "a child of mixed dimensions and on feels a bit wordy. I think the crux is the Between his mother in their bungalow and his father in the grave. Looking to pare down this section would be a help.
And eventually, he will fall,
For despite his mother's loving grace,
He’s his father’s son after all.--If you pare down the last section this ending should work

I hope the comments were helpful.

Best,

Todd

[Tdurr]

Hello there! I sincerely hope that I haven't misunderstood the rules and am correct in posting in this forum before I have written all five of the reviews necessary for full membership. If this is incorrect, well, I assume the moderator will let me know.

So , I'm Lawrence, 14 year old aspiring poet from Australia. This one I wrote about a boy in the grade below me, who used to be a good friend of my brothers. To give the poem some reference, his father died of leukaemia when he was four. This is not a love poem, but an admiration of someone I once knew.

And so, with out further rambling from yours truly...

SON

At first glance, he's average.
Brown hair, brown eyes.
Skinny.
Not like the Aryan surfer gods that girls usually love.
His hair doesn't twinkle with a light from above.
Maybe a little tall but when push comes to shove,
He's normal.
But his eyes, I realised, aren't really brown.
But the colour of presidential car windows.
One way light, so you're always in his sight,
and he's never in yours.
Watching the world from tinted glass.
And his hair is the colour of scorched earth.
I thought once that he looked like the son of Hades.
Tall, dark, and kinda handsome, with collarbones sharp enough to kill,
and hands just made for wielding a scythe.
But his father isn't death; he's just dead.
And maybe that's why his skin is the colour of bone; because the death has grown into him.
He’s the type of boy who girls think they can change
But of course, they never can,
And he’s the type of boy who girls fall in love with,
When they’re under the arm of another man.
A child of mixed dimensions,
One part flesh, one part heavenly ascension.
Constantly crushed in the tension of their permanent divorce.
Did I forget to mention, that he often sails off course.
The custody battle is brutal, and he doesn’t know where to stay,
One foot in each house, and it could go either way,
Between his mother in their bungalow,
And his father in the grave,
He lives his life on a tightrope,
And eventually, he will fall,
For despite his mother's loving grace,
He’s his father’s son after all.

This is beautiful,
Completely.
Though, I think there may be a bit of detail, that you may not need.
I'm just saying that as a reader.
It got a bit heavy, describing him.

I would like to have seen small details, and made my own view of him.