Weekly Short Stories Contest and Company! discussion

You have until March 28 to post a poem, and March 29-30 we’ll vote for the one we thought was best.

Please post directly into the topic and not a link. Please don’t use a poem previously used in this group.

Your poem can be any length.

This week’s topic is: Broken Mirror

*Thanks to Nate for the idea*

The rules are pretty loose. You can write a poem about anything that has to do with the topic. I do not care, but the poem you post must relate to the topic somehow.

Have fun!

Good News: First draft done!
Better News: What I came up with also inspired a way out of the scene I've been stuck on in my book for months! YAY AND THANK YOU!

Great news, Rachel! The topic was a last minute change so I'm really happy it worked out so well :)

Emily, I enjoy the fact that your piece gets sharper with each stanza. Also, the physical structure of the poem makes it look like a glass shard (to me at least), and I think that is very cool. 8)

Broken Mirrors © 2014 by Catherine Niedzwiecki


The sky untangles light from dark in the sea;
A soft mirror that is broken by the wind,
Withdrawing ceremoniously to heave

Inflamed glint blossoms, a Cavalleria
Of color beneath the mirror where bright finned
Creatures stare up toward Aethiopeia.

Someone is in chains there. Casseopeai
Is not yet in the sky. The dark fate is flint
To a man who is talking to Graeae.

To capture orders from eye of Stygia.
The mirror is now pulled by the moon. Certain (Wracked?)
Quarrels fondle echeveria –

Fashion gray stones give the hero’s ideas.
Monsters of Love keep psalms in pockets destined
to quiet waters to a barathea –

close knit are the parents of shadows per se.
The rainbow of illusions will not suspend
The hearts – susurrant of Arimathea.

or this ending?

close knit are the parents of shadows, per se.
Illusions confer rainbows secretly.
Steep Love – susurrant of Arimathea.

Or Parents of shadows, close knit illusions
Rainbows confer secretly; precipice
susurrant of the Arimathea.

Insults

"You break every mirror you look in." They tell me
But when I look in to the mirror I see
"You are an idiotic and dumb person."
But I ace every test I take and while I'm taking it I have fun

Regardless of my proof, the insults never stop
I slowly run out of evidence that I'm not a flop
Once the evidence is gone I start to believe
That the insults are all everyone perceives

It took a lot to keep going after I noticed
That no one saw the me I kept closest
They follow the rumors and assume that's who I am
They don't even care if what they hear makes me want to scram

Now I'm not sure if I want to be alive
I'm not sure if I even have what it takes to survive
Besides who wants to live when they tell you what to say
And punish you for it everyday

Rachel - this poem is really quite extraordinary. I have read through it several times and come away from it each time with a different concept. Self-confessional, yet curiously impersonal; longing for touch, but running from it. It brought to mind a letter written by a corporate exec, that was dictated to his/her secretary, but not read before being signed and mailed. Years ago I worked for a crotchety old CEO who told me he trusted me enough to dictate a long string of letters, which after typing up, I would sign his name and mail, without his reading them. He asked me to put a small notation below his signature: "DBNR" (Dictated but not read.)

That used to crack me up, because it displayed a rather obvious lack of trust, but also showed off his innate laziness. Oh well, the reason I told you that story is because of the mood of your poem: it displays the speaker's false sense of trust of his audience, and a hint of "lazy" confession. If this comment sounds negative, it most definitely is not. I am quite taken with your work, not only this poem, but all that I have read to date. What was the "trigger point" that inspired this poem, and who/what was the target?

Well done, Rachel, well done!

P.S. Last word of third stanza - is it "scram" or "scream?" Either one works, by the way.

Parting Gift

Critique welcome!

He said that he hoped
that the pink tinted mirror would
help me see the world in a "different light",
through rose coloured glasses
It was our "parting gift", he'd said,
as if it were nothing unusual, just a small trifle
given to a friend

He said he hoped
that one day, when i caught a glimpse
of my reflection in the mirror
i'd remember him, in a positive light--
not as the boy who broke my heart, i suppose
but pink is the colour of love and that is
no longer what i see when I think of him

He said he hoped
that after some years we could still meet
and not collapse, emotions running fluid and awry
that we could talk as old friends, and have to pretend nothing,
our feelings already dissipated
he told me this with a slight smile
as if he were talking to a child
i despise being patronized

so when he turned away i threw it to the floor
there were too many shards to be picked up
each too sharp, too fragile
just like each memory we share
each reflection reminding me of something different
in five years he won't remember me
but i won't forget

Paula Tohline wrote: "Rachel - this poem is really quite extraordinary. I have read through it several times and come away from it each time with a different concept. Self-confessional, yet curiously impersonal; longing..."

Thanks for the kind words. It really makes me feel good that someone likes my poem. The last word in that stanza is supposed to be scram. The thing that inspires me to write is I was depressed and did some things that weren't good. Now that I'm happier I write whenever I feel bad about myself.

Call me through Goodreads when you have a bad day. Your stygian days yield bright mustard seeds!

Dana ~tears in my eyes but not down my face~ wrote: " Parting Gift

Critique welcome!

He said that he hoped
that the pink tinted mirror would
help me see the world in a "different light",
through rose coloured glasses
It was our "parting gift", he..."

The pink past mentioned
is a past you have mentioned
i wish i knew bliss

A mere trifle love
unlettered you yield the same
soppy line of verse.

Rachel wrote: "Paula Tohline wrote: "Rachel - this poem is really quite extraordinary. I have read through it several times and come away from it each time with a different concept. Self-confessional, yet curious..."

I suggest that you stick to doing the good stuff, like writing! Much more productive and a much higher curative value! :-D

Dana ~tears in my eyes but not down my face~ wrote: " Parting Gift

Critique welcome!

He said that he hoped
that the pink tinted mirror would
help me see the world in a "different light",
through rose coloured glasses
It was our "parting gift", he..."

Dana: WOW! This poem packs a wallop, that builds to a wonderful climax. (Did I mix my metaphors well enough?) Rhythm and phrasing of last stanza especially fine. Good job!

Paula

*Enter Here*
By Billie Jo Moore

Sometimes things have different sides
The stories have various lines
Some have the honor of being told and explained,
Some are thrown to the side, told to wait.
I don't see the point in hiding behind a lie
When life could be easier if we didn't try to hide.
Tilt your chin up, princess, your tiara is falling
Don't look down, quit all the hiding.
Mr. Prince, you should listen to this too
Never give up, even if you feel like you're through.
The broken lifeless face you see every sunrise,
Needs to see there is no reason to cry.
I hope you know even when the reflective glass may seem useless
Its only trying to show you the beauty under what you think is a mess.
In one swift motion you chuck the hairbrush, shattering your own reflection
You stare, as you realize there are many of you, so desperately trying to be one again.
I don't see why you put yourself through this pain
But then again I never understood why pain has to be acknowledged anyway.
I hope one day, you'll see just how amazing you truly are
And that where you go, I will be beside you, within reach, no distance too far.
If I cannot hear your heart beating, you're too far away.
I need you to know you're not going to leave me alone some random day.
Even though you mirror may be broken, in shattered pieces and bits
You're you, such a beautiful you, and I hope nothing ever changes it.


(I got stuck in the middle of this. and then I had to rush to finish. Tell me whatcha think? And Great entries this week y'all! See ya. )

Haunted

Like a house sitting shiva
All our mirrors were covered
Veiled in black silk
Phantoms behind bathroom doors
(We'd brought none of our own
Removal would detract from resale value)

They were not so ominous then
More silent strangers
Sentinels against scrying
(Supernatural snooping)

Like nuns
They stood over me
Making sure my hands were clean
My mouth washed of filth
My body scrubbed of sweat

We never asked why
That solemn color seemed beyond question
It belied tradition
Always
“Of course”
Mother Dearest
Mother Superior
Knew best

There were still windows but
The way they reflected light was innocent enough

The traitor was the breeze

Craving summer's scent
I left the door ajar for my bath
Serenaded by birdsong and windchime
The wind swirled the rising steam
As it flirted with that prim black skirt
Forbidden fruit

The water sank
I rose
The curtain fell
We were both naked
Exposed

I tiptoed across the damp tile
To replace the sacred shroud
I shook without warning or reason
My eyes did not falter
Another pair stared back
Blurred and red

My hands shook without warning
One shot out in a fist without reason
An involuntary offense
Against the shattering figure
No reflex
Nor reaction
Of mine

Some
One?
Thing?
On the other side
Did not want to see me

Okay, so this is my first poetry submission. I feel a bit nervous because the poetry here is amazing (and I rarely write poetry), but I'm going to post and hope for the best!

(And critiques are welcome, as always!)


I Passed Before a Mirror-
Anthony Piemontese ©2014



I passed before a mirror—

Startled—then to find—

A figure staring back

That Was and Wasn’t mine—



His face was a Sculpture—

Much like the gilded frame—

A time worn Mosaic

Of parts—Different—but the Same.



And beneath his lips (unopened)

Dazzling where they laid

Were diamonds that— for eons—

Had not seen the day.



I lingered on his Craggy skin

Hewn— by hands of time—

With gullied paths dragging from

Caverns filled with brine.



I peered into his sunken Eyes—

Those Caverns of Ancient thought—

But wading through the depths

Gleamed an answer Wrong and Right.



Floating on the barren banks

Were things Torn to shreds,

Personal effects—Battered, Broken

And those that all men Dread.



Mementos, near and dear—

Or things that should be wrecked—

I could not tell, or maybe I feared

Old things—the lichen-flecked?



If the fragments were pieced together

Based on imprints— from days of old—

Would they, too, make a Mosaic

Or remain fragmented, a tale untold?



And so—My question will stand—

For I was unable to see—

If this—Existence—is crafted from others

Or if I am simply Me—

A lovely piece Anthony. I love the imagery and the concept. My only critique is this:

Anthony wrote: "I peered into his sunken Eyes—

Those Caverns of Ancient thought—

But wading through the depths

Gleamed an answer Wrong and Right."

You've established an end-rhyme scheme in the second and fourth lines of all of your stanzas except this one. For me, it pitches me off the rhythm and I have to pick it up again. I would suggest an edit for the sake of consistency and flow. (Perhaps something with "wrought?" Just what comes to mind for me.)

Otherwise, a very solid piece! :)

Paula Tohline wrote: "Dana ~tears in my eyes but not down my face~ wrote: " Parting Gift

Critique welcome!

He said that he hoped
that the pink tinted mirror would
help me see the world in a "different light",
throug..."

Thank you so much! :)

Here is mine...

*Pieces

I woke up this morning
with a heavy step
stains on my cheeks
from where I had wept.
The mirror was where
I had left it the night
before, slowly I bent
down and picked the
pieces from the floor.

As I looked in each
piece there was a
different me. The
little girl with
pigtails climbing a
tree. The out of
control rebellious
teenager. She hated
the world and had
blue hair. This shard
I have a swollen belly
ready to give birth and
feeling so happy.

As I pieced the mirror
back together again I saw
the face from the night
before, the one with wrinkles
and thinning hair but I smiled
as I looked at her and she
at me for we are one in the same.

Same Town

I broke a mirror just to see what I feel
I stepped back
Realized there’s not much time to heal
I’ve become trapped
In a vicious cycle
So I tried to run
Yet another mile
When I was done
I looked around
And I couldn’t seem to explain
How I found myself in the same town
It had another name
But I could see the stares
And hear the gossip
I could feel the glares
It all ran on like a draining faucet
It’s nearly impossible to forgive
When you don’t think you deserve
Another chance to live
And there really are no words
But you continue to say
I’m not good enough
Maybe this is the day
I finally kill love.

Aging Sand


Disfigurement is what I see
A distorted face looking back at me

Are those worry lines under my eyes?
Strain, stress, cold truth and lies

Shards that cut on every side
Deeper and deeper and I cannot hide

No way, this just cannot be
A haggered face that's lost so much glee

A jigsaw puzzle with blood in every crack
Is a whole mirror what I really lack?

It's hard to tell if I'm short, fat, or tall
Alas, it's what's left of me and not the mirror at all

Sarah wrote: "Here is mine...

*Pieces

I woke up this morning
with a heavy step
stains on my cheeks
from where I had wept.
The mirror was where
I had left it the night
before, slowly I bent
down and picked th..."
Such a sweet poem. :) Thanks for sharing.

Thanks Cat!

Sarah wrote: "Thanks Cat!"

You are welcome.

Great poem, Emily! I love your use of language, each word fits together to further the sharpness and razor-like feel. It is so effective. I like how your writing gets leaner towards the end, it rapidly increases the pace to an ending that leaves me pondering.

As you've asked for crititique, there is one thing that stood out to me a little bit and that was the repetition of the word 'rage'. I'm not sure if you intentionally used it three times to drive the point home but, for me, it seemed a bit too overused in such a short poem. Anyway, fantastic writing. I really enjoyed 'Reflective'.

Beautiful, Cat! Lovely rhythm and the injection of Greek mythology (particularly the Graeae) adds a nice flavour and depth to your words. The image of the sea as a mirror broken by a withdrawing wind is beautiful and your line - 'close knit are the parents of shadows per se' - is just spectacular.

Ryan wrote: "Beautiful, Cat! Lovely rhythm and the injection of Greek mythology (particularly the Graeae) adds a nice flavour and depth to your words. The image of the sea as a mirror broken by a withdrawing w..."

Thanks, Ryan! You rock~

Rachel wrote: "Insults

"You break every mirror you look in." They tell me
But when I look in to the mirror I see
"You are an idiotic and dumb person."
But I ace every test I take and while I'm taking it I have f..."

Very dark and lonely, Rachel, but such beautiful writing all the same. Your first line is heartbreaking and sets the tone for a hauntingly sad poem. Each of us faces times of darkness, heartache, sadness and loneliness in life - I take my hat off to you for turning such bleak emotional times into something so beautiful. There are many ways to cope with the hard times and creating something so wonderful is a tribute to your strength and resilience. Keep writing, keep sharing and, above all, remember that you are never alone :)

Thanks Ryan.

Here is my poetry submission for the topic: Broken Mirror. This is my first submission since joining this group just a few days ago. I welcome your feedback! Also, if I have done anything incorrectly rule-wise, please let me know! Thank you!

THIS OLD LADY by Melissa Andres

This old lady stared at me
Her hair a greyish-blue,
Crow's feet danced around her eyes
Where once had been my youth.

She raised a hand to her throat
Deeply spotted now with age,
And emitted a low, hungry growl
I felt was filled with rage.

She fumbled with her pajama top
That held more wrinkles than her face.
It was extremely evident that this lady
Was not growing old with grace.

She pointed a crooked finger
Gnarled and bent with time.
Taunting and teasing me
With no reason or rhyme.

As I reached to smooth the hair
That had been tousled in my dreams
This old lady did just the same
Why'd she have to be so mean?

I began to scrutinize her every move
This old lady was just like me!
She had stolen my identity
Who else could she be?

This obviously broken mirror
mimicked her sadly shaking head
Reflecting on the past is Hell
Damn, I'm going back to bed!

Right, I'm determined not to miss the deadline again this week so here is my poem - it may not be finished; having been inspired to try doing something different with the layout and structure I've been messing about with the grammar etc so any thoughts would be gladly received!

(Still no title yet)** (How about...)

Not Sleeping

Anxiety
Like broken glass across the footpath.
Glistening,
in the street lamp’s sulphurous glow
like frost on the grass
before the sun rises.

Anxiety
Like the mirror smashed into a thousand tiny shards.
Reflecting,
like a kaleidoscope
of luminescent butterflies
fluttering from view.

Anxiety
Like a sharp cold pain, cool and smooth like glass against warm skin.
Stabbing
Like a sudden siren wailing from the darkness
snatching you
from a dreamless sleep.

Anxiety
Like an insistent sound
Scratching,
at the back of your mind
like little sharp claws against a wooden door
desperate to find their greedy way in.

---------------
Nicky

deleted... had to.

Jim Pascual Agustin wrote: "if this feels in bad taste, could you guys just tell me right away so I can delete it? i appreciate the feedback. thanks, guys.

-o-
Oscar, What did You See in the Mirror When You Broke Down the Ba..."

Hi Jim,
I haven't been a member of this group for very long but it seems to me that it is the sort of group where you can post your work without fear of people taking offence. That they would consider your work as any other piece of writing. I think it's quite brave to tackle a subject that is topical and possibly controversial.
I liked the 4th stanza very much - I wasn't as keen on the piranhas, it somehow made me think of the wacky races and that style of cartoon - which I'm guessing wasn't the effect you were hoping for.
I was very interested in the way you've constructed your stanzas, it gave it a very interesting flow.

Voices of the Night

It came to me in the dark last night,
Speaking words of shame.
It talked of broken mirrors and alibis,
Of defeated tears from tired eyes.

I awakened in the dark last night,
Desperate and afraid;
Fearful of unkept promises and crumbling trust,
Of forlorn future and hindering lust.

I waited through the dark last night
For answers to appear.
Doubt and worry were my faithful friends,
Until dawn and the night’s long awaited end.

The polls go up tomorrow morning, pirates!

The Moon & Stars
by Angie Duenas

I look at your glowing face in the sky
And wonder if you feel what I feel.
To be ugly and surrounded by unbelievable beauty.

How is it like, up in the sky,
Surrounded by a sea of stars
Bedecked in celestial radiance?

What is it like, knowing that your own glow
Is not truly your own, but borrowed
From the nearest star, the sun?

How can you stand to know
That even your beauty is not your own,
But borrowed from the sun?

Do you see the scars on your face?
The craters of your history,
Left from the impact of your wounds.

I am so sorry that whenever you look
Upon the Earth, you are faced with
The endless mirror of the sea.

Is that why you use all your power
To break it day by day?
To create the churning waves of the tide?

Hear ye! Hear ye! The poll for the Week 206 Poetry Stuffage has been posted. Make haste to the ship’s tavern, pirates, and vote!

Nicky wrote: "Jim Pascual Agustin wrote: "if this feels in bad taste, could you guys just tell me right away so I can delete it? i appreciate the feedback. thanks, guys.

-o-
Oscar, What did You See in the Mirro..."

Nicky, thanks for the feedback. It may be too late for the revised version - I took some of your feedback and that of others who have seen the poem... I could send it to you if you are interested. :)

Jim Pascual Agustin wrote: "Nicky wrote: "Jim Pascual Agustin wrote: "if this feels in bad taste, could you guys just tell me right away so I can delete it? i appreciate the feedback. thanks, guys.

-o-
Oscar, What did You Se..."

Hi Jim!,
Sure, I'd love to read your work, please do send it!
Nicky

Cat Grimalkin wrote: "Broken Mirrors © 2014 by Catherine Niedzwiecki


The sky untangles light from dark in the sea;
A soft mirror that is broken by the wind,
Withdrawing ceremoniously to heave

Inflamed glint blossom..."

I like the word "wrack" in your untitled poem, Nicky. :)

Hi Cat, Which poem do you mean? I can't remember using Wrack?