The Good Critic's GuideThe Good Critic's Guide:The Good Critic's Guide2 years ago in Reviews & Guides More Like This
I have noticed that many critics on DA tend to leave rather harsh and sometimes subjective critiques on the pages of the artists being critiqued. Their rationale for doing so is based on the concept that 'we shouldn't molly-coddle each other and instead "tell it like it is"'. However this type of critique reflects poorly on one who is critiquing as opposed to the one who is being critiqued and I will explain why throughout the course of this guide. In essence I hope to use this resource as a way of teaching potential critics how to properly focus their abilities and direct their critiques in a manner that will allow them to be rated as a good critic.
Note: Before reading on, take note that this guide is only for literary works as I have no experience judging visual art and therefore cannot create a rating scale for those.
II. The Purpose of a Critique:
The first question that we must ask ourselves is this: "Why does an individu
A Gods DebtSutured together by artists,A Gods Debt3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
hallowed out, & spit back up,
( you are afraid. )
Hooks longing for her ribcage embrace;
god-hands that can't seem to keep to themselves
grapple the gargoyle exterior of her deflowered frame.
( spread your legs. )
Red-inked and trembling,
prosetry masked as screams
knots into her anatomy.
Sometimes, you enjoyed being blind.Over 1,000 letters have found their waySometimes, you enjoyed being blind.3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the pulsating heart of my wastebasket.
You carried them away saying, "I'll use these
to fill the empty spaces of my universe."
You proceeded to tape them to your eyelids,
wear them like Augusts leaves along your limbs.
"I will be your voice and I will sing your words to the trees."
Slender spider fingers prancing across my misspelled scrawl.
The Book of Excerpts: A New TreeThe Book of Excerpts: A New Tree3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
The heart and mind walk hand in hand...
Baring the human soul...
Though the temptation of this trinity,
is what bellowed once and throughout history!
A tree in a garden of sacred proportions & boundaries!
Though guarded by feather and wing,
tainted by scale and horn.
There lied the tongue of icy breath
& searing words...
Behind & below Holy vision...
And there upon the finding of the foul and fallen wretch,
Were humans ever forsaken...
Grace had yet to pry its way back into the light...
Until the prime year of our Lord...
The way, the word, the light was he,
Our Lord & Savior!
Filth have we ever been by our
trapped and sinning souls...
We were saved!
Finding Grace before Salvation,
should we accept the call
Of the Son of Man!
Yet still remain...these things we call trees...
Forever growing...only to die...
As they go on to the greater garden!
Yet here, where the roots lie beneath...
and closest to Hell...
Darkness is forever a curse to the deepest of roots,
Post MortemI am a walking, talking universe of dead poetsPost Mortem2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
who tattoo their stanzas into my flesh
with ghostly, typewriter fingers.
I live and breathe their worldly disasters
like a nicotine addiction I've never had.
Drowning in their scribbles
I kiss their shoreline romances,
envy their Annabel Lee's,
& carry their hearts in my heart.
I am 7am coffee on Sunday mornings:
a half drunk, hungover limerick
waiting to happen.
I am jealousy:
nothing more than weak words,
& a tongue-tied cliche-
but death becomes me.
Speak now"Let them speak now or forever hold their peace."Speak now3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
I barely resisted laughing to myself. No one would be so bold as to try to interrupt this wedding. Still, I couldn't help but glance at the audience behind my veil. A few members of the congregation shifted in their seats uncomfortably, but no one stood. Not one murmur rose from the crowd.
I wished Jem could be that courageous. But not even Jem would be willing to risk the wrath of the man standing in front of me: my fiancé. There was a slight smirk on his face; he noticed my wandering eyes. He whispered softly so the preacher couldn't hear,
"There's no one here to stand up for you? I thought there would be at least that kitchen boy."
Biting my lip, I resisted my sharp retort. Instead I looked up into my fiancé's eyes, portraying what I hoped to be loving adoration. He chuckled; I guess I wasn't that much o
catch a falling star, put it in your pocketthere's something about those little brokencatch a falling star, put it in your pocket2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.
if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs
and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds,
more like sun kisses or wispy tattoos
ingrained into who they are; you won't know
what they mean until you connect the dots
and find answers in their questioning stares.
they'd like to remain something unknown, because
they've identified the world as a disease- vile and
insidious, with the capability of sinking
underneath your flesh and changing who you are.
MyiagrosYou went quietlyMyiagros2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Like granite with finesse
Days and nights
The come down monster
I had a drink
Six, seven, eight more
Always and sometimes
The weeks of illness
Before it pulled your eyes shut
No small talk
Just plain, empty time
I walked to the store for smokes
Struggled not to howl
There was fly paper nailed to the register
Legs still moving
And I knew what they were buzzing for
Hell had found you first
CruxI’m only sure of two things:Crux2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
I still carry pieces of your cross on my back and
lilies were your favorite flower
Those last three months-
A silent drive home from the mall
purse full of stolen makeup
Dinners with my family where no one
bothered to make the conversion
Endless hours spent looking at paint samples
and I was smart to not buy the brushes
The line at the liquor store blended
with the lines on the road
At the same time with you
Then it was summer and you talked me into a country drive. We stopped on the side of the road to watch a cow giving birth in the center of a pasture. But, the calf never rose to its wobbly legs or felt the heat of the Indian summer….it never tasted dandelions.
The mother stood by the calf’s body
long past nightfall
and I stood by yours
long after that
Was this what we meant when we said forever?
A SongA bugle to the weary earA Song2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Removes all dreams of kingdom come,
Recedes the soldier's fallen tear
And bellows his heart with the drum,
As clamors shield on pointed spear
And sings a euphony of home,
Each dying troop with closing breath
Attends a symphony of death.
A lover's welter and his woe
Seeks a violin's weeping strain,
For melody melts spite and snow
Which haunts the sinking, swooning swain,
And thus forgiven, flame and foe
Which brewed the draught of lover's bane,
Ascends the tune, a breath of June
A heart in summer 'neath the lune.
An oboe wakes a human note
In crystal seas where saints have drowned,
A grand piano did once quote
A lay which infancy had found,
While tyrants reign and malice dote
A peace will shelter us in sound,
For what is life without a song?
An empty sheet to play along.
To LondonGypsy hopefuls once told me,To London2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
there are flights leaving for
at any given instant
Upon sizing up our town with
did you realise how little
our frustrations were?
I spoke about this ineffable feeling
of stepping out of one tub
and into new water.
The hotel was done up nicely,
chandeliers and polished English accents.
Labels aside they still mixed
milk into their coffee
and had toast with jam and butter.
I was living under the impression
that most of the Internet
came from my same slice of city pie,
conveniently forgetting about
the undersea cables.
I loathed the lack of vernacular
sentence styles and words.
She saw things through different eyes
and I understood her.
When I found out she was a writer
halfway across the globe
I was selfish
and I loved the world a little less.
It was different
but it was still water.
Her Musethese words are not poetryHer Muse3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
swimming liquid fire through ashes
of dead phoenix veins.
no, they are rough and callused
with over use, their own faithless artists
spewing black tar from their lungs
in the hopes to one day breathe again.
nothing moves her.
she would rather scribble her heart out
on physical manifestations of her own reality-
on skin and bones she worships like a temple.
"Write of me," he says, "right here."-
planting sun-stricken kisses
along the hollow of her burning throat.
"I want to be where your heart sleeps."
dismantledyou're too bad, too mdismantled2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
h, using my heart as your
h. who knew human beings could
hurt each other by the softest t
h, so deeply
and so very, very
End RemembranceEnd Remembrance2 years ago in Historical More Like This
Remembrance Day originates at the end of World War I. The idea is to honor those who died in the line of duty, defending their country from enemies. For all its pompous words and fancy granite memorials littered with colorful flower bouquets, Remembrance Day and others like it have failed miserably in achieving this goal.
I've often been criticized as having no respect, and that can be an impediment when discussing certain topics. However, I am often in luck – hypocrisy deserves no respect. What changed as a result of the enormous sacrifice of those who died in WW1? As the first bombs of WW2 fell just two decades later, millions once again obediently lined up under various pieces of colored cloths to slaughter and be slaughtered. It became obvious that absolutely nothing had changed, and that the millions of WW1 had died in vain.
Most would agree that all that lip service paid to the sacrifice between the two world wars wasn't good enough. To truly honor their sacrifice would be
ForgottenHe found himself in a roomForgotten3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
surrounded by piano keys
A dream, a hallucination, some kind of justification
He found himself alone
in a library, he noted, dusted tomes scattered
a strange setting for a dream.
The piano keys plagued him
and the books he found to be empty
aside from dust and moths.
He followed the room
for the the sake of the dream
and found it to be a long hall
lined with empty bookcases
bearing at the end a simple piano.
The mahogany was worn; an antique
and the brass pedals covered in dust
much like the rest of the room.
His legs ignored him
and he found himself nearing the piano.
A void. Endless black.
Nothing but fear filled him.
He could faintly see the light of the room
though it slowly died out.
Blackness. Blackness and the feeling of falling
He found himself in a white room
Consciousness at last.
Though he couldn't recall a waking life
this must be it.
Confusion clouded his mind
and he felt cru
The Petulant PetalProselyting the petulantThe Petulant Petal2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
petal of paraphrase.
Call him king
and move onward to the morrow.
Nothing else sells
such as sorrow -
Never has value more than Ever
and the risk is all venture in a capital
soul and mind the sinner.
We know the body is but a sloth
and society is but an atom
reflection - eve of Adam.
But do we see the artwork
of the sagacity and artist?
No, we supply the demand of man
and women falter to impress. . .
he who does not impress himself.
There is no reprieve -
from the dawn of another humanized dream.
crystallophonethere is a punchcard sincrystallophone2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
like a queen of spades smoldering in an alley.
you hear how the gears churn,
singing faster than we did before
back when black magic dropped like a
pair of socks from the sky with supplies
taped to a note that said
(oh, look at you now)
such a beautiful brain:
runs on gasoline?
have a gallon
or we can call it a balloon,
and a new pair of glasses
for your tapered eyes
(you peel the bark back on the logs,
but you're not sure what you see),
and life says,
either nail jello to a tree,
or keep your
icicles hanging from the eaves,
caterpillars frolicking in the ashes,
your 'Sam, I still don't have your number,'
and your totaled passion:
someone to hang inside out with,
string you up like a steak with.
what the hunger
is trying to tell me
my brain churns like butter,
my insides aflare, my chakras combusting,
Blindly, Into OblivionLost in naivety, I find myselfBlindly, Into Oblivion3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Surprisingly devoid of any emotion
Perhaps the reason I was placed on this Earth
was to follow your footprints into the ocean.
Seabound StarsShe negates nebulae, calling comets to diveSeabound Stars2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
beneath breathless waves while she begins sectioning stardust
inside her rib's ravines; harpsichord hipbones
plucked for promises with faulty fingertips. Cyclones
rain rage at gaunt galaxies. She postpones
her haunting to tangle my tether, this is the hardest
leaking lungs have labored to allow her to thrive.
Salted fingertips pluck at his
seaweed hair, trying to mimic the
sound of the ocean at
sunrise. The boy with
sea-scape eyes, black and dark,
scared but cruel
stands inside the ocean's heart at sunset.
Unending folds of sky are stolen; by his sea-soaked hands
and he wrings its last breath. Her most beloved constellation
begins speaking with the flickering of heartbeats. He stops.
The last of your kind,
with the solar flare of hope.
I am a black hole.
She shields herself beneath his froth,
tamed fingers reach forward to grasp at light,
as if the sun had a body she could hold.
He places her cosmic hands
into the watery clust
teasmokeall dayteasmoke2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
ive want nothing but a cigarette
and to know whats wrong with you
you dont have to tell me [i guess]
just write it down and ill find it
or maybe you can burn it on the range
and ill sweep up the ashes
because youre the kettle whistling
away its rage until the water evaporates
and my fingers have been shaking
The FirestormFirestorm they're calling it.The Firestorm3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Hour after hour, the sky
groaned with the noise of engines,
buckled with the weight of death.
Yesterday an ancient city,
streets of historic buildings;
with this morning's light, devastation.
Nothing but cindered corpses,
scorched earth, slowly cooling rubble.
Soldiers search for survivors and miracles.
Once the gods alone
could achieve such destruction.
The pygmies have grown.