[Critique Group 1] Finally my critiques for July 2017

[DQ Noriega]

Marcia,

Can't Find the Words

 

I loved the flow of words, the imagery and the fluttery pafce. This isn't
the kind of writers block I usually have. Mine is more a total stall out and
free fall into emptiness. It is a blank page where I can't even put down a
sentence. Yours is a lack of concentration as you struggle to pull your mind
back from distractions. Excellent. I can't think of anything you need to
rework or do for this. It would be a good short article for Magnets and
Ladders writer's techniques page.

 

Kevin,

Saga of Kofi

When Kofi Sadiqi played his drums (I like this sentence and how you use it
,in repetition.)

children in droves would often gather round 

I would leave out (would often gather round. and replace it with (gathered
around.) This piece has a rhythm to it and if the number of sylibles is
important to it, you can play with it and leave a pause for one sylible. 

Little hands, at first tentative,(tentatively?)  (would begin) (use began) I
think it is stronger in past tence. 

 to perfectly clap an ancient rhythm (not so new) to them Awkward phrasing.
Perhaps (so familiar?)

Stomp, skipping, energetic feet(either stomping skipping, or stomp, skip)

caught by contagion of the urgent beat

(wouldchange to they)  dance complex steps known by some currently urban
name:

such a clear example of knowledge of self from deep with in

When Kofi Sadiqi played his drums.

 

Sometimes, young rough cut brothers with the Hollywood baring of gangster
lean

pretended  total oblivion to the things engendered 

by the red-gold-black and green.

But unaccountably, whenever these (not acknowledged) "perhaps
unacknowledged" warriors strolled by

their walk became a bit more rhythmic,

although this they would surely deny,

When Kofi Sadiqi played his drums.

 

He just loved to pound-tap-slap  those resonating skins,

make all the pretty sisters twist and move

with the whirling passion of buoyant river stone.

And of course, they did love him too.

A thin shabby body dashiki clad, jet black hair braided oh so fine,

Whenever he came around the hood,

they thought of much better time,

that is

When Kofi Sadiqi played his drums.

 

Then came that bright hot summer day,

Brother Kofi Sadiqi was really driven to play.

With fingers feeling as if on fire,

He was truly stirred by the crowd,

Somebody commented in a shouting voice, "Lawd have mercy, dat boy's gonna
make his mamma and daddy sho  nuff proud!"

But, just as he seemed the most inspired by the pull of ancestor song,

the police drove up and shot Kofi dead,

Disturbing the peace

his officially stated wrong.

Now, elderly men and women, mammas and babbas of us all

lament the murder of Kofi

in the silence of each chilling dawn.

In the space where they once half heartedly complained about the uproar that
his entertaining raised,

there sets glaring an absence of bold reminders for them 

of long ago more youthful days.

Visual memories of community,

an almost griot among his people,

illuminated by simulated rays of the sun.

On the side of an old brick building

there is a mural to Kofi, a fitting tribute would say some.

But, for most of us it's merely a painted shadow of

When Kofi Sadiqi played his drums. 

                I really liked this piece.

 

Well WishingI like the title.

 

 

By: Bli Duck Should this be Sly Duck?

 

"Who are you and what have you done with my husband?" she thought.(You can
enclose thoughts in single quotes, or use Italics or something like that to
show they are different than the rest of the text.) I liked the ending twist
very much. Other than a few punctuation things it is good.

 

Mary Jo,

Laika

This made me feel sad. I have a hard time with cruelty to children, animals
and anyone who is defenseless.

They only thing I would have changed is the word (unknowingly) Perhaps
without consent? 

As always, your technique is excellent.

 

I think this was an interesting cross section of our group. Good work
everyone!

D.Q.N.

 

 

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