Smiley Face Gang
true crime, horror, poetry, may contest, sonnet
Published on:
May 9, 6:58pmWord Count:
110Last Edited:
May 9, 7:28pmWork Description
Inspired by the recent changes of accidental suicides of athletic young men to homicides and the suspicion of some retired NYC detectives who believe there is a "Smiley Face Gang" prowling the midwest drowning them and leaving smiley faced graffiti as a calling card.
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Though you stagger, you're poised and so care free;
you leave your friends behind to come to me.
How smug you are to dare water this tree;
its smiling face is painted on, you see.
Come into the water, my little boy.
For all the world you are a monument,
but to me you are not but a frail toy--
folded hands encased in ice; benevolent.
Whispering shadows I leave behind me.
They believe me a gang of the Midwest--
old detectives Gannon and Duarte.
I am just one in my own humble quest.
It calls to them, numbers in the forties.
It's your turn next, boy. Mind the graffiti.
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The good:
for me I liked the theme, the darkness, and the topic you chose to write on. I like how cut and dry it is, not sure if it's dry on purpose, but it works.
The bad:
Sonnets have a particular rhyme scheme, and I feel that the first stanza cheated on it a little. It makes it feel less of a sonnet. Also, some of the lines I really had to force to be iambic, due to where the natural stress of the words fall. Iambic pentameter is hard to write in, and harder still to make it sound natural. And I feel some of the lines in this poem don't really feel natural.
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I really liked the poem, but I did not like the sonnet - if that makes sense. I hope it does.
hey, char--
i refrain from critiquing because what i know about poetry could fit in a bucket. a small, small bucket. but i wanted to comment! i really like this poem--you create turns of phrase which had me smiling with pleasure:
Come into the water, my little boy.
oh, what a strong voice, here. this just drips with sinister intent, and i got a thrill reading it.
folded hands encased in ice; benevolent.
awesome. you say so much here with so few words--i'm not familiar with the case you're using as a reference, so there is surely even more to this. the ice, death as frozen life, folded hands as if in prayer or holding close to self.
Whispering shadows I leave behind me
this could be referring to the suspicions behind the deaths in each town, or the voices prompting this killer to act, left behind with each kill...either way, a wonderfully descriptive line.
It's your turn next, boy. Mind the graffiti.
there's that psychopathic voice, again. i love his understated evil, his words which imply such danger. i'd love to read a serial killer story from you--i think you'd crawl around in the killer's head and create a powerful character.
really enjoyed this, char--best of luck in the contest!
I'm inclined to agree that it's probably a better poem than a sonnet. It has been many, many moons since I last attempted a sonnet and even then it was for a grade in school. It was a fun exercise, though and I'm glad you liked it!
Indeed, one of the specifics of one of the cases was that when they recovered the body from the lake, it was encased in ice with the young man's hands folded softly over his chest. Creepy, that. I couldn't help but be fascinated!
My two favourite lines are that one and this one:
Its should be It's though, and there should be a comma before boy in a form of direct address.
I have to say I love that you wrote a poem about serial killers. That's such a you thing to do and such a me thing to enjoy.
I like the vision you paint of the killer as almost seductive, luring a boy away and feeding his confidence before showing his lethal side. I like the implication that it's not a gang, but one dedicated worker. It's chilling to think about. Full marks for originality. Well done.