Young Writers Society

HorseradishCares wrote:The moon hovers above a crater that was born
from my wavering fist,
as your spiked caramel hair creates a halo,
your blanketed fingers carved sweetly into a twist.
I don’t notice your cockeyed smile,
nor the way your feet dangle,
dodging my sprawled kneecaps,
and my hands that jangle awhile--
not exactly knowing what to do.

Your cresting shoulder blades become beckoning waves
to my addled mind,
swanning and squirming gracefully
between twin sheets of ebony caves.
I let my fingers, like carnivorous spiders,
come to know them quite easily, eagerly.
You stir only for a moment, blinking back
dreams of homoerotic writers,
opening wide a maw meant for kisses in Spring.

I don’t exactly know what to call you,
my joyful, distracting counterpart.
I merely enjoy watching you, examining everything
that has to do with your impromptu cocoon.
Does it even matter if I love you? Say
every single stupid thing I imagine you being?
Does it matter that I don’t understand you
or our whole convoluted sex? Spend a day
just performing, merely for you?

I let starlight dwindle like incandescent dewdrops
down past the calvary blue veins that rest like so
on your crooked neck, your sun-loved cheek,
the ears that bear no sign to the remarkable stops
or birthmarks that lie below.
Then your agnostic elbows show themselves,
grinning, they scrape at the surface of my chin,
digging gingerly at my conscious, my whole.
I pluck at your seams, the sufficient arms that delve
beneath, within, catching my all.

Still; I know not what to call you,
what to do with you, most of all.
You’re nothing shy of a hazel-slathered saint,
becoming sugar-piled disease to my soul.

I wouldn’t say I loved you
if you hadn’t knocked upon my door.

I let my fingers, like carnivorous spiders,
come to know them quite easily, eagerly.

Dreamy115 wrote:This just sort of... ruined it for me.. It was far too blunt. It was like eating a lovely crumpet, but there's a rock at the bottom and you choke on it. You're left thinking "What? What happened to my delicious crumpet? Where did this rock come from? I can't breathe! Bloody hell! This is not good!"

HorseradishCares wrote:The moon hovers above a crater that was born
from my wavering fist, I like how you start off with very strong description. It gives a nice touch to the poem.
as your spiked caramel hair creates a halo, I think this is a bit jumpy. You go from moons and craters to hair. It's nice description though.
your blanketed fingers carved sweetly into a twist. I don't really know what you mean by blanketed. I looked the word up, but there really isn't a definition for it. I know what to assume it means, but that doesn't go with the line. It just seems like you added a big word, not knowing what it means, just to have the word there. It doesn't really serve a purpose.
I don’t notice your cockeyed smile, If you didn't notice the smile then how are you writing about it? You have went from you talking about whoever and now it's like another persons view from above.
nor the way your feet dangle,
dodging my sprawled kneecaps, How do your kneecaps sprawl? Wouldn't it be more like your legs.
and my hands that jangle awhile-- Ok. Well I looked up this word to and couldn't find it. It doesn't really make since. Even assuming what you mean, your hands don't really jangle. I feel it is just a added, unnecassary word, that should be deleted. That being said it is very well up to you.
not exactly knowing what to do. I like how you show confusion, but you didn't really give detail, or some form of analogy would sound nice here.

Your cresting shoulder blades become beckoning waves Very nice line.
to my addled mind, I would suggest changing the word addled. I know that it means confused, but it also doubles over as meaning unedible. This can easily confuse a reader.
swanning and squirming gracefully
between twin sheets of ebony caves. I love this line.
I let my fingers, like carnivorous spiders, Ah, I hate spider! (shivers haha)
come to know them quite easily, eagerly.
You stir only for a moment, blinking back
dreams of homoerotic writers,
opening wide a maw meant for kisses in Spring. I think now you are finally getting to the point of the poem. I do have to say this is very new and interesting.

I don’t exactly know what to call you, Maybe a name?
my joyful, distracting counterpart.
I merely enjoy watching you, examining everything
that has to do with your impromptu cocoon.
Does it even matter if I love you? Say I would join say to the next line.
every single stupid thing I imagine you being?
Does it matter that I don’t understand you
or our whole convoluted sex? Spend a day
just performing, merely for you? (Gets slapped in the face with emotion) Finally! This is what I want to see, it makes it non bland.

I let starlight dwindle like incandescent dewdrops
down past the calvary blue veins that rest like so Sounds like some kind of vampire thing going on.
on your crooked neck, your sun-loved cheek,
the ears that bear no sign to the remarkable stops
or birthmarks that lie below.
Then your agnostic elbows show themselves, Don't like the word agnostic for some reason.
grinning, they scrape at the surface of my chin,
digging gingerly at my conscious, my whole. If you mean conscience then you spelled it wrong, but maybe that is just a word I don't know haha.
I pluck at your seams, the sufficient arms that delve
beneath, within, catching my all.

Still; I know not what to call you, Nicely done with repitition. It is rarely accomplished but you have succeded with the right amount of it.
what to do with you, most of all.
You’re nothing shy of a hazel-slathered saint,
becoming sugar-piled disease to my soul.

I wouldn’t say I loved you
if you hadn’t knocked upon my door.