Young Writers Society

Royal Memories

I remember,
Racing through these halls,
As an idealistic child.
People would hand me a soda,
Or an ice cream bar,
And laugh as I proclaimed,
That the Royal would last forever.

I remember,
Listening with pride and awe,
As my friends, co-volunteers,
Stood up at our dinner,
And rewarded me for doing what I love.
All I could do,
Was wonder how I could be so lucky,
To have the Royal.


I remember,
Shoveling dirty straw and wood chips,
Into a dumpster,
Smiling and laughing with the others,
Who worked alongside me.

I remember,
Walking around with trash bags,
And rubber gloves,
Picking up rancid pieces of meat,
And having fun doing it.

I remember,
Holding young children on my lap,
As we all listened to a story,
Or shook plastic containers of cream,
To make butter,
Dancing, singing, laughing out loud.
Well,
I’m not laughing now.

The American Royal,
My American dream,
Is dying,
Molding and decaying in a shallow grave,
Because no one has bothered,
To unearth it.

I walk down these halls now,
And they’re empty.
I see these same faces,
And they’re crying.

As I crouch in this garage,
Where I used to help set up the soda cart,
And feel so happy as I helped,
My fellow volunteers,
I am surrounded by the smell of alcohol,
Teaching me how to ferment,
In my own tears.

This is what the Royal has become,
A bad two-dollar bottle of whiskey,
Hiding inside the crystal,
Of my cherished memories.

But when I opened it,
It bit, made me sick.
And I wanted to throw it away,
But it still looked so pretty,
Gilded with my love.

I want to get roaringly drunk,
On this liquid that should never be,
In a place for children,
To try and forget,
This day, this place, these tears,
Because the Royal I knew is dead.
Someone just forgot,
To invite me to the funeral.

Well, there's definitely potential in here, but I personally felt you talked too much in some parts, if you know what I mean. Silence can often speak louder than words and there are a few bits I find unnecessary.

I remember,
Racing through these halls,
As an idealistic child.
People would hand me a soda,
Or an ice cream bar,
And laugh as I proclaimed,
That the Royal would last forever.

That's fine. A good beginning.

I remember,
Listening with pride and awe,
As my friends, co-volunteers,
Stood up at our dinner,
And rewarded me for doing what I love.
All I could do,
Was wonder how I could be so lucky,
To have the Royal.

Again, fine. Some images coming through, although no really vivid pictures.

I remember,
Holding young children on my lap,
As we all listened to a story,
Or shook plastic containers of cream,
To make butter,
Dancing, singing, laughing out loud.
Well,
I’m not laughing now.

I like the transition at the end, from bright pictures of laughter and children to the ominous 'not laughing now'.

I remember,
Shoveling dirty straw and wood chips,
Into a dumpster,
Smiling and laughing with the others,
Who worked alongside me.

I remember,
Walking around with trash bags,
And rubber gloves,
Picking up rancid pieces of meat,
And having fun doing it.

I remember working hard,
To make this place wonderful,
Or at least more wonderful than it already was.

I remember exhausting myself,
But smiling,
Loving every ache and pain,
Because that’s what this place was;
Love.

I think the third of these stanza's is perhaps a little superfluous. Also, enough with the commas at the end of each line! It ruins the flow.

But the American Royal,
My American dream,
Is dieing, (dying)
Molding and decaying in a shallow grave,
Because no one has bothered,
To unearth it.

I walk down these halls now,
And they’re empty.
I see these same faces,
And they’re crying.

As I crouch in this garage,
Where I used to help set up the soda cart,
And feel so happy as I helped,
My fellow volunteers,
I am surrounded by the smell of alcohol.

Right, now heres the bit when it starts to run on for me. If I were you, I'd take out the words in bold (below) and add the other two lines to the previous stanza.

Ale, beer, wine, scotch, rum,
Traveling through the air,
Through my heart,
Teaching me how to ferment,
In my own tears.

I like 'teaching me how to ferment/in my own tears'.

I tried so hard to delude myself,
To make everything ok,
But as I’m surrounded by alcohol,
Wincing at the smell,
It all feels so ironic.

This is what the Royal has become,
A bad two-dollar bottle of whiskey,
Hiding inside the crystal of my memories,
That I so cherished.

But when I opened it,
It bit, made me sick.
And I wanted to throw it away,
But it still looked so pretty,
Gilded with my love.

I'm not sure about these stanzas. They irritate me but I dont quite know why. I think it starts getting a bit strained - you're losing your original idea a bit.

I want to get roaring-ly drunk,
On this liquid that should never be,
In a place for children,
To try and forget,
This day, this place, these tears,
Because the Royal I knew is dead.

Someone just forgot,
To invite me to the funeral.

The last stanza is OK. No hyphen needed in 'roaringly', and if I were you I would put the last two lines at the bottom of the previous verse, they dont seem right standing alone.

Overall, a good poem, there are some definite ideas and emotions coming through. Not the best I've seen from you, though. I think it needs some revision.

Ok, I made a few changes, tell me what you think now. And thanks for being honest bubble, a lot of the time simple honesty is lost in places like this.

You're welcome Soyala Hope I wasnt too blunt though lol.
I like it quite a bit better now you've made those changes. Its more coherent and you stick to your idea more closely. There is a sense of a storyline emerging and a tangible bitterness about the piece. Kudos!

mmm i really like this poem. a little messy, maybe try to take out lines that dont really fit, shorten it up a bit...

If you ask me, Crysi, nothing needs to be changed.