Young Writers Society

Comments are Loved and Welcomed

Hey everyone. At it again. Let's see how good I do keeping this updated this time. I'm going to try something a little different that I think will be more interesting than a poem a day even though I'm going to basically do a poem a day regardless of if I actually do the other thing or not. I want to try daily challenges for myself to see if I can do it and encourage what I'm going to write.

Week 1


Week 2


Week 3


Week 4


Week 5

Intent to Murder

I intend to kill you
slow, like an old meandering river
suckling out your time, ticking down
along each bend. I intend to
push you around every sway
of the water bank like a bricker
lay each carefully by hand.
and I intend to kill you
call it what you may, by draining
you out into a delta
where you will, at last, fall over yourself
and into death's arms,
spraying perhaps, all your life
out to be dissolved into the salty sea.

I intend to kill you,
but is it intent to murder when
I pay you for your time
thank you for your years
praise you for your dedication
or give you a week to "grieve"
the death of your family,
who are mine?

Standing tall and strong
I see you cave your back
to lift me from my grave

I see you cave your back.
You sink into the mud
three feet and put me
on solid ground, away, safe.

Strong as you are
struggling out of the mud
I see you cave your back
to bury the hatchet in my own
and kick your legs over your head
to sooth my wounds.

So why, when you do so much
to make me feel whole again
are we still only friends?

Why can I not break inside
your creamy center
where I can die in peace,
protected, and together?

Can't you fold me in your arms
like snow embracing a tree
to bring me home at last
where you, my love, will be?

Please, why can our love not be a fairy tale
You, my Knight in Denim Jeans and sweaters
your helmet sewn on permanently
Don't you love me?

In Art
---something closer is warmer
---------------------than something far away
-as it shrinks into the distance
--------------it is covered by a mist blue haze
Reds become purples
----------------become grays
---And gray is brown
--------------and yellow
-------------------------and green----------and blue
------------------------------------------------------------and orange-----------------------and red
Things closer become
more detailed and even out(s)hine
Life

So let's live in
the mid-ground
not too close
or far away

http://melissaleighclarke.com/2014/04/03/april-3/ This will be the blog I base the poem off of, sort of. I kinda went sideways with it and did a found poem...


What if it were true that after peering into infinity life begins.

be
prophetic. you
may store
the future
The
modern method
to recharge spiritually
altered
states innovate ideas
believe any viewer
open
will get
something never thought

we live in
the planet
in the process
dreaming
pressing
any practical meaning
on the

philosophy here
the meaning
to the population
is of ambiguity
it is obvious
everyone
coming from
an atmosphere of
similar ideas
to express
allows the
community's inspiration

People don't realize why they do things
habits origins
necessity health
economic sense

showing what are
alternate means for
benefit

meaning for all
I suspect

https://twitter.com/Aleydream/status/452556547726401536

Under the hot light I push myself along
like a dog dragged behind his master feet
degrading like mud statues
with each final step drying up

As I cross the threshold
it is as if water douses me
and I can breathe

Shutting the door
I know I can strip
or dance like a beast.
Maybe I'll just lay there
still as a fallen leaf
crushed underfoot

What leaves as I lock the door
between me and the outside
What is this sense that home,
this door, this place is a relief?

Hearing them open is like the room
fills with color
Blue knowledge waiting to speak
Red tension of being bitten
Yellow playfulness long removed.

Sitting as a family is a special shade of black.
The balance of blue and red hinted
just barely yellow.

How many colors must I feel
baring down on me
as I try to speak

It's not my choice,
it's not my mask I pull off the shelf
I can't remove it at will
I can't choose it either.

Even in the stillness of my space
I feel the colors creep in
like fireflies dancing in the dark.

They twinkle in and out of sight.
Laying still they might land on me,
so I bustle about
like a horse swatting at flies.

burning
rushing
sinking
fading
I can feel you-burning-rushing in
like a daydream, sinking, fading out

These are so interesting and creative and form! <3

1. I love how where the prompt says: connectivity of living organisms and you went: DEATH! <3 XD
2. Not enough sexism I think xD Nah, man, this was sweet.
3. OMG YUS <3
4. I really, really want to try this…This is just so cool :O
5. I love the poignancy in the twitter poem!

As we stare into the distance
a collective whole
with eyes half shut
and minds alike
to fire we pray for safety.

The horizon is a blue place
hazed light with misty fog.
The wetter it is, the less we see
even restricting us down
to twenty feet ahead.

I would call the fog fear,
I would tell you that
with fear we are no better
than the blind.

I would have you believe me
instead of swinging your bat
at the darkness.
I would believe that you are
wishing somehow to find the wall
trying to smash your way through
like rebellion is for real freedom.

These things I would have of you
or give to you, they would do nothing,
so I won't try to convince you
that each time you gaze into the depths
of the holocaust, the inquisition, the plauge,
it was fear which drove the horizon close.

I won't bother mentioning that fear
is what drives your children to put a nightlight
on the bed stand, or to kill spiders
wanting to eat their bed bugs.

I know it's useless to try convincing you
that you smack the dog becuase you fear
that if you don't, he will bite first,
or that you pray for forgiveness because
you fear death after speaking out
against the laws written by God of Man.

May his book be sacred
for he shows us "the light"
when we accept that he could be anything.

He is anything, and it is clear to me
that when you look among yourselves
and realize for the first time fear of Hell
is what contains god most
you will again connect behind tears,
and pray that it was hazy.

The anesthetic mask slipped over his muzzle
constricting his jaw shut, but he couldn't paw at it
He couldn't pull it off. He couldn't move his legs
They held him stiff, a hand digging into his side
the others holding his legs
and he couldn't shake the mask away.

When he woke up he couldn't find his family,
but the taste of fluoride reeked in his mouth
and he couldn't itch the tender skin beneath his tail.
Strangers stared at him through the bars
and he could smell his neighbor's urine.

His family took him home but they didn't take off the white
which dug into his neck preventing him from itching.
"No", they told him, "No, stop it", when he tried.
What did they expect? He couldn't stop himself from itching!

As frustrated as a cat in heat, he moped
wobbling around the house as he tried to walk
barely able to keep his feet as his head steadied again.

It wasn't until later he realized why
he would never get a family of his own.
Even his neighbor couldn't make a family
just those special mutts who they thought
were so important
like some prize.

Yet still, they left him his teeth
and cleaned them, respected him
pet him and brushed him.
they let him share their bed and

he couldn't help the love
that swelled through his belly
down out his wagging tail
when they came through the door
regardless of if they would pet his head or not.

The bus moves three miles
before I look out the window
and see the land
like a river of color
bleeding together.

The closer I try to look
the less I can discern the differences
between the last building and this
aside from this one is closer to home.
So we travel on among
the sea of swaying colors.

I wonder if my parents know
I'm coming home in six miles.
I wonder if I should text them
but the last time I tried,
I got "eating in four miles"
and as we wobble around the sun
counting stars and degrees
four miles was after I got home.
It was twelve miles for me.
I'm not that good at distance yet.

If rain and kisses meant I love you
then carrying rain in my pocket
the letter you wrote in haste
must surely show you love me

The creases must show the time
you put into every word, every syllable
as you whispered between the lines
that I will always be in your heart.

The wrinkles from water
are because you wrote it in my rain
and with it my tears have added
like the salt in the sea adds richness
to the act of drowning.
It's hard to tell which were yours
and which are mine now.

If "I will always despise you"
really means what it says,
I take solace that you care enough
to despise me, always.

So as we stay away from one another
I will dream all the sweeter of your face
and relish each memory as it grinds
from a lump of coal into silver
beneath the always beating rain.

If somewhere between your vows
and eating sacrament you notice
I am standing free as wind
while you lock chains around your neck

or if it comes before even,
like as you struggle into recognition
that even in me
is your god
and I am not some trial
of his but his rebellion
his fast skill at creation
his love for greens bathing land
reds protruding as rocks
in belligerent contrast

If you recognize at last
the mind is a powerful thing
society is a wild horse
and why that is my response
as you kneel
cross
pray

then smile for me, please.
Being as you are
and knowing (no, more than that)
understanding my point of view
is not mutually exclusive.

It's okay
to see it both ways.

The bush was barely living
by the time sunlight met it again
just clinging desperately to water
like a fish in a mud puddle
that used to be a lake.

Don't look at me, it cried
curling intrinsically
rather than spreading out
like a confidant fish swimming
fins spread and relaxed.

I'm only breathing.