Young Writers Society

Kaylaa Randomly Tells me to Write about Cicadas

the familiar sounds of summer
ricocheting sparks and the moon
smokes flow through the corn husks fields
and the shade swish flow through the wind
vibrates in the wings and the hum
busy bee of the thrum diddy thrum of the waves
and the love and the heat.

Yet of all the things to focus on
it perseveres the song like shears
shaving off the lows of words- her cicadas tongue
prehistoric, gone, salvaged by the strung of old tunes.

Meshugenah Randomly Tells me about Her Day

Kitty's not around
Meshugenah went to town
she got on a boat
left, and I quote
"There were NO EFFIN CATS HERE OMG!"

About the AM,
she fixed herself a bowl
after going for a walk
snacking on a box of Fire-Ohs
and dropping off her car
she ended up with tires,
though she only needed oil.
But off she goes, dragged off
to the store, surprises were not spoiled,
there she spent $4 on books
because restraint and good looks

puts her back home on a pad with old Audster
trying to NaPo. So, she says she's not pleased, but
come on, can you really believe her?

SRS

There are no hooligans in this poem.
Every line is straight and dainty.
Behold! The paragon of roses
perched upon the lawn, so ornately.

Marble stones and plebian bones
pile the stairway to the great unknown.

NO SNERKS
NO SCRSMS
THIS IS SRS

Pooms do not just fall out of the skies
I kid you not, I went to the market and bought
ten cents of newspaper to stack under the litter box
and here, and now, the news print is fake.

What do I even do with that?
Where will I go for newspaper? ffff Hooligans
they're least of my problems now.

My litter box
sits alone on the bare floor.

Night Drips Fever

That woman is partly the reason why
we wait cold pores. It's 4am in Talinn.
The lake embraces us,
condensing inside and around
our shoulders; shimmers-
how she
wishes to forget herself,
coils and clings to the draping
of the moon melting to your skin,
to the smells of moss and malt;
how she wishes to
make friends with the crickets.

I look at her and see the way things are;
her spirit one delighted with life as it presents
itself to her; unafraid to go to sleep unafraid
to wake up--

I look at myself and see just a shivering
wraith, small among the many
malcontents & anxious children,
lonely and resistant to life;
with a foreboding loss
dripping deeper
into the night.

Silver Taps

Here, silver sands
an island beach
a dry pink drink
and a drumfire
pounding
drunk
tapping
sounding
dream drums
beating through
the ceiling;
head swaying
drinking
plum rum
fanatic
to her
breathing
thinking
I'm a dumb
bum
quiet so quiet
seething
to her own
beat.

Letters of My Name

These letters I write to
the mornings
when the world seems drained
of wonder; a pen breaks noisily
into tiny plastic shards
and blue hands held my tongue
spitting fireworks of blue ink
to palm, a sickness to a promise
I'm meant to keep.

Sea & Storms

Anything can happen in an evening.
Today, I am a sea captain guided by stars I know
burnt out long ago.

Sea gulls, the vultures, prey on my mind cawing
small like the tip of a nib pricked out of a pore
caw is a song for long hours plucked away feather by feather
caw is dread on a husky sail flapping for storms
and a thousand more feathers died tonight drifting by my feet
I watch the spray of the sea as the sun sets it alight and I see stars in them
burning alive still.

Countryside

These summer nights with you
when the world is still blue
I found a place where
the sky is alive
and there's more
to my reality
then gray wanderings, the plaguing
thoughts we like to heave heavy.
I wish I could free the worry
from your eyes, love-
let's
disappear
warm our legs
until the lick of flames
consumes us, and our ashes
bury inside the crisp
edge of a ladywing's tip-
like a found purpose.

A Fear I wish to Confront

Pear tree, pear tree.
Thing that has pears on it. Pear leaves.
Season for peer treason.
'sup with that symbolism?
That's just it though.

Little lanterns hanging. Hundred-year-old tree.
New branches this year. New bloom. New pears. Same tree.
Near here lives the same girl. Next step.
Peartreepear
trunk, myeow.

Fear of rejection. And also of failure.
Having a baby.

Look, it's something to do with death and time and age.
Put simply: I have a frail heart, I have a teen in my mind,
I am eighteen in my mind,
and if I do nothing, and if I stand still,
—it makes them angry. Chewing with my mouth full
of words; saying the same thing, saying not a thing.

The state of neglect in a tree:
so many many many deep, dark rings.

Fear of pursuing something I don't really want.
If I were a tree,
time will stop and I'll never die.

I think the She who lives inside of me is happy in this little pear moment,
in this little pear tree. And any upset in the balance, any twists
to the windsphere, must the moment change?

The husband cuts a pear down the middle
plucking out the seeds into a bowl
and we check down the list:
Cats.
Car.
Flat.
Garden out back with a pear tree, like this.

I've since learned to beware of happy.

Packing up the Bags

This isn't the beach,
I dream of pineapples 49c
and as cold as God made them,
nubbled, heavy in my hand
ice clouds moan pleasure.
But this isn't the beach
my voice kind of flat and numb
the way it coasts out of water
it's real.
But this isn't the beach
all these years
not wanting to miss a thing
so we pack bags, we pack bags
we go visit the goddamn beach.

Haikus of 5

Salmon melon wails
hush splash, rising humpback waves
at the water's edge.


Ankles bonded tight
Oedipus struggling with might
his raw winter fate.


Herb salt jar preserves
finest of first world pleasures
thyme, plum lavenders.


Baby strawberry
the little fists he pumps up
at his mother's face.


Dump truck fire trash
ribbons of horrid haikus
rip 'em and let weep.

The Universe Glitters Again

[Night drips her fever] [down silver taps]
[and my head wakes, slipping through corroded drains,
squeezed inside pipes][where the letters of my name]
[come alive, & whisper stories—]
[like all dreams,] [I forget everything.]

[Tomorrow, I will travel all day on trains.]
[My lonely life will surround me like]
[a countryside, like a destination]
[like a fear I wish to confront—]
[and I am thinking: forget everything.]

[I need to be mother to my inner child] [and packing up
my bags] like stripping pieces out of dilapidated ruins,]
[zipping up stitches, digging out madness.] [I need to be
larger than the next morning, whose body is ungainly]
[chewing strips of lip like thin lettuce wraps,] [and grasp as
the sun climbs because we covet what soul is there in the sky.]
[I need to exist],soaked through the skin with feelings,]
[gorge on the greens and wines from my rooted struggles]
[grasp for the tickets on the counter] [splayed like wings ]
[gasp,]


[all the neighbors I know stuck in their morning traffic—]
[it’s nice to finally see you. ]