Young Writers Society

4/4/24

obsolete
(ballad; Europe; forms vary but generally quatrains, alternating lines of iambic tetrameter and iambic trimeter, rhyming abcb or abab)

i am a door to worlds of light
unlock me, swipe on me
i'll keep you company at night
at all times, here i'll be

she bought me on a saturday
said, "mommy look, for me!"
she took me on her holiday
to islands in the sea

i am a box of memories
remember me, then you
i'll show you all your fantasies
we make a life of two

she brought me on a saturday
showed off to friend and foe
she took me every day in may
in school she hid my glow

i am a constant all-in-one
enjoy my endless self
just keep me charged; i'll keep it fun
you can forget yourself

she dropped me on a saturday
said, "whoops, i'm sorry, please be fine"
she took me for repairs one day
that day the sun did shine

i am obsession hiding doubt
forever, keep me here
i'll be there for you when you pout
just promise me, i'm dear

she lost me on a saturday
looked everywhere (a lie)
assumed 'twas i who ran away
but it was her goodbye

i am a human thing, nothing
is certain 'cept demise
i'll try to live, do anything
to be enough f'your eyes

she killed me on a saturday
left me to die alone
i wish i could replay the day
but all i do is groan

i am outdated, useless, old
i am outshone by new
but do they know their time is gold
or only think of you




city by the sea

sun sparkles off of wavelets
lapping against lively ports
spindrift
ocean sprays
a sea-salt tang in the air

hanging gardens
blooms wave in the breeze
orange trees, droning bees
vibrant green vines draped over walls
curling lazily

whitewashed buildings by the sea
arches, domes, doorways
sunlight reflecting off lattice windows
wind chimes keep welcome mats company

puffy clouds in the air like a realm in the sky
castles floating by
a winding cobblestone path
ascend turn by turn, row by row
at the peak, twinkling merrily,
a palace of crystal
catches light, laughs with it, lets it go

4/4/24

wash cycle: heavy duty
(inspired by this wall post by @Liminality)

Hello, drain. Got brains?
I'm afraid I'm never quite sane.
I'd like to remain right as rain,
except on days when I'm left
raining on my own parade.
I tend to be proud but then I
fall down flights
of stairs.
I dare to tear the air into thunder and
thunderous applause.
Sorry, lightning can't
come to the phone today.
I'm not alright, not even with nightlights.
Please leave a message after the
beeeeeeeeeee– b-b-beat!
Turnip the beet!
Da dum da dum da dum.
Ba dum tshhh.
Drumroll, please!
Hair in the drain like the
clogs in my thoughts.
I lose my train and am left running
at the station in a nation
that's a trainwreck.
We reckon shipwrecks are tragedies
but who remembers the drowned fish?
Fearless flying fish falling fully realizing
gravity is a thing. Oh well.
Drop a coin in the wishing well.
The fairy's running a fair con.
Swirl down the drain
like the thoughts in your brain.
Every brain needs a wash sometimes.

recording: https://vocaroo.com/1o3fUqAIBjV5

ahhh thank you so much for the encouragement, everyone!! 0.0
@OrabellaAvenue - yessss i didn't know either! it's been interesting to try all these different kinds of poems =P and awww thanks for the sweet compliment! <3
@alliyah - XD i am very surprised that i've written so much too! i guess i'm just inspired by the prospect of trying all these forms, haha. thank you!!
@momonster - aaaahhhhh thank you!! and yes, i plan on keeping the "on c_ and c_" title theme hehe :3
@22Midnight - thank you!! i appreciate the comment! you can know which threads to comment on by going to the main napo page (clicking the banner at the top of the site is a nice shortcut) and seeing which threads have the green "Comments Welcome" tag :]
@Liminality - i'm glad you noticed the repetition and assonance!! "spindrift" is one of my favorite words ;D and i actually didn't intend for that stanza to describe a large cumulus cloud (i was putting together random images that seemed to fit the vibe), but in hindsight, that makes a lot of sense =P as for "wash cycle: heavy duty", yesssssss i liked that phrase and decided to re-use it glad you noticed those bits of wordplay!!


4/5/24

to a poet i could never know
(ekphrastic; Greece; poetry inspired by other creative works)
(inspired by a book i'm reading for lit: On Earth We're Briefly Gorgeous by Ocean Vuong)

you said, "destruction is not necessary for art"
in an attempt to make yourself believe it.
or rather-- your character said that.
but aren't our characters the little breaths of us
that leak through the gaps between
our thoughts and solid words on the page?

you describe characters with syntax,
with scars shaped like commas and
raindrop ellipses tracing the line of a jaw.
i think this fascination with language
and how we pause and end
is something we share.

what we don't share is trauma.
loss is woven into your words.
your most poetic lines are devastating.
is destruction necessary for art?

wait. don't tell me. i don't want to know.
(i'm inclined to think of my work as art,
despite how it's manifested of curiosity
rather than grief.)

i have pondered this before.
i am a sunshine child in spite of my efforts to love the rain.
all i can do is watch it hurl itself against the window
like it would rather die heard than live unnoticed.
(i would rather live a coward.)
i inhale petrichor as if consuming the scent of rain
would make me understand it better.

but when the clouds clear, it is gone.

4/6/24

city skyline
(concrete poem; poetry making use of typography, the arrangement of words, etc.)

TW: falling, heights




that one street with crumbling concrete
(visual poem)



i tried to make it look like a sidewalk broken up by tree roots, but i don't think i quite succeeded... XD

Thanks so much, Amaya!! And yesss love to see you trying new things :>


4/7/24

i wasn't feeling like structured poetry today xD using 42 forms may be harder than i thought...

social engineering
(free verse)

the funny thing about social engineering
is that it works because humans are nice.
we hold the door open for others,
even when they shouldn't
have access to the building.
(this is called tailgating, even
though we do not have tails.
yes, english is weird.)
we open emails because
we are curious, we are trusting
even when we shouldn't be.
we humans are the weakest link.


late-night rambling, 2024 edition
(free verse)

fundamentally, i am both semicolons at the end of lines of code and quotation marks around dialogue. i have grown up with computers and books, words on the screen and words on paper. and i don't know where this is going, but don't i do that all the time? put words words words together in an attempt to sound poetic. sometimes it's successful. sometimes it's suspenseful. sometimes it's too many "s" sounds with no sense and no purpose.
sometimes i sense that i'm slipping away soundlessly. somberly. nonsensically.
what even is reality? "irl" is a word i try to avoid, just like "normal" (except when i'm forced to describe normal distributions in stats class) and "nice" (as a positive descriptor for people because nice is a doormat and nice is what you call someone when you don't know what else to say). who's to say what happens online is any less real than what happens offline? to me who spends her life looking at screens, "reality" is no more than a glitch in the matrix.
it's funny because today i was reminded that i'm not the norm in the population of ctf'ers (those who compete in cybersecurity competitions, or in other words, hack legally). what is the norm? well, the stereotype is an asian guy who likes anime and needs to touch grass. and not to repeat the "we need more women in stem" slogan but sometimes it is additional (self-imposed) pressure despite my attempts to ignore it and additional frustration when i fail to solve something. i am impatient to get better and yet i am easily distracted by what seems easier.
giving up easily is a familiar flaw of mine. i am a jack of all trades and a master of none. and i wish i could turn that phrase on its hair (after all, another thing i try to avoid is hackneyed phrases) but my name is not jane and so i cannot say i am a jane of all trades and a master of some. i am only me and maybe that's not such a mean thing to be because i mean at least i'm not mean and i am above the mean in some things and i do mean something to me myself and my dreams. but. well. anyways. and. if. somehow. mean is an anagram of name. also mane. i mean, am i an em dash? or only a radish?

4/8/24
back to our regularly scheduled programming of trying new forms! =P


to the me that knows what it's like to be seen
(sestina; France; 6 stanzas of 6 lines each and a 3-line envoi, with specific word repetitions, usually unrhymed)

i always believed it was just me and my thoughts.
if i was unseen, unperceived, i had no need of swords;
i could curl up with my books and worlds and conlangs
and the most violence i'd ever see was fictional spears:
only words on paper, or words on a computer, lines of code.
you know, in the end, who's to say we're not all words?

to me, the world was words.
they spoke to my thoughts
and i didn't mind if i was code
because to code, swords
of words or spears
of tears were less real than conlangs.

constructed languages: conlangs.
invented by humans, because words,
despite being invented after spears,
are direct reflections of our thoughts,
which are as essential as swords,
and we need them like we need code.

this modern world would not function without code.
in a way, programming languages are conlangs;
they have a specific purpose, like swords,
and syntax and grammar and words
that transmute reality from thoughts.
which will last longer, computers or spears?

the only spears that could really harm me were the spears
manifested of my own code,
my own doubt and thoughts
of never [good, smart, everything] enough, as if i was speaking conlangs
where the only vocabulary was insecurity, where words
gained an extra "s" and became swords.

one of the most stereotypical weapons they are, swords.
i've grown to be more fond of spears.
they have a longer reach, just like words
that echo through my environment of code,
muffled and thus able to sound like a variety of conlangs
with nothing in common except what they convey: negative thoughts.

but you. you whisper words like they are gentle swords
aimed at my thoughts, cutting down my self-doubt's spears.
i have encrypted myself in a secret code but you understand all my conlangs.


skeletons in my closet
(skeltonic verse; England; short lines with 2-3 stresses and 3-6 words, irregular sections of rhymes, rhythms, bonus points for alliteration)

the skeletons in my closet
like to dance, like to get
some music playing, let
their bones rattle like wet
cords in a socket,
forks getting electrocuted,
all my duly dotted
'i's and purely potted
plants are allotted
space to be rotted
like skeleton keys,
tarnished, saying please,
stars, shine like peas
in the salad of the seas,
pluck some petals off weeds,
scatter their seeds
like sand on the beach,
i'm not a leech
and i can't quite reach
the clothes colored peach
at the top of the closet

Love this so much Mint <33 your poetry is amazing and always so prop and unique to your style!!

aww thank you so much, Ellie!! i do like writing unique things =P


4/9/24

ode to raindrops on ginkgo leaves
(ode; Greece; lyric poem written to praise someone or something)

it is you on a rainy day in december
it is you on my walk home, unexpected joy—
my breath catches and i remember
the beauty of this world we live in

siempre he dicho, me encanta la lluvia
hay algo inesperado, algo tan hermoso
en el sonido del cielo y en el olor de su aliento

i would say you look like jewels on golden carpet
but jewels are shaped by humans, and you, well
you are nature in all its finery, nature at its finest—
surface tension forming perfect shimmering domes

y hay varias cosas que no puedo decir en inglés
porque una sola lengua no es suficiente
para describir todas las facetas que veo en mi mente

and i return to facets, but your beauty is that of the random
scatterings of droplets on a shifting array of hues—
the leaves through your lens of clarity look like the sun
for i am just as dazzled by you as by the afternoon sky

¿cómo logro que vean todo lo que les digo?
¿saben que han traído felicidad a mi vida?
me pregunto, ¿piensan que les voy a recordar o, como siempre, olvidar?

translation:


recording: https://vocaroo.com/1as1g0IzoEoa

4/9/24

elegy for my future dead
(elegy; Greece; poem of serious reflection, typically on death or loss)

every day i send desperate thoughts into the universe,
hoping for the health and safety of my parents and loved ones,
as if i could keep injury and death away by force of will alone.
i don't know why i am so arrogant as to believe that i,
not even a millisecond, a nanosecond in the eyes of time,
could influence anything. i don't know why i try
when i know we'll all die
someday. but can you blame me for my
futile efforts to appear like i
have some semblance of control over my life?
and look at me trying to rhyme
like i'm wresting control of my language yet trapping myself in the process.

i don't believe i've known true grief.
sometimes i think i have empathy
and i can trick myself into weeping
for the losses of people i don't even know,
who exist only in worlds of fiction.
like nemo.
funny how i never cried for the star-crossed lovers,
but i cried for a fish. it was the loss of his mother, i think.
when you are young your parents are your everything.
but that is a lie, is it not? i have not accounted for
orphans, for those without a nuclear family structure, for
so many others whose perspectives i do not know.

i will know grief someday. and my heart melts like
icicles dripping dirty water into grayish puddles
at the thought of that future loss. of my future dead.
of my parents growing old and me,
unable to stop the steady stream of time,
despite the watch i wear and the clock i consider.
already there are gray hairs. already i am drowning.

they say time heals all wounds but
they don't mention that time is the one that causes them.
and maybe i'm terrified that when the time comes my eyes will be dry.
if i could, i would take the salt and pepper from your hair
and rub it into my wounds, giving you my life force through my tears
and making you young again. but i am not rapunzel;
my tears would only be h2o and electrolytes and proteins and lipids.
sometimes i think grief is yet another performance put on for society.

when it is my time, i hope you'll already have passed on.
much as it'd grieve me to be the one left behind,
i hate the thought of you grieving for me first.
when it is my time, i hope they won't grieve for me.
i've heard that some celebrate the life rather than lament the death.
yes. i want them to eat mint chocolate chip ice cream at my funeral and laugh.
when it is my time, i would rather contribute to the net happiness of the world.
my last wish will be for them to play games over my grave.
please. lose track of time as flowers grow over my headstone.