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Young Writers Society


YWS's own... THREAD BOX POEM!



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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Mon Mar 29, 2010 3:47 pm
Hypocrit says...



So, back where I come from this is all the rage. Here's how this goes, write a poem right now... no, right now! Why? Because art is it's own reward.

If noone else uses this, that's cool, I'll just post my stuff in here, because it's all written in the thread box.
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Mon Mar 29, 2010 3:49 pm
Hypocrit says...



I'll start this off.
-
-
There is a dullness in experience.
-
Perhaps it's in the way
the phone sits
and stares accusingly
at your mouth.
-
Perhaps it's in the way
she called you
a few days after
to ask about
the pieces of your heart.
-
Perhaps it's in the way
you retired your dreams
of Rome to the closet
where you keep your
uniform, those dusty
hockey trophies, and
forgotten photographs.
-
Perhaps it's in the way
every moment runs,
stalked fearlessly
by a monster it can't name.
-
Or perhaps
it's in the way
the doctor
asked who
you were
and you said,
"Dull."
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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1464 Reviews

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Points: 83957
Reviews: 1464
Mon Mar 29, 2010 4:15 pm
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JabberHut says...



*moved to Writing Activities*
I make my own policies.
  





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1464 Reviews



Gender: Female
Points: 15394
Reviews: 1464
Mon Mar 29, 2010 6:07 pm
Juniper says...



washboard tiles
bathed in regret and the smell of death
lingering among the freshwashed clothelines of detergent
and memories encapsulated
by the imagination of a single moment
where the clock stops ticking
and the heart stops beating
and the senses are frozen into
a moment of surprise and shock
and numbers that spin,
mean nothing,
develop and die
until the mind wanders
the seven miles the final breaths spent
before the pews
in the chapel
in the rain
with the hearses
and solemn faces
came to tuck you away forever.
"I'd steal somebody's purse if I could google it and then download it." -- Firestarter
  





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1333 Reviews

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Gender: Female
Points: 25775
Reviews: 1333
Mon Mar 29, 2010 7:51 pm
Hannah says...



i hear the stiff walls sucking up your voice
and turning it into cement. it's gritty, it's hard
to listen to you and create something good out of it.
maybe in the same way, you pound me into form
and walk on me, a sidewalk clothed in foreign rain
where ambition refuses to die like a weed.
i will not stay here, but your voice is tied and sinking,
a weight, a seaweed stone under the waves,
and as i watch it drop to the bottom, i don't see
the strand that slips around my ankle
and strangles me by layers, feet to chest to brain.
you can message me with anything: questions, review requests, rants
are you a green room knight yet?
have you read this week's Squills?
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Mon Mar 29, 2010 9:44 pm
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Hypocrit says...



Once I ate apples from her palm,
now she spikes my tongue
with her venom.

(...)

(for future reference, a "..." in parentheticals at any point in a poem marks the need for continuation, elaboration, which anyone may pick up. So, if you wish, you can finish my poem for me! You can also put it in the middle of a poem, and make someone else fill in that part, copy and paste it together, and examine the results privately later. Experiment! Have fun! Get crazy!)

(P.S. This method of poetic play is called "Cumming's Crunk Juice".)
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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160 Reviews



Gender: Male
Points: 3925
Reviews: 160
Tue Mar 30, 2010 2:19 am
Krupp says...



"Hey Mr.,
can I get some change?" he asks
Notice how I'm stridin' fast,
keeping my distance from you?
See how my hands are in my pockets,
yes, observe, but see that they
remain there; not for you, or for
anyone else. Get lost, kid.
Get a job.
I'm advertising here: Rosetta...A Determinism of Morality...out May 25th...2010 album of the year, without question.
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Tue Mar 30, 2010 3:54 am
Hypocrit says...



Christblood slipping out my hands
and Judas's breath still swelling
my tongue, I tucked it into my cheek,
bite my lips, they bleed, just
a trickle.

More blood, I martyred my hands
and raised them to him, and an
accident left my lips "Hey Mr.
can I get some change?" Diction
dammit, noone feeds the dumb.

He tucks his hands into his pocket,
I turn a phrase in my cheek,
he turns a corner
and I bleed

a little more.
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Tue Mar 30, 2010 4:16 am
Hypocrit says...



Seance Song

Burried my shiv in that ghost, lost
it too. Wrenched it's kidney from
the mummified mess, brought up it's past
layed it's head to rest on the curb,
then smeared those remains

down the walls.

"This house is haunted."
Like hell
's footprint,
like a thumbprint in sand;
those aren't smoke stains,
they're photographs.

"Something's screaming through the walls."
"Calm down darling, it was bad acid."
"No, something's screaming through the walls,
and it echoes and carries
into my head." "Calm down darling,
it's just your imagination." "No,
you don't understand, I saw a headless haunt
in my headlights, carried to my rearview,
carried to my window, carried to you."

"What?"

"Darling?"

"Darling??"

"I'm a ghost."

-

When I was little
I saw Charlie Brown.
I cut some holes in a sheet
called it the afterlife
and hid when hell got ugly.

When I was older
a boy asked me about
superstition.
I told him
ghosts had thumbprints
like him.
He told me that was impossible
that there were no ghosts
only silly children
silly stories
and blockbusters.

"What scares you?"
"Larger shadows, real life,
economics, and war."
I asked if he'd seen these things
and he swore by the thumbprints in his coffers
that they were real.

-

There are ghosts, or there are reasons.
Or the ghosts are the reasons we chase.
I took a telescope, stabbed the stars,
and watched 12 angels break, dance,
and spin into
cold monuments.

-

"I'm a ghost."
Burried my shiv
with reason
into flesh.
Reason is the ghost machine
behind open hearts, books
any red.

"I'm a ghost."
Burried my thumb
with prints
into block.
Ghosts are the reason
light shifts red, any heart
felt distance.

"I'm a ghost."
Burried my regrets
with a poem
into thread.
The walls are the reason
the cieling caves, any
stainmade melts.

-

Any ghost begs an ear,
any poem begs an eye,
any body begs a grave,
and any tale stalks a lie.

-

I followed the remains,
stitched them to a curb,
watched the mummies wrench past
and took my shiv from that ghost,
killing you.

Like clockwork, shift-red
and beg Lucifer. Like clockwork,
make time and beg reason,

hobble-handed, ghosts chewing your
footprints, thumbprints, monuments,
moments, minutes, seconds...

There's really noone on the other line.
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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1333 Reviews

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Points: 25775
Reviews: 1333
Tue Mar 30, 2010 4:30 am
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Hannah says...



"i found your earrings. look in the bells above the door."
i looked up at arcs i'd never seen before and saw them hanging --
they were red and pretty, flowers embroidered onto porcelain.
i reached up and felt my arms corkscrew like the vines on the side of our house.
"thanks, mom," and the gratitude clipped the reward into my ear.
but they felt cold and rusty, as if they'd hung in front of a seawind;
it was as if the seahorses had taken to the tradewinds and waltzed around my earrings,
covering them in deepness, vastness, and eternity.
but it scared me to think that the earrings had hung above my head
and in turn had been taught the ways of the anglerfish, luring in by light.
was i just one more pawn in the game, another prey to the swampfires
that lead travelers, hopeful, into quicksand and down where the ocean went, too?
"do they seem a little rusty?" she put another card onto the table
as the morning sun spilled onto her hands like milk. i lapped it up, wholesome.
"yeah, but i like them." and i knew they had seeped a little outward,
tainting my ear lobe with a dusty coral that was my grandmother's lipstick,
even as gummy as the way it felt on my clean cheek. wish you were here, i told her.
i looked up at the bells, the draping beads where my mother hand hung my earrings
and thought i saw an angel fish slip behind the fronds.
you can message me with anything: questions, review requests, rants
are you a green room knight yet?
have you read this week's Squills?
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Tue Mar 30, 2010 5:25 am
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Hypocrit says...



My heart is an anvil.

Everyone smiles hammers,
beats my skin into my head
and then my head into my heart
and then my heart into my stomach
and I can't stomach that.
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Tue Mar 30, 2010 5:35 am
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Hypocrit says...



Numb to words, her head hits the ground
like thunder, a short sputter
lights the tiles and throws the carpet
for the stars, which come up from the floor
and dance to the empty tune of a radiator hum.

Sirens.

And an abduction.

They were angry at his arrogance,
Jack stalking his skeleton up towards the heavens
and taking the heavens down to earth. All hell
had broken accross the two-tone crowds, black
then white between flashes of light.

Icarus must have been drunk
when he thought he could swallow the sun
and pocket the stars
like cough syrups.

"She must have been drunk."

The radiator watches suicide
numb to words.
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





Random avatar


Gender: Male
Points: 4038
Reviews: 25
Tue Mar 30, 2010 5:37 am
Hypocrit says...



Towering undersea vaginas shipwreck submarines,
clench like anemonies
and strangle life into bloom.

Casablanca blemishes
upon a superlative desert
unknown without alms.

Poor spores
almost starved in my arms.

(...)
You know how dumb the average guy is, right? Well, mathematically, by definition, half of them are even dumber than that.
JR ‘Bob’ Dobbs

TW's Red Cross Blue Shield. A CRITIQUE FOR EVERY YWSIAN!
  





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558 Reviews

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Gender: Female
Points: 22481
Reviews: 558
Tue Mar 30, 2010 11:05 am
Matt Bellamy says...



In life,
there is worry.
In the day,
there is fear.
In light,
there is confusion.

In sleep,
there is nothing.
In darkness,
there is comfort.
In emptiness,
there is peace.

In you,
there is happiness.
You are my night.
Matt.

Got Tumblr? Me too! http://www.writersam.co.uk

Peeking Cat Poetry Magazine is accepting submissions! http://peekingcatpoetrymagazine.blogspot.co.uk
  





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1333 Reviews

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Gender: Female
Points: 25775
Reviews: 1333
Tue Mar 30, 2010 2:21 pm
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Hannah says...



he is the camera box, though her lense is fragile.
but why is he so unbending? is there no give around her curves;
why won't he hold her close? why won't he touch her?
"i miss your hands and your fingers and your fingernails"
but he swallows and absorbs, a bristle-sponge, and
leaves the sink dry where he has gone before; even tears are taken.
they rust the drain, but he's bleach, too,
taking color from the world and sanitizing her. her hair's white,
from the roots to the ends, he has poisoned her,
though the sink is clean and the camera unbroken --
something else he didn't have in his registry of tools.
you can message me with anything: questions, review requests, rants
are you a green room knight yet?
have you read this week's Squills?
  








Perhaps the real rickroll was the friends we made along the way
— GengarIsBestBoy