Young Writers Society

Well, well. It's that time of year again. NaPo! Let's see how I go.

Poetry to come.

Enjoy~

~Scar. <3


1.a As They Pass.

A dash of black and brown,
dancing across the dull grass
with the sound of thunder
as they pass,
and a blur of colour against
an early dawning sky.
Red and white, beige and cream,
a dash of silver on the side,
glimpsed between the trees,
almost lost between the green, brown
of the forest, and snowy white
of the light dusting of cold
on a mountain valley floor.

2.a Shifting, Shifting.

Shifting, shifting,
pale shadows against the glass.
Scratching, scratching,
like nails against a chalkboard.
Paranoia, like drifting tendrils of smoke
upon the air, twisting and twining
like pale fingers around a tree,
up and up, around and around,
almost free of the insanity
that curls around a mind.
Begging, begging,
for a freedom undeserved.
Yearning, yearning,
for that wide open space,
just beyond the doors.

3.a In The End Of Everything.

Drifting petals upon a rushing tide
of cerulean and persian waves.

An ocean full of ancient sorrows,
a sea full of endless fears,
with that never-ending glint
of silver clouds and starlit
nights lazily floating high above.

Spinning leaves upon a roaring wind,
all made of olive and bronze,
and crimson shades,
dim colours against the sky.

A forest full of ancient things,
dim shadows in your eyes.
A wood full of sacred rites,
seen right before the fight.

This is the cradle,
where it all began.
This is the the womb,
where it all was born.
And this is the tomb,
where it shall all come to an end.

Dream, life
of things yet to come,
of all the things that you have done,
and let all of you despair.

This is where the nightmares
and the monsters
shall rise from,
to tear the world apart
in the end of everything.

Drifting petals upon a rushing tide
of cerulean and persian waves,
turned red and black, and grey,
by the rising sickness in the depths
of those never-ending waves.

An ocean full of pain and sorrow,
a sea full of death and fear,
with that never-ending glint
of red-tinted silver clouds
and fading starlit nights
lazily floating high above.

Spinning leaves upon a violent wind,
all made of grey and black,
and tainted shades,
dying colours against the sky.

A forest full of ancient things,
darkened from your sight.
A wood full of sacred rites,
torn apart before the final bite.

This is the cradle,
where life will end.
This is the womb,
that was your origin.
And this is the tomb,
where you shall be laid to rest.

Dream, fading life
of things that are about to come,
of all the things that you have done,
and let all of you despair.

This is where the nightmares
and the monsters
have risen from,
to tear you all apart
in the end of everything.

Dream, life, of nightmares
and monsters,
as they are to come,
of all the thing yet to be done
and let out all your despair...

...in the face of the end of everything.

I.a: This is beautiful. I love your use of colour and it flows perfectly.

2a: I like the compression of this into one stanza but I'm not sure you need the repetition of words.

3a.: The opening couplet was beautiful, it really drew me in. I especially enjoyed the imagery in the first three stanzas. I'd maybe try it without the rhyme, or else standardize the rhyming pattern.

Good luck with the rest of them!
Jas

1. I love the use of colour here but a couple more details might have been nice, just to pick out more of the image!

2. I agree with Jas; the repetition was a bit too much but other than that I liked it.

3. Again what Jas said - the rhyme was very jarring in places and really distracted me from the words. I'd also suggest maybe cutting it down a little as the first couple of stanzas were the strongest and then it tailed off toward the end.

Thanks Jas, Kitty/OtherMe. <3 I think I'll be editing most of these after I'm done. *files comments away for future referrence*

Meanwhile, here's another one;

4.a Like It Ends Tonight.

Beneath the everbright stars,
amidst crumbling stone and ancient walls
lay dormant a sleeping boy, with bark for his skin
and leaves for his hair, and ancient shadows
hiding in the crease lines of his sleepy smile.

Beneath the fading city, deep down
below it all, he sleeps and he dreams of
long forgotten days, and of long forgotten things,
which those who remember yearn for yet never will see
expect in memories of a long-forgotten time.

In the foggy dream-like realm
where the sleeping boy keeps memories
of ancient things and sacred places,
leaving his footprints behind in the sand
in the moments before the waves wash it away.

And, within the eyes of an ancient thing,
he sees all of that which he must love
and all of that which he does fear,
yet must not fail to redeem but is no longer
slumbering beneath the ancient spears.

Yet all around, the stones do crumble and the walls
do come falling down, and still the boy sleeps,
untouched by all that surrounds his lair, slowly but surely
revealing him to the open air and the eyes
of all who seek an ancient site and the power
that comes with taking his life.

4a. Triplet! I finally decided to comment. It's because I love the idea for this poem (Endymion? It reminds me a lot of the mythological Endymion. Just a tad) but I had an objection. It was that the first stanza seems to be written in past tense, with this line being the definer:

lay dormant a sleeping boy, with bark for his skin

Then the next stanza is written in present tense:

below it all, he sleeps and he dreams of

It might be intentional, but it shakes me out of the rhythm a little. But otherwise, I really loved it, even with the morbidity and all. <3 I wanna see more poems like this!

From your Triplet.

Triplet. <3 By Endymion, do you by any chance mean this one? If you do, I can see what you mean. ^^ Ah, that. I think I might need to fix it. *eyes poem* But perhaps later. Glad you loved it, and I shall try to write more morbid poetry! Sadly, this one isn't (or is it? Either way, enjoy~);

5.a Re-debating Reality.

From between the stars,
you did come,
with knowledge far beyond your years
and an ancient wisdom in your eyes
though a lie was what your face was,
for you looked like a child, a girl barely into her teens,
with starlight for hair and moonlight for eyes,
and skin like the milky way,
all pure white
and sprinkled with stars.
It seemed too good to be true,
that I had you
when really you had me
and it was all in our minds.
I thought you were a lie, a dream,
but you proved me wrong
and reality right.
You were real and so was I,
and we were both
from between the stars,
though I had been lost when you had not
and now that we were reunited,
it was time to return to that darkness
in the sky high above.
And then, with the dawning of the sun,
I realised that it had all truly been a fantasy
and that I was alone.
If you were real, you were gone,
back to that space between the stars.
And I? I was alone.

And another;

6.a Ancient Rhyme.

Deep in the forest
of shadows and lies,
fire dances in hungry eyes,
reflections shimmer within
those flames
and shadows shift and play
in the spaces between
tree and sky.

Hear the drums,
stamp your feet.
Keep in time
with pounding hearts
and ancient rhymes.

Listen to
the ancient chants,
the ageless words,
spoken by the fire
to those shadows
dancing between tree and sky.

Feel the beat,
right down in your bones,
let your feet move in time,
to the drumming
and the ancient rhymes.

Close your eyes,
open your arms.
Let in no fear,
let free all
sense of time.

Deep in the forest
where shadows and lies
do dwell,
feel the fire and the hungry eyes.
Watch the reflections in the treeline
and in those flames
as the shadows shift and play
between tree and sky.

Hear the drums,
let them in.
Shuffle your feet,
keep in time.
Breathe it in,
and breathe it out.

Listen to all the words
spoken in an ancient tongue,
an ageless
understanding, from within
the flames and the dirt
beneath your feet.

Feel the meaning,
behind the rhymes.
Let it settle in your bones,
let it dwell deep inside
and let it out
to move your feet,
and play in time,
with an ancient rhyme.

Breathe it in,
and breathe it out.
Open your eyes,
see the truth between the lies
and let no fear
dwell here.

Let go
all sense of time.
No dark magic
is welcome here.
Shuffle your feet,
keep in time.

This is an ancient rhyme.



Edit; 6.a Ancient Rhyme, version 2

Hear the drums,
let them in.
Shuffle your feet,
keep in time.
Breathe it in,
and breathe it out.

Listen to all the words
spoken in an ancient tongue.
Feel the meaning,
behind the rhymes.
Let it settle in your bones,
let it dwell deep inside.

Breathe it out,
and breathe it in.
Open your eyes,
see the truth
between the lies
and let no fear
dwell here.

Let go
all sense of time.
No dark magic
is welcome here.
Shuffle your feet,
keep in time.

This is an ancient rhyme.

I'm just full of these tonight, aren't I?

7.a Creativity.

Fire dances above
and water underneath,
while the stars spin and twirl,
pretty ballerinas in the sky.
All of this,
while the earth sleeps
and the sun is high above
everything.

In a trance,
watch as everything
you know comes undone
and the spider spins
her web of light and sound.
Listen to the music,
listen to the drums.
It’s an ancient, sacred sound
and one most profound.

Watch in awe
as the spider and the fly
do dance,
without ever making a sound.
Listen for the tell-tale signs
of life and death
amidst all the colours
and the drums
as the sky does dance
and the trees do spin
across the sky.

And you must never, ever
misunderstand.
What you see is what you get
yet never the reality
that you understand;
what you see is not what you get.

Spin and dance,
watch the whole earth
as if in a trance.
Hear the music, see the dance
and join in with your feet.
Add your voice
to life’s song
and never, ever misunderstand;

Reality is your fantasy,
fantasy is your reality.
Don’t mistake it for a disability,
this is your creativity.

Yup. Another one. Here you go;

8.a Do You Remember?

Do you remember
when we kissed under a harvest moon?
You had flowers in your hair and a ribbon
tied into a bow--it was off-centre, I remember;
I tugged it free of those pretty blonde strands (like straw or sunlight
turned into silken threads) and we laid down together
in the tall grass.

But is that a dream,
or is it a memory?
I can’t be sure; it was
so long ago.

Do you remember
when I would be gone for ages?
How you mourned for me--weeping for a love
that may never come home. And,
I should know; I almost got lost coming back
from the airport, bag of luggage in tow. (Purple--your
favourite colour; you had insisted and I
didn’t dare deny you a thing.)

You hugged me so tight, you know;
I thought I’d broken a rib (again)
but you were so glad to see me, that
I ignored it-- Anything for you.

Do you remember
when we would lay in the tall grass,
and stare up at the sky, trying
to make pictures in the clouds?
You always called every second one a
rabbit--I thought it was cute, and
when I told you so, you blushed.

It was like Summer in July,
when the storms would roll across the too-bright sky
and no rain would fall until December, when
it was meant to be so dry that
nothing would grow and everyone
would seek the water to cool down.

Do you remember
how we used to swim at beach?
You were so young back then, so
full of life. I used to think it would never end;
guess I was wrong. It did
come to an end--but I
wasn’t the one to ask.

You said you loved me like
the earth loved the sky.
You used to tell me that
I was everything you wanted,
everything you had wished for.

But then everything changed,
and you so did you--most of all.
It was like the rain in November,
when Winter turned into Spring,
and Spring in Autumn and then Summer.
You whims changed like the ocean,
in bad weather.
I couldn’t seem to do the right thing.

But is this a dream,
or is it a memory?
I can’t remember anymore;
it was too long ago.

Now we’re both old,
both too full of memories
and lost desires,
and you don’t want to
know about me anymore.

Can’t I do one last thing right?

Do you remember
when we first meet?
It was in Summer, I think--
July, if I’m correct. You wore
a red bikini, and you smiled
my way. It was a Sunday.
By the end of the next week, I had
found out where you worked, where
you lived and gotten your number.
I called you, asked you to hang out.

You were so shy, so nervous; I
think you split your drink on my tie.
I didn’t mind--it wasn’t mine.
And, when I took you home,
we kissed; you said goodnight
and closed the door. Left me standing out
in the cold. I merely smiled.

Do you remember
all the good times?
Where we smiled and laughed,
and had such a good time?
Whatever happened
to those good old days?
I don’t remember; it was far too long ago.

9.a Howl.

She watches with darkened eyes,
and tattered wings,
from the dark spaces between the moon above
and the earth below.

And she waits, for the love
that abandoned her
when she needed it the most,
with a longing soul.

And she will
howl.
In the dead of night,
she will be there,
waiting.
Watching.
Hunting.

Within the shadows, her heart lays bare
and covered in blood and tattered shards
of a love long past, that
cost far too much.

And with a hungry gaze, she longs
for the blood in those veins, to
hear the screams from deep within
as she rips skin apart.

She will...
...howl.
In the dead
of the night.
She will be there.
Watching.
Waiting.
Hunting him.

And she will watch
as the sun goes down
and the moon comes up,
full and round and red.

With shadows dancing within her eyes,
darkness howling within her soul,
even as evil claims her heart
and her tattered wings.

And in the end,
she will...
...howl.
Into the dead
of night,
and she
will be there.

Hunting, waiting, watching.
She will....

Howl.

This. I don't even.... Yeah. Well, enjoy.

10.a Tales of Wonders

I will tell you a story of a world where song is power,
and where light can shine even the darkest of places.
Where dragons roar and sing their own songs,
where magic is eternal and neither light nor dark,
yet every shade that comes between and expands, and expands.

I will tell you a tale of mighty beasts and bravery,
where your spirit soars and magic blends with reality.
Where even you can sing a song to tame those mighty beasts
who roar and fly, and sing their mighty songs.
Where the eternal exists in both dark and light, and knows no bounds.

I shall sing you a song of a world where music is power
and even the lightest of places can be turned dark and mysterious.
Where dragons fly and breathe fire, and magic,
where song and music is eternal, made of dark
and light, and every shade in between.

I shall sing you a tale about a song to make you spirits soar,
and where you can shine in the most despairing of places.
Where mighty beast do sing their songs of eternal magic,
and where their homes is also yours, so full of tragic sadness
and profound happiness, where my soul does dwell.

I can show you a realm of wonders, where magic does sigh and twirls,
creating a song you can sing, so full of that eternal thing, where mighty
beings do dance through the sky, singing, and singing their mighty songs,
so beautiful that it will reveal your soul, and where the beauty
does make wonders so full of magic you shall never wish to leave.

And I can trap you in this realm of beauty, and wonder, and magic,
once you learn to sing your songs and let your soul soar high above
the magic land in which you now find yourself, caught and entrapped
in a place where everything is eternal and forever ending, all at one.
This is a realm where life does exist, and where I can easily destroy it.

This is what happens when you watch things with zombies in it. Morbidness and creepiness. o.O Er, enjoy?

11.a Apocalypse.

Just like every other day the sun did rise
and the birds did sing but there was
a dark cloud lurking above all that was below.
Just as we thought the world was beginning,
it all began to end, with a scream of terror
and a shaky no longer living hand.
And those we had thought long gone
rose up and the fear rise with them.
And as the sun went down, so did begin
the last thing we ever thought would come.

In the deep, deadness of night, we heard
the screams and the moans. And the groaning that
preluded those who were gone-yet-not.
And we shrank back in fear, and in horror,
from those reaching, searching hands, half-worn
down to bones and half-decayed flesh.
It was our nightmares come true, and we
dreaded what had come before, what was yet to come.
And then the sun rose, bringing with it the light,
and it showed us all what we had dreaded, had feared.

In that bright, sharpness of dawn, we saw
all that we could behold, those that walked yet
were not alive, and those that had recently died.
And it was with horror, fear and a sinking heart
that we did take up our arms, be it shovel, spade or gun,
to grieve and fight back, like it was all meant to be undone.
Yet, as we fought, so did they, and it made more than a few
lose their appetite. Down the streets and across a nation;
so it had begun. With not a bang or a whimper, but a scream of terror.
And, in the end of everything, our apocalypse had come.

I really don't know. It came from prompts in Rydia's Poetry thingy earlier.

12.a But Honestly...

snuffling snouts beneath shady trees,
penning tales of pots and bellies, and pigs,
and charming green ink across paper white
with mouths open to speak modliness things
and twisting horns breaking the skyline between noses
while charming words are slinking across silky white spaces

~~~

And also this, which was a collaboration, prompted thingy also in Rydia's little Poetry Chat thing, between Rydia, Cadi, Pengi and myself;

13.a Destitute Illusions.

Peter took my socks to neverland
while charming words are slinking across silky white spaces
and the nymphettes swallow their pride
betrayed in a wooden mask,
still working the margin for letters that count.

Two sheets short of a line,
penning tales of pots and bellies, and pigs,
I sketch out noses, hid in trees,
and charming green ink across paper white,
or eight-leg beasts, on oak debris.

Paper weird like my mind's eye,
the Nymphs wore black today,
snuffling snouts beneath shady trees
(Leaves greener than my inky scrawls).

I always failed at paper dolls
of their doppelganger kind.