Young Writers Society

Completely forgot about this. -.- I got some catching up to do.

#6.

[Mountain Man - Crash Kings]
[Story:Book Burnings]

Spit the devil from your tongue, passion breathes on your
papery skin. In other eyes, full of parasitic words that
is digested through the turning pages. Blazes that bite,
with blackened teeth burning the essence of the wordsmith.
Scars left in comprehension, exposing slipping bowels of data
that is hissing like a cracked kettle pot labeled with propaganda.

#7.
(no idea what I'm doing, but I'd like to catch up.)

[Red Light - David Nail]

peaches and cream drenched in shy flashes of light,
scattered into ma's caramel treats flecked with daydreams
and summer afternoons where she would smile and bite
down on garden strawberries. sometimes she would
draw in her coffee cream, until the day among the
purple geraniums and marigolds you'll find her
on broken knees with huckleberry injuries.

#8.

[First Day of My Life - Bright Eyes]

a currency of broken hearts, and old photographs with
its milky colours of your former, eating apple pie and
ice cream made with ice and that cracked container.
dented from countless times the shell frosted from the
incubated sweet tooth.

but now those memories rot and melt between your fingers
until you can only taste the sticky sugar, clinging to you so
you lick it all away. the taste only lasts so long on your tongue,
so you search those snapshot for a mouthful of the past.

Woot, 3 poems today

Hey Kamas - good to see you're catching up! The sixth one gave me the shivers - I mean, anything that describes books as dangerous is bound to annoy me; but I reckon that WAS the intended effect. Some emotion better than no emotion! There were some fantastic lines:

passion breathes on your
papery skin

Oooo - that is sharp and dangerous in one go. Nice.

I absolutely ADORED the seventh poem - and I still have no idea how you manage to do it: encompass one single sweet idea in a story/poem that is so bite-sized! I loved:

peaches and cream drenched in shy flashes of light

Yum, yum; some mouthwatering imagery here, coupled with new and interesting images - shy flashes of light and all.

she would smile and bite
down on garden strawberries

I actually really liked the placing of the line break here - it kind of gives eating strawberries a sinister edge, because it forces us to pause on that 'bite' before moving on to the next line. Gives us a good jolt

until the day among the
purple geraniums and marigolds you'll find her
on broken knees with huckleberry injuries

And the ending was brilliant (I mean, not for the mother in the poem, but just the grand finale of it). 'Huckleberry injuries' - I don't know why, but even your flowery images are mouthwatering.

And yeah, I AM going to quote the WHOLE of the eighth poem here, since I loved it so much:

a currency of broken hearts, and old photographs with
its milky colours of your former, eating apple pie and
ice cream made with ice and that cracked container.
dented from countless times the shell frosted from the
incubated sweet tooth.

but now those memories rot and melt between your fingers
until you can only taste the sticky sugar, clinging to you so
you lick it all away. the taste only lasts so long on your tongue,
so you search those snapshot for a mouthful of the past.

It. Is. So. Insanely. Vivid! Anything that has 'a currency of' has my attention at once - I love that phrase. I liked how the sweet tooth of the character in this is a metaphor for the memories - this is really, really clever.

Wow. What can I say...I have learnt that it IS possible (thought maybe not as beautifully easy as you make it look) to encompass a single pretty idea into a cute little poem. You've inspired some short poetry here, so well done

Keep going, Kamas!

Thank you very much Navita ^^ I appreciate it.

#9.

[Seven Years - Norah Jones]

To all those children, with stories
untold. Grind to ash and gas all
those nightmares where fire spurs
from chimney tops and broken dolls
litter the ground. To children who are
children no more, let your stories
haunt the guilty with your invisible claws.

#10.

[Drops of Jupiter - Train]

(This is my favourite song and it fit perfectly with the *notsogood* poem. )

draped in the satin of a corkscrew galaxy,
glittering with dusty filaments that cradle
the nucleus of a starburst. a center, tearing
like a newborn, exploding sparks from the force
of a degree separation. when they collide, eyes
dance with the path of a meteor, swaying among the
lights and you realize that heaven isn't so far off.

Keep going Kamas! I actually really liked the imagery behind this latest one -

draped in the satin of a corkscrew galaxy,

This was a lovely opening line .

And I love how you get inspiration from songs *stares off into space, nostalgic*. Of course, you'll sew this up a lot neater once you're not rushed about NaPo, when you've got a bit more time on your hands, but it's definitely looking promising.

#11.

[The Way I Am - Ingrid Michealson]

Dream up a place, where the saxophone
writes down the words in a newsboy's hand
and puts pennies in a jar. Toot your trumpet
until the smoke is laced with showgirls
in your shirts from that night
of smooth jazz and cold rum. But when
windy city blows down those doors,
you play the trumpet just for two.

#12.

[Chim Chimney - Mary Poppins]

the gleeful faces, hidden behind
pillars of smoke. contrasted by teeth,
pearly sweet moons, with the stars
and the chimneys as lampposts in time.
floating with their crooked umbrella
bristles. ash becomes a company and
friend and the chimney sweeps disappear
in curled shadows. with those bright-eyed
London folk.

Hmm. I kind of like your most recent. It reminds me of a poem I wrote last NaPo, except, considerably less dark and less Sylvia Plath-esque. I love your final three lines -- especially "ash becomes a company" and your closing line as a sentence on its own "with those bright-eyed london folk". Not sure that I care for teeth compared to moons -- too contrasting of an image.

-Kylan

Thanks Kylan I'll have to stalk down your old NaPo to read your poem.
I personally didn't think much of it, I just wrote it after watching Mary Poppins.

(After this one, 6 behind. These aren't as great as I'd like them to be but at least I'm catching up )

#13.

[Rock Me Baby - B.B. King]

just like the old man:
who sang the blues on his
cracking porch all day
in his worn blue jeans, and a twelve
bar shave. while the paint split
like untuned chords and turned
yellow. he kept singing
about days, under Memphis skies. and
Delta soul songs resonated down the
block.