Young Writers Society

So...there will be thirty poems this time. I've participated before, but have always fallen short.

I am not, however, promising they will be any good. There will probably be too many angsty science poems, at least one sonnet from the Pentametron, and a few haphazard haikus.

Comments are okay unless I say otherwise.

1. The Kiss and Cry

Words stumbled across the room,
walking into their ears and now
they can't come back.

Too many ums, too many dead silences,
overthinking and underknowing and
oh my god how could I forget that?
What are they saying? Why is it taking so goddamn long? Was it enough?
Is it ever enough?

They come back.
Congratulations.
It's over.

Now the real work begins.

A bit of context here:

2. Half-baked Smile

It should be a champagne day,
but my only lifeline is falling
apart before my eyes
and my words are useless against her tears.

I'm the one who needs friends but never keeps them.
I'm always slumped over someone else's shoulder.

Will I ever be good at living the other way round?

3. These Stairs

These stairs are steep,
meant to strain your muscles
with each step.

No elevator, no easy way out,
just try not to trip on crumbling concrete
as you're gasping for air.

The top is barely visible,
and your tendons threaten to snap,
tossing your bones to the bottom.

But after that last step,
you collapse in relief,
and you know it was all worth it.

Ok...so I know I'm woefully behind, but I've been making posters and conferencing and such. I did manage to scribble a couple down though, so let's catch up!

4. Dancing Around

Keep dancing for me, pretty girl,
you know just what to do.
The truth can't hurt you, pretty girl,
Just say you love me too.

You won't dance for me, pretty girl,
A pity, can't you see.
Soon you won't be so pretty girl,
As your shoes rot off your feet.

Dance till the end, my pretty girl,
Dance till the world turns gray.
I could not touch you, pretty girl;
Now you can't walk away.

5. Rhyme All the Time

If you rhyme all the time,
you can't commit a crime.

If you rhyme all the time,
you'll sound like a wind chime.

If you rhyme all the time,
you sure won't make a dime.

If you rhyme all the time,
you will turn into a lime!

6. To an almost-stranger

there was a boy on the other side of the bar.
he looked just like you,
if you'd washed your hair in chocolate.

for a split second, i imagined walking over,
as if you'd even remember me,
as if you weren't tangled up with
the people i'm drinking to forget.

but aren't you in seattle now or something?
besides, you don't seem like the type to dye your hair.

no almost-stranger here,
no veneer of familiarity,
just another of a million
unknowns

Kiss and Cry - dangit! I wish I hadn't revealed the spoiler before reading it, because I wanted to see if I could've gotten it without the context, but the congratulations line makes me laugh for how short it comes and goes and how none celebratory it feels.
Half-baked smile -- aww :c -pats-
These stairs - "just try not to trip on crumbling concrete
as you're gasping for air." -- OMG o.o Until that last line I was almost sure this poem wanted to threaten my life.

Dancing Around - XD I LOVE this. I can sing this.
Rhyme All the Time- Hehehehehe. Lime party!
Almost Stranger -oh man, I know this feeling...

@Audy Thanks for the comments. Yeah, I think the brief "congratulations" line is fitting for how I feel. Like there's still so much to be done.

Anyway, if you liked "Dancing Around", you'll probably like this one. It's another rhyme-y poem about death. Go figure.

7. Her Alone

Does she read the paper still?
Will she notice my name?
Will she come see me sleeping
when I can't run away?

It was her alone who loved me,
her alone who tried,
her alone who held my hand
even as she cried.

Some men are made for holy vows,
but I was meant to lie.
Fair as she was, I had to chase
another butterfly.

The years have passed, and now I find
I long for days of old.
None by my side, I dream of her
so my bed seems less cold.

Is there forgiveness in her heart?
It's far too late to tell,
But mine will spend its final beats
locked under her spell.

And as the Reaper stands before me,
It is her and her alone I see.

8. Senryu #1

Do I love you, dear?
Or is it just a symptom?
I can never tell.

I might want to explore this idea further in the future. It's a recurring theme in fragments I've written.

9. Into the Sunset

When he drove into the sunset,
he never said that you'd go blind.

I might do more with this, but right now I can't think of what to add.

EDIT: Okay, I'm insane, so I think I'm going to make this a full-blown sonnet.

He said let's ride into the setting sun
But never mentioned that you would go blind.
Oh why do young hearts always think it fun
To ignore sense and leave their world behind?
It's great at first, believing that you're free
from everything the world once placed on you.
No such thing as responsibility
Or fences banning love from passing through.
You know, my dear, I understand too well
That sunsets only lead to blackened nights.
Young love is but a fickle sort of spell
But coming home with you sure set me right.
In daughters, mothers' follies are recast.
Now please come home and leave yours in the past.

Well there. It's a sonnet. Miracles do happen. Or something.

10. I've decided to take my lines from Song-Lyric MashUp! and make a new piece modifying the lines to make a semi-coherent piece.

Falling Apart to Half Time

These streets have too many names
without your whispered assurances
"Bad news always comes, don't you worry when it lands".

The way you looked at me in that dress,
Looking in your eyes was perilous.
Words of love spilled from my lips like a curse.
Le pido el cielo solo un deseo

But truth comes out a little at a time--
it wasn't love, it was just nicotine.

I walked by your apartment twice today.

11. Lizard Men and One-Armed Pushups

one, two, three
Ha, you always were such a showoff.
four, five, six
Do you really think I care, dear?
seven, eight, nine
At our age, do muscles really make the man?

ten, eleven, twelve
Ooh, you're stronger than in high school.
thirteen, fourteen, fifteen
Doesn't mean you can love me any better.
sixteen, seventeen, eighteen
Yeah, I've talked to your ex-wives.

nineteen, twenty, twenty-one
Switching arms, just like you switched lives
twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four
with me all day and some hussy all night.
twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven
You're cold-blooded, and now with skin to match.

twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty
Fifty-odd years doesn't always mean forgiveness.
thirty-one, thirty-two, thirty-three
Our time is running out, and you're not worth a second
thirty-three, thirty-four, thirty-five
Let me blow this cigarette smoke in your face.

This is for Writing Gooder Creative Challenge! @Cailey

EDIT: Okay, I totally misunderstood the prompt, which was to write about lizards while doing pushups. Oh well. I had fun with this.

Note: this one is personal. I'm kind of hesitant to share it, but I feel like it's the best thing I've written on the subject. Therefore if you're going to comment, please be nice. I am all kinds of unsure about the form, though.

12. she will not win tonight

she is sweet at first, whispering honey encouragement and planting the seeds of divine arrogance.

do you really need sleep tonight?

bathe in my creative haze, she sings. no drugs needed, just misaligned receptors and unbarred passion.

float out of the world you are above it. put together puzzle pieces that were never meant to fit and fly fly fly

watch the world go to molasses as you spit out the keys to nirvana in sixty-fourth notes and all you hear is slow down, slow down

but why my dear why? with me the music is prophecy and the psychadelic is real here in god's orb. he speaks to you and only to you.

who needs the cardboard men with their straitjackets when here even fluorescent lights shine as the sun and the colors shout in ecstasy as they too must be free.

but misfit puzzles collapse and lightbulbs scream until the cardboard men stop you from singing.

god did not make prophets from dead stars. You are scrambled neurons and poisoned ambrosia.

these capsules are my true saviors.
i will sleep tonight.

13. Apparent

Apparently I say "apparently" too much,
as if I am so green that everything
is stunning, revelations appearing
from nowhere.

Apparently leaves no room for logic,
no connection between what was
and what is.

The world is apparent;
it revolves around nothing.

14. Playlist

I've been listening to someone else's playlist,
foreign tunes that saunter into my headspace,
until the melodies are all I know,
yet I don't even know the names
of the voices that sing.

Her songs now stick to me
so that my own playlist
seems so stale in comparison.

Who really needs their own taste anyway?