Young Writers Society

on dreams

sometimes my dream quests are surreal
like when I lived in London last night,
and had to walk to Paris
while carrying my goldfish.

other times, they are as stunningly simple
as driving to school,
except I am two hours late
and I stop at the mcdonald's
that my mind placed on the wrong side of town.

it is 5:30 am and i am sleepless,
watching the waxing gibbous moon
shine through the haze.
sleep has eluded me tonight,
and once again, i do not know why.

I'm fond of warning sides and the bride, though honestly nothing can beat the magnificence of on dreams and I mean that with all seriousness. Even without knowing the context (and being delighted that I feature in it) I love the surreal-ness and the idea of a Mcdonalds on the wrong side of town. It really captures that strangeness of dreams.

Thanks Rydia!

Now I have some time and energy but am low on motivation so let's go to the Random Poetic Line Generator: the oceans of the soul vanish beneath the surface,

The oceans of the soul
vanish beneath the surface
of hi, how are you,
are you finding everything okay?

they need you to be a superstore GPS
and Wikipedia rolled into one,
magically knowing everything
about fish and foundation and motor oil.

you need them for the paycheck,
and in the best case scenario,
you don't remember each other's faces
after Thank you for shopping with us!
Have a great day!

The rules of the game

1: Never speak of this outside these walls
I shouldn't miss a servant this much.
I hated sending Elena away,
but my mother was standing right there.
I couldn't let her slide again.

2. I make the rules. Everyone else follows.
The new girl listens and obeys,
but she is as odd as her pale skin,
and I see fear in her eyes
and a thousand questions on her lips
that she will never dare to ask me.

3. This is but a temporary reality.
If I am to be queen,
I must find a suitable husband
and these days will vanish into memories.
I will have to dismiss the new girl.
I just hope she isn't
taking bedroom games too seriously.

From the music poetry jam. My song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=blW9AWIP8ZU&feature=youtu.be

the buildings still stand after all these years,
but the pews are empty on sunday mornings.
would he even recognize this town
now that no one wears suits
or chain smokes inside bars?

i hear voices come through the static
on his beloved radio, trumpeting
good old fashioned American values
just like he would. but no one's on
the level these days, and believing we can
go back just gets us in a bigger mess.

sometimes i put on his wingtip shoes
and dress up for my TV dinner
as if i could ever build anything
the way my grandpa did.

Also from the music poetry jam.

Song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0eQL3BrRqM8

the world is watching him,
but darling it should be you.
you have the beauty, the magic fingers.
all he has is a name and a temper.

you're as rare as a snowstorm in Jackson,
yet they won't give you a name
even as they crave a voice
to cut through the void in their hearts.

i think of you too often,
wondering if you will ever escape.
if you do, you know where to find me.

you're as rare as a snowstorm in Jackson,
yet they won't give you a name

Oh my gosh, the relationship described in these two lines cuts so hard, and is so sad paired with the last stanza.

@Hannah, wow thanks!

Yeah, I need to play some major catchup. I've had some ideas bouncing around, but haven't been motivated to actually write, so let's change that.

i want to write something
that clings to you
like salt in the crevices of your lips
after too many tortilla chips.

this crystal ball is cloudy except for when you look into the past

where do you see yourself in five years?

i sweat and stammer,
every um revealing
that i have no sufficient answer.

i could say i want to grow
in your company,
but we both know damn well
that you'll get rid of me
long before then,
even if i'm not failing this interview.

five years ago, i would have said
"with a Ph.D!"
demotivation and mental illness
determined that was a lie!

last year, i thought i found
the perfect little cubicle
in a perfect little town.
a five page assessment
of everything that is wrong with me
determined that was a lie!

now,
it seems the most i can hope for
is being alive
and maybe keeping this retail job,
but maybe that's just wishful thinking too.

Uh...so that brings us to 2 days, with nine poems left...can we do it? We'll see.

22
i remember the days
when dandelions were the stuff of crowns.
now they're just the weeds
you want to kill
on your perfect green lawn.

My LMS poem, which is also poem 23.

May 15, 538-Moon Street Dance

Moon Street is not a place
for a respectable girl to be,
but I see that my respectability
was washed away in the princess's bed.

I always imagined it darker than this--
a land of thieves and shadows,
but the revelers cloaked in bright colors
hardly notice me as I crane my neck
searching, searching,
praying to Sil that Elena is safe.

"Hey you! Looking for someone?"

A barrel of a man calls to me
and at first I think to run,
but then I wonder what he knows,
so I approach with wary eyes.

I show him my sketches of Elena
(one of many I drew from memory)
and he shakes his head sadly
but invites me into the bar anyway.

"Name's Marco,
and this here is The Resurrection.
You're welcome to come in for a drink.
Maybe someone else has seen her."

I can hear my mother weeping
at the thought of her daughter
stepping inside a Moon Street bar,
but it might be the only way to find Elena.

Gotta love the Random Poetic Line generator! memories of longing hurt under a cloudless sky,

The sun is shining,
the sky blue as a child's drawing,
the sand as warm and white
as you imagine Paradise to be.

I sink myself into the water,
hoping to remember
what it felt like to want you,
to want anything or anyone at all.

Beaches are lovely in theory,
but at the end of the day
you are sunburnt and sand-covered
and you know the whole world
was silently laughing at your
un-swimsuit-worthy body.

Of all the things I have ever wanted,
what I desire most is to return
to the days when a beach was a beach
and swimming was swimming
and nothing more.

This one is prompted from the quote currently at the bottom of the page: No spring nor summer beauty hath such grace as I have seen in one autumnal face.
— John Donne

in september, you have to bend
with the changing winds,
as some days are hotter than august
while others bring just a touch of frost.

in october, you have to brave
the fears that green leaves covered
as you crunch the leaves on the forest trail.

in november, you have to begin
to find the joy in darker nights
and keep your family close
when snow comes knocking down your doors.

it is easy to dance in spring rains
and smile in the sun of summer,
but it is in autumn
where you learn to forgive.

Niteowl, I really liked that last poem inspired by the Donne line (I am big fan of John Donne's poetry). You take the kind of standard changing seasons poem and give it that little twist at the end with the last two lines, "but it is in autumn / where you learn to forgive. " the imagery is fitting all the way through and the ending is just spot on.

The last stanza from the poem about beaches is so heartbreaking, but authentic and relateable. "Of all the things I have ever wanted,
what I desire most is to return " the line breaks are well done throughout that poem as well. Thanks for sharing!