Young Writers Society

So I meant to post this yesterday but totally got distracted by all the April foolery! Here we go...

1.
Cast Out

Outcast to the edge of the Catalan Sea
I bend my knee to a kinder king
and cast my line to catch:

Sweet sardines freed from their tins,
swift salmon swimming an upstream dream
and, on one occasion, a castaway;
pepper in his beard and his eyes a Penafiel grey,
like the castle walls.

His tale was harsh as mine -
cast out for the want of a bag of caster sugar
to sweeten his life
(like the spell I cast on the king's new wife).

So we shared a supper of the lower caste
and considered how once born,
we are cast in iron and plunged into water
so cold the weight of the world
can force us to hold their shape.

But we are the outcast
so I showed him how to cast out
the expectations of society,
how to not be cast in their caste
and beneath their salty prison we are free.

2.
Loss is

Loss is not an intangible thing
so don't let them abstract it into metaphors
and forget-me-nots.

It isn't what isn't there which might hurt you,
it's what is.
It's the memories,
the echoes of a might-have-been
when you find a too worn photograph
and fill in the blanks of the time
between
two faces of a spinning coin.
And you're trapped, clinging
to the inner band
of brass

but a coin can't stand on end forever

and loss isn't always about the missing piece;
it can be about what's standing in its place,
the fit so seamless you could almost believe
there was never a hole.
Or there might be, but it's too small
for anything to fall through twice.

Loss is something real and felt within
but it's hard to describe without listing
what it could have been
without.

3.
A Dream I had

It was an expensive bruise;
half a bottle of Dom Pérignon
and the antique lamp my mother bought
for our tenth year of co-existence.

Less Pixar, more a rain of bruises,
maybe 15, 18,
but never an R rating
without a little death.

It was enough to take me
through the thorny barricade
to that enchanted castle.
And a hundred years of sleep,
it sounded kind of nice

but my prince isn't afraid of thorns.
He fumbled a kiss to bring me back
to morning. My eyelids peeled
in the glare of the bathroom
and the bruise reminded me
that dreams do come true.

I really like Loss Is! It's the total opposite of how I tend to approach grief, so it was nice to see the 180 that I'd never thought of.

Thanks @Rosendorn! I find loss can be looked at and felt in so many different ways and it's a bit of a double edged sword because sometimes the hardest thing is realising that over time that wound does heal and things do fill the gap but you don't always want them too/ you feel guilty that they do.

4.
Dactylography

Factylly-Dactylly
Peter P. Peterson
counted the fingers and
toes of the beast.
Dactylographically
beast counted back but he
used his sharp teeth and so
zero he reached.


Yes the double dactyl is my default choice of structure to butcher when I'm failing. Sue me. Also structure to butcher rhymes...

5.
Butcher a Structure

Sonnets are the subject of poet's dreams
Though it's rarely as simple as it seems:
Rules too rigid must find a way to bend
Until our river curves back round, but then
Can you say the first form we held was true?
This is not something I can rightly do;
Under my golden bridge I drew a line -
Rhyming couplets dividing time by time.
but the final line unbound by minE


Bite me. No that is not a line of the poem but it could be.

Bite me is totally a line in the poem. Don't lie.

I was looking for a new form of poetry to write and I found out about the Ghazal. I stumbled on it more than anything. Anyway, my next poem is inspired by this one and if you want to read a good poem, you should ignore this page and go read this instead: http://www.poetrymagazines.org.uk/magaz ... p?id=21608

5. Lie with me

The sonorous beep of your heart will lull me to sleep so wake me.
Don't leave my hunger unfed, come to me, come to bed; lie with me.

Tell me boasts of your day, of the dragons you slay in the light
and of the maidens who swoon when you leave them too soon to meet me.

Though it's dark under cover, it's warm with a lover. Let's not fight
and don't let it end, build a fort and pretend to defend me.

Describe the fair land, help me understand the heights of your sight
but don't forget the old, there are still dreams to behold so unfold me.

And if you must leave, don't deceive me, but first reprieve me of this night,
come tell me the truth at the phantom tollbooth where you left me.



I'm not sure I like it or that I used the form very well. And I'm behind. Ah NaPo, I hate you.

I really love your Ghazal, and it's SO true to your style of poetry, stirring together the gorgeous romantic nature with ideals of fantasy to weave together this dream-like state that almost aches to read because it evokes this sense that, as the poem ends, the dream will as well. In short, I reeeeally dig it and think you and the Ghazal make good friends. (I haven't tried them yet as I just learned of them from @fortis like last week.)

You're a darling Lumi, though I still think it needs a lot of work!

One more before I call it a night. I'm not sure I'm awake enough today for playing catch up:

6. Plant-life

Some plants outgrow their pots in that first year,
their limbs barely bristled with new leaves
and their flowers still hidden in pink buds
but already their roots have run too deep
and they have nowhere else to go.

I am failing at this... *must find time*

That last poem you have on here, number 6. Plant Life, I really like it.

I think you've got a good handle on the description side of things and I really want to see you write it again now that a few days have passed about the same flower. You could almost write like, 12 pieces just on the flower and it's different stages of development. One on the growth, the breaking of the soil, the first distinction of petals, the development of organs, the release and reveal to the world, and then the over-reveal as it dies back, and stores it's energy to reproduce or grow again next year.

I like 6 too, if only because it makes me think of my poor amaryllis plant that has two good leaves but will probably never bloom. At least the leaves don't die anymore like they did when I lived further south and I think they got too much sun.

Anyway, your rhyming poems are fun and these are definitely quality, and I'm sure you can still write awesome poems in May and beyond.

You guys are too sweet! I finished a few more half drafts on paper which I'll put up later today but yes, if nothing else this should push me to try to write at least one poem every month of the year.