Young Writers Society

poem 11
prose poetry? idk?

for this moment, there is no attachment to be given, no name able to be seen without the true heart. no one left in this land possesses such an item that would let them be free from whatever may have control. the pure and true of heart, are free from the control of their sight, though their bodies may be locked away in asylums. they may be seen as 'crazy' by the ones who liked to be called 'normal', but these powers given, allow them to see a version of 'light'.

@Cadi whoops just saw your message like 30 seconds after posting.
puppers has been the hardest one so far.

poem 12
the ranting religious poetry has begun...

those emails that i get each day, trying to preach to me and ask about my state of religion, cause me to think about what i do actually have. whatever it is, i must not have had it for very long, for everyone around me continues to doubt it.
there are the people on the streetcorners proclaiming what they think is the word, their own personal message received from 'their' god. 'their' god. as if to say that not all christians share the same god, without even thinking of the bigger question, without even jumping into other monotheistic places.
these are all just 'different' versions of a christian god, willing to smite you for different things in different houses. a drink of wine may be the eucharist, it may be sharing something with the lord jesus, or it may be a sin resulting in one dying/burying.
how are there such great differences between people who all claim to 'love', even though they will betray in a heart beat if that's what 'their' god wants.
there is no wonder that i was distant from a religion.
no surprise in the fact that i fought it for so long.
and certainly no relief that i gave into what i hate, so that someone else may be satisfied.

@kyllorac this is for you
poem 13
if you give a possum a pear...

if you give a possum a pear, they'll want to 'pair' it with some cheese.
being such a nature lover, you will dig around the fridge for a block.
the possum will not be satisfied and will say something like,
"with the cheese, there comes a need for crackers."

if you give them the crackers, there'll be crumbs everywhere.
this leaves you with slim choices but yet you want to give the possum
everything it wants to go along with the bits and pieces of pear.

the possum will want to have another pear and its accompaniments,
and you will once again give in to the demands, while still sweeping
the crumbs from the dining room floor because no one else will.

it will eat all the pears and ask if you have anymore, which you won't,
which you will have to explain to the forest creature several times.
more pears means going to the store which would require money,
something which you currently have a lack of.

the possum will save the day here and produce a jackson,
the origin of which the vampire marsupial will not reveal,
only speaking in gestures that simply and sweetly say
"take the money and buy me some goddamn pears."

when you start to go out to the store to get those pears,
the possum will want to come along on the trip too.
to do this, the little possum will want to get all dressed up,
ready to go out on the town for this big trip.

a single bow should do this, along with a few minutes just
spent looking in the mirror in the lavatory.
putting on the bow will remind the possum of a memory,
of what their grandmother used to wear out to the store.

so the possum will ask for a hideous hat, a polyster suit,
and possibly some heavy makeup and skin lifting cream.
the possum will sit in front of the mirror and get what it calls,
"all gussied up to go to church on sunday and duck out halfway."

the possum will now be tired from all this but will still want to go out.
you'll go to the store and spend a very long time looking at the pears.
there's so many different pears to choose from and all need a quality check.
a jackson turns out to buy a lot of pears.

by the time you get home, the possum will be ready for another pear.
and then they'll remember that they need some cheese to go with it...

poem 14
pie is often shaped like roses,
the tender lovely scents trying
to seem ever so similar, but are
completely different triggers.

pie is a representation of a
time where everything was so
gentle. a good year, one with-
out war or famine or any of those
other bad things.

roses are just recollections of
all the bad things that may happen.
their sides, covered in thorns,
draw blood when attention is paid.

roses sometimes bring thoughts
of love but more often they bring
pain, since the two were linked
by a poet, so very long ago.

as per @alliyah's suggestion, this is my new poem.
poem 15
I'd like to use
poets hitchhiking on the highway
but nah not up
for mimicking
that sort of structure
tonight.

sort of jking
maybe/maybe not
poem 16
still things can be sublime.
hollow tree stumps,
and oak branches hang low
so simply natured,
rusted latch and drilled trees,
ice on the pond,
the unknown set of keys,
the rotted palm frond.

and stirred up things are graceful.
the agitated mink,
the swift movement of hands
looping to shake a drink,
the fire that wildly roars up,
the front door flung open,
and the bird that races on
that is soon to be roped in.

poem 17

"i wish to be married. eventually."
these are such common words to
be spoken, by any one in any place,
no matter what they may be thinking.

and despite what i might say to all
who ask, i may 'eventually' want to
be married...

but that first requires something i no
longer possess,
the ability to love.

with that requirement, there comes:
seriously listening to family requests.
doing everything that they want to do.
leaving no room for your own friends,
on the guest list with no visible end.

there leaves the question of the perfect
venue, something that will also be
picked out for me. for my family thinks
that i have no ability to do anything myself,
and that a wedding must stick closely to
the betrothed's religion.

i wish to be married, eventually
in the place of my choosing, with
the people i would actually want to spend
some period of time with.

i don't wish for the white wedding gown
or the flashy, hipsters in a sparkling hue.
i wish for what is essentially my uniform,
a pair of jeans that count as something blue.
the simple veil being the something new.
something borrowed will be the music,
a record taken willingly from my mother.
and old will be referring to this pair
of glistening and white, buckle shoes.

i wrote this before i finished my essay, which is thankfully done now.

poem 18
i don't want to write this script,
such a pain in many places,
would rather dive into the grave,
than talk about half a million faces.

oh psychology why?
you know none of your
students are good writers.
why couldn't this be,
just an alternate assignment,
pretty please.

writing about this panic,
makes me panic myself,
for i can't put the words
together in the way i want
them to honestly mean.

a try with structure

poem 19

this is just simply called a nonet.
it follows a pretty pattern,
so seemingly easy but
that statement is not so
accurate, as this
piece tries to
do but
nope.

poem 20
people in the city,
people in the night,
they think the wrong
things, are really alright.

poem 21
alternate John 20:27
Then he said to Thomas,
“Put your finger here;
see my hands.
Reach out your hand
and put it into my side."
Now stomp your feet together,
and do the cha cha slide.

poem 22
someone has to step in time
make the whole thing rhyme
stop their thoughts on a dime
listen and hear church bells chime.
then there's other, cleaning grime
off of the candlesticks with no shine.
waiting and building a shrine
wondering when the guests will dine,
it should be really any time.
this thing didn't need to rhyme.

poem 23

her
three
lines

because i like
her, who i can
not name.

she is maybe
the one, but
she won't see.

she only has
eyes for him,
love for me is...

a

sin

poem 24

there
is some
feeling of
the waves,
brushing ever
so gently against
me. i wade further
into the stream and let
them watch me, let them
know what i know about it
all. there is pain that i can see,
so simply and easily, but it is not
understood by the ones around me.
to the child in the tattered pants on the
other shore, know that i was once there,
and the hope of an ability to escape it all,
will eventually bring the release that you seek.