Young Writers Society

Trickster - Number One


Restlessness and frustration
reverberate throughout my body,
the echo of an echo ricochets
leaving when scream meets air

and pen meets paper, ink sizzling
no different from the perpetual vexation
that causes witches' cauldrons to bubble,
emotions stirred with a wooden ladle

if words are magic as you say
then i am a magician, a trickster
desperate to preserve the facade that
these musings are more than mundane.

Infernal - Number Two - Structure: Katauta


Infernal howls fill the night
as our bodies wane and wax
in the moonlight as we fall.

Wyvern - Number Three


At the foot of the mountain,
men and women alike dress
in the color of death, casting
sihouettes that forebode
the road ahead, no less shameful
than a vulture circling the sky
waiting to swoop in when
prey is vulnerable.

At the foot of the mountain
men and women alike swear
on an oath to slay the wyvern
roosting above, a heavy tail
constricting the crest.

At the foot of the mountain
flashbacks flood into the minds
of men and women alike.
Those vivid images of serenity
left in terror and ruin by flame
blaze the path ahead.

Frostbite - Number Four


You are the frostbite that crawls up
the embedded torsos of trees
attempting to heal after
a barren wintertide.

In late March, I thought you were finally gone
until I found you regressing back into a puddle
on my front steps this morning.

Even on days where I'm laughing and smiling
and I'm moving on, hints of you are left behind--
when the wind howls outside my bedroom window
I hear your voice and in the blanket of dew, I swear
I see shadows of the puppet strings
that bound my limbs once upon a time.

Squall - Number Five


Thunder pierces through the silence
as rain paints the sky in colors of calamity.
Upturned leaves promising a squall,
a green tint fills the air.

Liquid snakes born in the downpour
dodge and weave out of the way
of pandemonium in an attempt
to keep a steady cadence.

Lightning pirouettes and cavorts
through the clouds. In that moment
I realize beautiful can be dangerous.

Wow. You’re so talented and totally winning our April Madness bracket.

Trickster has some really nice vocabulary to better create the idea of a frantic, rushed attempt to write? I think “The ink sizzling” is such an interesting and wicked verb use.

Infernal is short but very succinct and I love that image of moons at night. Makes me think of werewolves XD.

I like the repetition of “At the foot of the mountain” in Wyvern because you’re allowing for the reader to keep adding to the image of a mountain with every line. All three stanzas just go with each other so well.

Frostbite was eerie. Dang. The comparison/contrast with the happy feelings at the end do a nice job of bringing it all together.

“Lightning pirouettes” in Squall is a delicious combination. Am I love that last line. Like before, all you need is a little relation between stanzas/pieces to string the {somewhat} loose ends in a cute little bow.

Can’t wait for more poems! I love your style <3

@Killeham Thank you so much for the compliments! I'm happy you're enjoying what I'm putting out!

Controller - Number Six


If love is a game then you are an addict
with your eyes wide and face too close
to the screen. When you lose,
you kick reason to the curb and blame
the game, throwing the controller
against the wall because
you have none.

Sweet Smiles - Number Seven


Your sweet smiles can turn the ice
surrounding hearts mutating into
kingdoms of frost into soup.
Arctic veins stiff as the rails
at the skatepark transfer
warm blood once again.

The sound of your cinnamon voice
can render a devil with icicles dripping
from his ribs and a handgun asleep
in his back pocket defenseless
but I'll never tell you that.

Wow, I really like #6 - an excellent metaphor. The image that forms in my mind is incredibly vivid, and a little bit scary.

Thanks so much @Cadi! I've been working on brevity to make my imagery more concise lately, so I'm glad that the image comes across as vivid.

Mattress - Number Eight


Yesterday, I threw away my mattress
after weeks of watching your scent rise
from the sheets like a pool's breath
on a cool morning. With bent springs
and worn edges, that bed saw two years
of restless nights spent tossing and turning
in the puddles of our hair. Back then,
we were messes, leaving behind
snowflakes of our souls and
sprinkles of our bones.
Now, we're nothing

(without the mattress
that knew the shape
of our bodies better
than anyone else).

I loved "Squall". There's vivid imagery in a lot of these poems, but I think with Squall the imagery came to life for me, it's those verbs, man those verbs. Plus, I thought the theme in that one line: beauty can be dangerous, perfectly sums up a lot of these poems, especially "Mattress" - that voice is creepy to the max, but a brilliant concept I'd love to explore deeper!

Autumn, Winter - Number Nine


Autumn is the final burst of adrenaline,
of primal voracity, of the lure to scavenge
before hibernating in a cavity within
the forest's teeth.

Autumn is skydiving and winter is
the pure impulse to pull the string
on your parachute before your feet
collide with the earth's cranium.

Before the impact sends tremors
throughout your whole body,
glass bones shattering.

Winter is struggling to find your feet
after you soared in the sky like Icarus
but even Icarus's wax wings waned.