Young Writers Society

#12

Sink into the soft embrace
of yielding foam and light, puffy feathers;
cocoon yourself in warmth
and drift away to dreamland.

#13

The day the boiler broke, it was raining outside,
gauzy drizzle hissing from a pallid sky,
thinner than the downpour in my dining room,
the roaring mass of water that consumed
all below. I spread out towels and cloths,
and spent over an hour wielding a mop,
but when the flood was gone, this still remained:
damp plaster, warped floorboards, and the unceasing rain.

#14

What can you grow on twelve square feet of decking,
two storeys up
with nothing to shield against wind or sun?

Rosemary, certainly;
lavender, maybe;
a little bit of mint, a little bit of thyme:
Just enough greenery
to feel like it's mine.

#15

It's a recipe for disappointment,
but I confess
I've started anticipating your visits again

#16

There's a place behind my ribs that's twisted
in a knot of dizzying vertigo
from teetering on the cliff-edge
of the gulf between reality
and that moment in my dreams.

#17

It's picking up a bar of soap, and remembering
that there's something to be guilty about
(but the knowledge of what eludes your grasp,
leaping from your lathered fingers into the basin).

It's the certainty of having said something Wrong
as though your friend is an examiner,
and conversations have grades.

#18

Clothes: packed;
Plants: watered;
Travellers: tucked up in bed.

#19

Tail-wagger
Ball-squeaker
Food-snaffler
Toe-warmer
Dog

#20

On soft, silent wings
Pale face in the dead of night
Fieldmouse's demise

#21

Standing in the dapple gold
by the rushing river broad,
breathing in lungfuls of sweet wild garlic
(tiny white stars
dotted on aromatic waves of green)
bathing in unexpected April heat.

Hey Cadi, these are beautiful! I especially like #13 (there's something about that ending that's really peaceful and lovely, I'm not sure how to describe it but I really like it) and #17, I love the lines:

(but the knowledge of what eludes your grasp,
leaping from your lathered fingers into the basin).

The imagery in #3 is especially stunning, and #19 made me smile (as did #12 with its alternative title!), and I'm kind of in awe at your ability to write one of these every day. Don't stop!

Also I was writing this before you posted #21 and it's beautiful, there's something about these two lines especially that I love:

breathing in lungfuls of sweet wild garlic
(tiny white stars

Thank you, @paperforest, I'm so glad you like them! That last couplet of #13 is a favourite of mine, too

#22

It takes three candles (and the door cracked open)
to make the bathroom light enough to read
and I've lit them in the corners of the tub,
shining beside the white-tiled walls.

The red bubble bath disperses with a wave of my hand,
twisting into heaped-high foam and that beloved scent
(black pepper and ginseng, says the bottle,
but I can't speak to the accuracy).
Sunburst heat engulfs my foot - ankle - leg
as I step in, and sink to my knees in it:
probably too hot, but in that delicious way
that feels incredible.

I have a book, but I leave it aside,
and instead lean back on the smooth, solid curves
sliding, sinking into warmth and water
melting into foam and relaxation.
For a long, lingering moment,
it is perfect.

I breathe - and realise
I can't breathe deep enough.
Those muscles in my core
are wrapped too tight again.

Clawing upwards in sloshing waves
I writhe until I'm wedged sideways
soapy limbs slipping on ceramic
gulping cooler air in a series of yawns.
My hip groans at the angle
but my lungs remember to work.

I finish the bath sitting up, book propped on the tap
finding that balance:
between delicious, melting warmth
and sweet, cold air.

#23

'Twas a bright April morning, in the pale green of spring,
A bright day that shattered with a battle-horn's ring;
With gleaming new armour, blade fresh from the forge,
Doom caught me at the hand of that bloody St George.

#24

I can't tell if the translation
is on your lips or in my head,
but the sentence I heard
wasn't the one you said.

#25

Tonight's special:
three hours of connection
(over sorbet and prosecco)
with strangers you may never meet again.