Young Writers Society

11. The Yellow Wallpaper(also a short story about insanity if you want to check it out)

Tendrils creep and sprouts sing
aware of the beaming rays of light
but blankets encase me
and my curtains are closed;
the scent of sickness drips
from yellowed wallpaper.

I suppose today will be stuck--slow
endless nothings and evervast ramblings
my eyes quick to catch
where the wallpaper peels,
unaware of the solid sky above

You couldn't care for me
and neither could I;
with soft hands from sitting still
instead of pushing the words
out from underneath my skin
I lost grip on life

I used to dance with agile feet
on playground mulch and swing
from one hand to the other
but now these hands have been punished
for organizing these moldy thoughts
and they grow backwards,
filling my skull with cotton-contemplations

12. Coming Home

I search the valleys deep where life collects;
like rain drops dashing down my taunt tent flaps
to crumbly dirt and clover patches decked.
I search through visions deaf, without a map.

Life breaths a sonorous whale's song to me
imbuing sense like summer's thunder knew;
this ship of dreams sits sheltered in the lee
of mountains cracked by heaven's gunshot blue.

The forest calls me small, this lovely name,
with both hands cupping cheeks and skin stretched thin
But my forward-facing eyes look in vain
for signs to follow, trails to find my kin.

Lone nature is not a fit companion
on silent nights when cold hands do waver;
Nor days when skin burns red from too much sun
and tongues fall dumb from nothing to savor.

To wander is a gift we seldom lose,
But home again we march when we so choose.

13. Biodiversity

My pen skates in a snow-melt wetland
ink on page is water on soil,
and the blooming weeds are the pinpricks
of my imagination

I like to keep in touch with nature
send handwritten letters back and forth--
"if you scratch my back I'll
pull weeds out of yours"

and so on and so forth--

She just wants to see me breathe
and I just want to grow
She waters me with rain
and dusts my trembling lips with snow

And these weeds I pull out of her back
they mean everything to my poetry
I scatter them through and hope
my words blossom full and I know

that chrysanthemums shine brighter
and sunflowers stand taller
when touched by a knowledgeable hand;

and I hope in turn my letters sail lighter
and these compasses point truer
as my albatross spirit finds land.

14. Making Bread

Greet the waking fire with hands at work,
dirty and sooty and altogether too poor
and wash them in the mornings dew.

Once the beasts of earth are fed
throw seed to the creatures of the sky
And let not their song go unheard by you.

When light makes gems of moving water,
wash your face and pull back your hair;
Carry back a basin to boil and drink new.

Milk from the cows and in the basement
Flour, golden-clear honey and yeast in ready supply

Then mix and fold and knead and rise;
Then knead and rise and bake and cool;

All the while humming the song from the morn
and feeling deeply the burn from fire ringed with azul

And when the bread is cool don’t eat alone;
Churn the milk to butter as you face the road
And invite these travelers home into your earthly abode.

15. Vanishing Point(transcript)

In the whole field of wheat
there was but one girl
Who picked up the tender hay
the mowers left behind
And like the wheat her heart rests shelled
from careless words she never did mind.

Of the peasants in the fields she shared nothing—
and of the queen, she breathed not her air.
She was a vanishing point in the landscape
a frame of reference
And to all, with eyes laid low
she swallowed her thoughts and gave deference.

But on mornings that reminded some
of stormy skies at sea
When hushed birds hide
from the sportsman’s shot;
She grows from infinitesimal
and that vanishing point becomes a solid dot.

While no living man can mar
the canvas of time
She grows to envelop it
and looks away from us—
eyes set on something wholly divine.

16. Underwater Cave

The only movement in this cave startles
and ripples upset a once clear mirror
with drops of disquiet, chilled to marbles.

I sit by the edge of moonless water
and in the darkness, the walls share their light
with a galaxy blush to dusk-earth's daughter.

The rocks are shelter from the surface blight,
they hold back the high tide as protection;
firm to extend this everlasting night.

Drops of clarity send mass inflections
to disturb my self-inflicted silence
and catch this mirror image in action.

On the day Poseidon grasps his trident
and empties my cave of water-warbles,
perhaps I'll grace the sky as Apollo's pilot.

17. Addled Mind

I lie here sick and yellowed; too much sun
bullies dry earth and fosters wind to run—swift

Worries plague me like a swarm of grackles
rainbow-hued lies flash on feathers dappled black

Not often do these little beaks strike eyes
but I see the world from inverted skies—dark

If the snake is the adder than I am
of poisoned mind; my words the addled spawn.

18. cli·ché af·fec·tion

My past is in the process of being emptied—
coloring pages, half-used crayons, pages of books attempted—
and I wonder if I should keep these things to contradict me.

Whenever I look through crinkly sketchbooks
and decipher this cuneiform-written page,
I wonder who it was that wrote so succinctly.

I look for myself in the past
and sometimes a little habit forces itself to last
but these cliché affections have left me completely.

I wish I had spent more time with children
so I wouldn't cry at losing a long dried-up pen
that once translated a fertile mind, unfettered by legibility.

19. Sparks

Have you ever felt truly lonely?

Have you ever felt the cold emptiness that blankets your soul, comforting in its consistency yet parasitic, sucking the life from once vital limbs and leaving them weighty and slow, unable to move more for more than a few seconds at a time?

What I see: an insubstantial ballerina that dances with the grace of a corpse, strangely beautiful in death but starkly wrong. Grey skies full of Canadian geese should illuminate her, but instead she vanishes in the air, moisture condensing on a windshield.

Could you love such a faraway person, gossamer threads tangled in her thin hold on the balloons of life; balloons that are red, gold, flashing--yet muted in her clouded atmosphere?

Could you feel for someone so devoid of anger and love, of happiness? Could you reach past the apathy and numbness, and spark pain in that wildfire-watch weather?

Really enjoying how tangible and concrete your poetry is! It makes it feel really accessible I think. 12, 18, & 19 are some of my favorites!

My past is in the process of being emptied—

^What an opening image !! <3

Could you love such a faraway person, gossamer threads tangled in her thin hold on the balloons of life

^ love the twists and turns in this metaphor, and also the feeling of loving a "faraway person" </3 ooof. :'(

Great work so far!! You're right on track to reach 30! Keep going! <3

Thank you @alliyah! I've been pulling ideas from my old writing and that's what inspired 18, and a lot of the metaphors in 19

20. unpopular opinion: sadness is the most beautiful emotion

It's not that your sunshine shoes and ready-made mudpies
are less worthy of recognition;
and it's certainly not because your smile is just a guise
no, we both know that couldn't be it
because you are an award winning actor
when it comes to doing fine

This fairytale hope makes you forget how time flies
and how bodies grow old;
your expectations are concrete and so you lie,
planted between the ground and your own two feet
except you are so much bigger
than you actually believe

Tiny people prod you with sticks and strap you down
with sheep's wool spun thin
that breaks with every mountainous breath--and they drown;
Your tears destroy the handiwork
of their illegitimate enterprise
built on shoddy stilts and gilt crowns

And it's not the watery destruction that is beautiful
(looking back, I can only sigh)
It's the shameless truth that's forged from this crucible:
your hands grasp spiderweb reins
and your knowing eyes search deep,
far beyond weightlessness to knowledge untransmutable,

to authenticity untroubled by being beautiful.

21. Amaryllis

Amaryllis was your lover,
and so desperate was her love
that she pierced her heart again and again
before she bled a flower and won you over.

I cannot unravel the feelings she felt
nor could I feel them myself;
to be so wrenched from my image
as to throw my self at your feet.

I would not give my flower
my youth, my precious eyes
to unrequited love; I wouldn't fight
against the flow of fate.

I would not fall to the utter shame
of letting myself rest in your mercy;
I wouldn't leave my legacy to pity
not while my name is still my own.

Amaryllis was your lover,
and so desperate was her love
that she pierced her heart again and again
before she bled a flower and won you over.

You were never someone to be trusted
and yet she stood outside
feet in the sand of an ocean
claimed by the once-palpable deities.

Did you see her there,
outside your window? Did you watch her bleed
afraid of something
that couldn't possibly be so real?

Did your aching reflection call you
a merciless coward,
just as my mirror image refused
to support me any longer?

Amaryllis was your lover,
and so desperate was her love
that she pierced her heart again and again
before she bled a flower and won you over.

...possibly to be continued

22. Summer

She kissed my hand before she left,
and I should've known she wanted
to come back. The rain falls heavy
and the sun is gone, escaped
from this world of falling leaves
and decaying tree trunks.

Light streams into the trunk
of my car, and I sort through the boxes left.
Treasure chests full of precious things: dried leaves
and grains of sand that begged to be wanted.
How often these small complaints escaped
my lips; words not meant to weigh so heavy--

heavy
with the memories of elephant trunks
spraying misty water over dusty landscapes
and hundreds of tourists spots we left
with smiling eyes and sunburnt cheeks. I wanted
you to watch the sunset beside me and never leave.

Even when tornado winds stirred crumbled leaves
and hot days boiled with air so heavy
we didn't know if we had fevers I wanted
lemonade, AC; back then cicada shells fell off the tree trunks
and I didn't have any extra shoes left--
and suddenly you escaped.

How could the weather forget my scraped,
bruised knees? How could you leave
this neighborhood maze and not turn left
to come back for me? We cradled heavy
hearts on the day it didn't work out, elephant trunks
forgotten along with one-use-only holidays I wanted

and wished for; you should never leave,
not when this shallow river feels heavy
not when the trees fall silent to say: there's no summer left.

Hi contrary!!! I keep meaning to stop by your thread with a comment and I finally am here c: I love how varied and unexpected and fitting all your imagery is; you have a way of taking familiar images and combining them in new ways that feels fresh and amazing <3

Go -> fav line: "you couldn't imagine / the colors I have felt against my eyelids / and the thousands / of insect bites that made me love / you all the more"

WHOAH THE IMAGERY IN HOSPITALITY IS BLOWING MY MIND !!! <3 aaaah there are so many beautiful and striking descriptions in that one, and the way you link all the different images together flows really nicely. Some of my favourite ideas from this poem: "the stars are sleeping bees in limbo", "my heartbeat's grafted on your scratchy skin", "overflowing with hollow air", "my scuba-diving mind".

background noise is such a heartwrenching poem </3 All the sad and stark imagery is super effective, "rhythms like a collapsing waterfall" especially stood out to me. The way you formatted the final stanza is really interesting, it brings the poem to a very soft, light, gentle close -- like the reader barely even registers the poem is done -- which I think complements the subject really well <3

Bottled Hope -> "--canned hope that sitting turns stale" this?? is such a cool image????

For When Faith is Lost -> "Truth drags comet-trails over my head" THIS IMAGE AAAAH
also "After all, hope is a bird, not a machine" is this a sneaky reference to Emily Dickinson I spy? c:

Wood Shavings -> eeeeeeep I adore the simplicity of this one; the imagery all fits together perfectly, like a satisfying puzzle :) The ending idea of "whittling ourselves into infinity" is such a cool idea, too.

Addled Mind -> oh whoah I love the formatting you used for this one, with the kind of hidden rhymes and the stanza break after "--[word]", it creates such a neat stop-start flow ^^

Sparks -> oh gosh I adore prose poetry and this is no exception <3 "gossamer threads tangled in her thin hold on the balloons of life" is such a lovely, delicate image here.

Amaryllis -> love the refraining stanza in this one, especially the line "before she bled a flower and won you over" -- that is such an intriguing, poignant image.

And your latest poem! I love the intimate rambliness of it, and how the sentences carry through several lines and then end in the middle of a line - it makes it feel kind of stream-of-conscious to me for some reason. Favourite chunk:

hot days boiled with air so heavy
we didn't know if we had fevers I wanted
lemonade, AC; back then cicada shells fell off the tree trunks
and I didn't have any extra shoes left

<3

AAAAH overall this thread is chock-full of amazing poetry, and you're doing awesome - you're definitely on your way to having 30 awesome poems this NaPo <3 Keep up the great work :)