Young Writers Society

@whatchamacallit Thank you so much!! "--canned hope that sitting turns stale" is definitely one of my favorite lines that I've written
Also I thought it was kind of funny that you liked the last one for its rambliness because I turned a free-verse poem into a sestina so that it would write itself for me xD
(I definitely did not leave all my haikus for the end so I could cram them in if I was behind)
Again, thank you so much, I really enjoyed reading your comments! <33

Spring Haikus

23.
Self-assured scratching
'neath shadows we loosen soil;
brumal frost forgot.

24.
Settled afternoons
are perfect for dust-bathing,
naps with eyes half-closed.

25.
Passion and yellow
blossom from one sturdy stem;
mouths drinking the sky.

26.
The wind longs to dance
in helicopter confetti—
leaves rustle its wings.

27.
Spicy broken leaves
smell of new paths—adventure;
We are called to find

28. On the second day of April's end

On the second day of April's end
the birds gather in conference.
They scream and banter
over the songbird's twitter
High up in holly trees
and raggedly draped pines

Sometimes it seems they're calling Summer
Or perhaps bewailing the coming youngsters
little birds that jump and hover
through the grass before taking flight

Or maybe these birds are ones
who have no home, no nest
to raise their young
And that's why they cluster all in one tree
(to fight and claim their territory)

It's aggravating, to say the least,
listening to all this chaotic calling
I'd walk over to quiet
or scare the screamers away
but they'd pay me no heed.
Their words are worth the danger
or perhaps they'd see no danger in me.

In the end I'll give up this claim to trees
to the peace and quiet of my yard
After all, I wonder what they make of us
to whom calling for the flock is just too hard?

29. Pocket Realms

Hidden mirrors reflect a realm tangent to ours:
what we see distorted, becomes reality
in the smallest corners of this madhouse.

When the sad certainty of slathered paint
captures cool air, compressed in a tiny room;
The metallic sheen reflects warmth.

What an unexpected window of possibility
Of daydreams on rotation, over and over
A pleasant record scratch to silence the music.

Unhappiness abounds and yet in the quiet
between announcements and loud lecture halls,
When that slathered paint forces mouths shut—

And not just the paint, the AC vents too—
(and the blinds! the barred prison windows)
imagination is found in distorted reflections

And bits of reality too; it’s much better
to view your anonymous life in little pockets
that hatch wonders of clutter and warped clarity.

30. Nature runs her course



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