Young Writers Society

*falls asleep on keyboard*

This is beginning to feel a lot more like NaNoWriMo, now. XD

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April 06

Rhythm in Blue.


The binding of black held the audience captive—
beggar children, babushka women and
cats so riddled with lice that their skin moved in waves.

When he lifted serpent lips to that metal snake,
the sound broke the silence in half and it shattered,
falling to the ground in obsidian shards.

Though they played a lullaby,
there was not a soul asleep.

I really liked it, but I didn't get the "binding in black" part. Of course, I don't get a lot of things!

Anyway, my only critique is that the "and/cats" line break is weird. Maybe move "cats" to the previous line.

Other than that, sweet poem. Only 23 more days left! Hang in there!

When he lifted serpent lips to that metal snake

I like this, but it is still weird. They're both serpent/snakes! So.. it's weird.

I liked it! But not overwhelmingly so. What I liked about it most is that it's a concert, but you do not say it. It is all assumed. Some parts just seemed weak or like they could have been done better, for example the last line of the second stanza doesn't really do anything unique for the poem, you know? And then in the final stanza, I love the mixture of lullaby and not sleeping--and yet I had assumed it was an instrument solo that was playing so to hear "they sang" seems out of place.

And I wholly agree. This is starting to feel like NaNoWriMo and it is starting to hurt!

April 1: Beautiful. I agree that it could have been more concise and clearer but the ending is marvellous and the imagery is just splendid. I really can find nothing wrong with it.

April 2:

I held your skeleton hand beneath canvas skies

I'd suggest changing skeleton to skeletal and I agree that some of your lines were a little long and drawn out but the atmosphere of it and the imagery is beautiful. I love the idea behind this one.

April 3: I think this one could have been longer and expanded the imagery further but the metaphor is lovely and you have a really strong ending.

April 4: I don't think this as beautiful as your others though I love the simple beauty in the second to last line. You have a very sophisticated, well-informed style and all your poetry is filled with such thought provoking themes.

April 5: The form and rhythm of this is great, I love the Native American feel to it and the use of the foreign language works so well. The narrative behind it is strong and it isn't my favourite but it's well written.

April 6: Not as strong as some of the previous poems but it has a good theme and some nice phrases.

Thanks for reading, guys. ^_^

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April 07

KANSAS, BLEEDING KANSAS.

(I’m sorry, Toto.)

What was first must also be last—
you were a child of this earth, born of dust
and a rib from my side. To ashes you will crumble,
bones the whittled hollows of whooping cranes
and skin spread taut as buffalo hide.

(There is nothing so lonesome as the prairie gone sour.)

Though ancient, time found you weeping in a highway motel.
With fingers spread like spiderlegs against cold glass,
raindrops and semi-trailers beat against the freeway
where someday red would congeal in streams thick as mud.
You scraped tears from your hollowed eyes with Gideon’s pages
and waited for the world to rot. When the grasslands turned to swamp
and your skin to sallow, the pulse of your feet tapping grew quicker--
accelerando for inevitable collapse--
as if endings require patience, even from the lifeless.

(We aren’t in Kansas anymore.)

I'm a day behind, but hey--that's way closer than I am to keeping on top of my own NaPo, so ha :p

Sam wrote:*falls asleep on keyboard*

This is beginning to feel a lot more like NaNoWriMo, now. XD

Major props for actually doing this, though! It's so worth it

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April 06

Rhythm in Blue.

The title's almost too self-aware to be clever. Almost. (You're walking a thin line, m'dear :p)


The binding of black held the audience captive—
not the most ohmygodamazing opening line ever, but it's effective enough. Perhaps try to better grab attention next time.
beggar children, babushka women and
Ooh, this line has fun sounds and a good amount of rhythm. Cool
cats so riddled with lice that their skin moved in waves.
Interesting image--let's see if it ties in

When he lifted serpent lips to that metal snake,
flute player? Lute? You know what I mean, the snake charmer people :p I like the irony of it.
the sound broke the silence in half and it shattered,
shattered silence? Hm...
falling to the ground in obsidian shards.
Yeah, this whole shattering-the-silence thing isn't original enough to get a nod, nor captivating enough to be let by. Perhaps think of a more interesting way to describe it--silence seems to shatter far too often these days. Way can't it crumble like a wafer, or be bitten into like an apple, letting its juices dribble off your serpent chin? Something, though, I'm sick of silence shattering :p

Though they played a lullaby,
there was not a soul asleep.
It kind of feels like you felt there should be a profound ending, so you stuck one on. That's not to say it's bad, it just feels a bit undeveloped, y'know?

Anyway, this had some cool images and a nice vibe to it. Not a life-altering piece, but they don't all have to be

Double fabness, Ed. Thanks for the feedback. ^_^

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April 08

PHOENIX, or, Set Fire to the River

Where flames met the earth, you put your hands to the ground
and watched the flesh bubble and tear. I saw you next
when your hands were wrapped in salve and white, and I brought you
candles in jars to illuminate your fever-dreams.

I spread paint on your fingers and guided your scorched bones across paper,
to show you that blackened things still hold the privilege of color.
Jagged salt spikes ran down your face in rows and I swore something
unto the blaze that you would someday hear—

there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for you, darling, but keep you alive.

I need to do a poem for yesterday...the day I slept through. XD

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April 10

SOUTHERN CHIVALRY (FOR CHARLES SUMNER).

The brooks you cross will be twofold—
when you look down upon them,
run your fingers along the surface and wait.
Patience never suited the bravest of men,
and though you may never join their ranks
you will someday spit upon the roster.

Sticks and stones may break your bones,
but their words shall be writ verbatim.

...forgive me? I've kind of lost track of what days these belong to. XD

TEXAS CHAINSAW MASSACRE, or, WHAT THE MIST HID

Broken piano keys held the secrets to the hotwired vans we sought,
and through the fog emerged the stuff of nightmares, though
hogs and dead girls could do little more than scratch at the windows.
Denial hung about us, thick and reeking,
seeping in through our pores to the spaces we could not reach ourselves--
where the light could not shine and nor could the stars.

A pistol through parted lips brought not death but the certainty of light.
Where we sought comfort, we found gravity upon rusted hooks
and dead ends filled with rats and sweat.
(As bright as ghoul eyes through mist, darling,
I will wait for you.)

SODA POP REQUIEM

Through cigarette haze and the thick bass of jukebox players,
our eyes met and you mouthed,
aren’t we swell?

I looked down at my feet where they hid,
twisted together like the cobwebs that would someday collect in the corners.
Neon flashed reflected where polish had been, and I thought to myself,
these shiny shoes will never dance for you.

Though I saw your reflection thousandfold in the disco ball,
you were just slipping away,
like that teardrop of condensation falling from tin eyelashes on soda cans.

In recent days, my things have been way too crappy to post, so. XD But maybe yesterday's will be all right?

INTERCELLULAR JIHAD.

when dusk cried out from the muezzin you pointed your hands toward Mecca
to bid the sun farewell. beneath the black blanket of these Arabian nights you tossed and turned,
waiting for the sleep you were promised so long ago.

the blood from your hands mixed with strips of flagcloth and fell to the street,
like the robes of fallen martyrs and the statues in the square.
from the space between skin and black cloth,
I reflected that it was not only your knees that knelt.

(The war within never lays its bullets to rest
in the bodies they were meant for.)

You have some very fine images and a good, thoughtful tone throughout Intercellular Jihad. I'm not much for politically charged poetry, but you've addressed this subtly and tastefully.

the blood from your hands mixed with strips of flagcloth and fell to the street,
like the robes of fallen martyrs and the statues in the square.

This is one line I do not care for.

Texas Chainsaw Massacre and Soda Pop Requiem I do not like as much. They aren't quite as cohesive, the images not quite as vivid.

-Colleen

*boogies* I made it!

[Note: I wrote more than this, but they are too embarrassingly terrible and Na-Poish to see the light of day.]

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SEA SONG

brine filled your lungs the day the tide filled the gutters,
and the sea ran past brick walls as though it belonged
behind iron gates.

salt-stung lips pass sparse incantations
along log books and lanterns,
though this rime, this chanty
has grown too ancient for our liking.

strap the cannonball to his legs and leave him be—
what’s passed is past
and what’s sunk has sunk.