Young Writers Society

I came up with some good ideas, but I was at work bagging, so it sucked. Today's is called: "The Final Hour"

Time's shadowed cape
engulfs the world beyond
the glass windows.

Yet in this cocoon
of florescent lights,
cash register beeps,
rolling shopping carts,
rustling plastic,
and meaningless pleasantries,
Time only inches
like a snail,
so close to the finish line,
and yet so far away.

This next one (It's almost April 2nd here, so I'm writing it now) was inspired by a Marquez story called "Ojos de perro azul" (Eyes of a blue dog). I read the story last week for Spanish.

"Ojos de perro azul."

Those are the words,
etched into the wooden table
where I sit,
wondering why the words
seem so familiar.

I have never heard the phrase
yet when I whisper the words
I feel as if I've said them
in some distant memory
of a past long-gone.

I was in Caracas,
and I saw the words,
the ones I always forget.
Ojos de perro azul.

In Caracas?
she asks,
her eyebrows raised.

Yes, I reply.
That is the city.
Now find me
so I may remember
the words in the morning.


Look upon your mirror
when you awaken,
she replies,
smiling as she passes
through the door.

Very awesome stuff, honey. But actually what you've translated reads "The eyes of the blue dog". The blue eyes of the dog would be ojos azules del perro.

Ta,
Cal.

I like all the references to vision and sight in the first one. ^_^ And I like the cape that Time is in possession of. Very cool

I was in Caracas,
and I saw the words,
the ones I always forget.
Ojos de perro azul.

^ I especially like this italicized line in the second poem, and, actually, the responding stanzas that follow it.

Happy poetry-ing!

Cal: You're right. I think I was just trying to rationalize it, because it's supposed to describe the woman's eyes, and why the woman's eyes would look like those of a blue dog is beyond me. Then again, he's the Nobel Prize winner, not me.

April 3rd: Deja Vu

The song, once new
plays yet again
as I turn the keys
to drive off once more.

Returning home
along the same old roads.
No wonder I feel
like I've done this before.

Every day,
I force my eyes open
but I see nothing
that feels new.

I am caught
in cycle after cycle
and I want to escape
but I don't know how.

The track plays
and I sing along,
my voice fitting
into the radio's.

April 4th: The Steps

The old man pushed
his weight on the cane,
trying to make it
one more step.

The girl followed,
silent as he breathed,
each sigh a struggle
against his own mass.

As his foot landed
on the final step,
she looked into
the cane's silver curves
and saw an old woman
trying to push herself
one more step.

April 5th: Disappointment

She ran about
attempting to capture
the world in a photograph.

The day came
to bring them to life,
and she struggled
to hide her impatience
as she poured in
the developer.

At last, they dried
and she could
finally see
what her days of work
had come to.

The roll had come out black
and she had to start over again.

Ugh. That was horrible. I apologize.

BTW, go ahead and critique. I probably won't edit for a while, but I'm open to suggestions.

April 6: Speed Demon

She knew the limit was 45,
(the signs said so)
but she longed to chase
the sun as it peeked
above the horizon.

She let the needle
creep up to 70,
then lifted her foot
so it would fall back to 60.

The green gates before her
suddenly reverted to yellow,
and she rushed to the brakes,
barely stopped before
the light turned red.

Gates? I'm so confused! Is this a traffic light? I had been visualizing the car passing over the ground, rather than passing through airspace in which the narrator would look up to see the traffic lights. With the second and third stanza though, I did get the feeling of the mc being a speed demon ^_^

Yep, it's a traffic light. This is based off of personal experience. I was speeding down the road to work yesterday since it was 7:30 am and there were like no cars on it.

April 7: The Search

She peered
into every crevice,
her hope rising
with each glint of silver
and falling again
upon closer inspection.

Days passed,
and the only evidence
that she ever had it
was the constant ache
on her fingers,
reminding her
that something was missing.

One day,
as she looked
for something else,
she saw the red stone
and smiled, as she
finally relieved
her finger's pain.

April 1: There's some pretty imagery but it's a little simple and unoriginal. It needs to make a stronger point, it needs more to catch the attention of your reader.

April 2: This one is strange. It feels more like prose than poetry. I think the idea of two personas is interesting but it could have been more dramatic and I think you could have used the Spanish quote to a greater effect.

April 3: This is a lovely base. I think you could add some good imagery to really describe that haunting, rather uneasy feeling that's there sometimes when you experience deja vu. You have a good grasp on the principal but the emotions involved are lost behind your concentration on the link with the past.

April 4: I like the ending of this, how the girl sees her future in this old man I think you could add more detail. I'd love to know the relationship of the man and the girl.

April 5: You're right, it wasn't great but I think this piece has more potential than most of the others actually. The idea of trying to capture the world through photography is a beautiful reflection of capturing it through writing. If you expand on the imagery, it could be great.

April 6: There could be more of a point to this. The emotions could be stronger, the desire and the resulting exhilaration. Maybe a touch of guilt or fear as she nears the traffic lights. You could describe how the red bathes the road and the car, how it feels like an awful demon preventing her from passing, forcing her to slow down.

April 7: I don't really understand this. I think it could have been stronger and clearer but I can't really comment because I'm not sure what it's about.

Don't expect much. I'm not even sure what I'm writing about as I'm writing this.

April 8th: Jealousy

I sit down
in perfect view of them
everyday,
even though it hurts.

She leans in close,
claiming her
territory
as he puts his arm
around her thin frame.

Why sit here
and waste my time
watching the joy
I'll never have?

Because I'm still alone
in my ugly mixture
of sadness and anger,
just one step away
from acceptance.

One day,
I'll have the strength
to turn my back
and never sit here again.

April 8: I think this poem focuses too much on the surface--the description of the two people and of the speaker's immediate feelings. I'd love to see you go more into depth and focus on 1) showing rather than telling and 2) a narrower window of time, a split second, even, and the speaker's thoughts at that time, rather than "this happens every day." I liked that you placed the speaker in a place, this seat spoken of in the poem. If you have to describe, tell us the surroundings! What's the context of this take on relationships?

Good luck!

Thanks kitty15 and Cade! I'll have to go back and make these clearer. I think I'm trying too hard to be "poetic" or cryptic and it's killing my poems.

April 9: Stillness

We rushed here,
but there was only
a plain locked door.

Now we stand,
our blank faces
looking at bricks
in varying hues
of brown.

The words,
the movements,
the thoughts behind
our half-awake eyes,
lie dormant
as dawning light
creeps in from the window.

No one wants to speak
and disrupt the silence,
so foreign and yet so peaceful.

April 10: Exhaustion. That's a pretty literal description of my mood. Just warning you.

I try so hard
to listen to the words,
but today,
even the harshest screams
are lullabies.

As I walk,
it is a battle,
between my body
and the next step.

I return into
consciousness,
only then aware
that I had ever left.

Only when night comes
once more
does my energy
decide to return.

Since I'm not terribly inspired today, I started with a line courtesy of the Random Poetic Line Generator and went from there.

memories of time hurt soundlessly;
the burden of its passage
cannot be expressed with words
of any language.

I wake up in the morning;
it hurts to know that I
have lost a million fragments
of life in just under twelve days.

as I watch the sun, I remember
that fighting time is a
fruitless battle,
so I take what millions
may be left
and I walk back into the world.