Young Writers Society

Dankeschon, mes amis.

I know this is short, but I felt it was the right length.



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APRIL 06

#10. Glisse*; For Ophelia

His water lilies float on a river of dreams,
and for all her otherworldly knowledge
she was ill-able to refuse his fingers and
tell him no.


* from the french verb glisser = to slide, to slip.


Ophelia by Joan Bevelaqua

You're right; this is just the right length, and packed with words (never mind the fact that I understood the allusion ^_^)! That is, I didn't feel like it was exceptionally short until there wasn't any more of it to read.

APRIL 07

#11. Bid the muses go pack and return!

the taste of ink of your skin
is fire-cracking bubbles on
my poet-boy tongue. kiss me
and let us mingle kismet. I am
drafting monologues of wit
and want, marring lines of
sepia sinking into soft back
skin. my masterpiece. and
some say I am on the fringe
of lunacy converting
parchment to flesh, spiraling
drabbles on a living, breathing
thing. (pause. reflect. smile.)
a swipe of the tongue: savoring
the work; the tantalizing warmth,
and slide of muscle maneuvers,
faint freckles of orange spice and
musk mixed with the tang of ink.
the dips made by smooth shoulder
blades, the lean into the hollow of
the back. the smooth, unlined ream
waiting to be a carnal representation
of mind and metal imachinations.
and, some say I’m on the fringe of lunacy
converting flesh to parchment, circular
drabbles on a living, breathing
canvas with muses as my three-templed
stand. indeed, I am, on the fringe of
some sort of splendid commotion.
bleed for me.

APRIL 08

#12. Thoughts on The Nostalgist's Map of America*

come show me the ways of the world,
so I may chart myself on the map; the
dotted sky if full of white celestial
thoughts;

and, each time I reach, they
explode in sparkles at my fingertips.

* a poem by Agha Shahid Ali



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APRIL 09

#13. Name that Hitchcock.

there’s poison in your breath,
and sirens in your ear,
something that you fear
is creepy crawling up your
spine. in time, the steps
you take: 39.

6:

change in the weather.

[color=red][I think you should change weather as it's a little soon after weathervane and seems repetitive. Maybe use storm or breeze? Other than that, I found this one very original. The imagery could have been stronger, describing the view would have been nice, but overall, I liked it.

7:

8:

9:

10:

6:

change in the weather.

I think you should change weather as it's a little soon after weathervane and seems repetitive. Maybe use storm or breeze? Other than that, I found this one very original. The imagery could have been stronger, describing the view would have been nice, but overall, I liked it.

7 and 8: I think that I like how the second starts very much but prefer the fox imagery of the first to that of the Irish dance. The first however, is too much prose and not enough poetry for my liking but maybe you could combine the more rhythmic, poetic flow of the second with the metaphors of the first?

4: I like the colours of this one and it's a pretty little poem.

9: I think the beginning of this one could have been stronger but I love the idea behind it and it ends very well.

10: I'm not usually fond of such short poems but I love this one. I didn't feel that any words was out-of-place and I really don't have any suggestions.

11: The structure of this one made it rather hard to read so I'd suggest breaking it up into stanzas but in general, I loved the idea of converting parchment to flesh or flesh to parchment. There's a certain creepiness about it that isn't in the picture which is great because it really adds your own unique interpretation.

12: I think you should expand this one. It's pretty but it could go so much further, you could delve really deep into the idea of the landscape being a person.

13: Your inspiration for this piece is absolutely beautiful. I love that shade of blue, it's so breath-taking. I think the poem was a little odd. The way it started was lovely with that fairytale aspect of 'sirens' but I think the words were forced a little to fit the rhyme.

Kitty,

Thank you so much dear.



I'll be posting the poems, I've written recently pronto.

Ta,
Cal.

APRIL 10-16

#14. Come All Ye Tender Ladies

In some soft recess of the brain,
which I e’re to come across again
holds you. A lover’s leaving of patchwork
clothes, only spare vestiges of feeling;
all else, loss and fury, detached.

Sometimes, the plains of the
heart prick and tingle, and I
wish for some lone love to ignite
what was left behind.

Wait—no, I’ve said that all wrong.






#15. Tree Girl

The girl with saffron silk laden lips and
elder alder branching arms mute among
the ferns. She has nothing to give back
to nature that it hasn’t thrust into her earth
fingers and palms. She splashes and cavorts in
puddles with mud sprinkles, dirty freckles
on her nose.

And, even sometimes I am that girl
with leaf petals and sprig sprouts
on a brain. Cusping the droplets
of rain, a verdant chalice-holy in
contour like rose lines.


Ophelia by Arthur Hughes


#16. Entre un Homme et une Femme*

She has dyed her hair the color
Red – blood red streaking
Her; blinding, goading him.
He is reading Baudelaire with
A cavalier flair that makes
Her grind and pout and whine
Because poetry, well she hasn’t
The patience especially French.

They sit in the café sipping café
Never talking, never looking

At each other.

His moustache is graying
He scratches an ear. She sighs,
He grimaces.

But, at last they share a look.

But, then his mobile rings – Venice
And, she is clicking her perfectly
Manicured nails.

Mon dieu! A strange recalls on passing.
Is this what it has come to now?

* Between a Man and a Woman