Young Writers Society

I'm a bit late, but I think I'll manage.

Anyway, here's my thread. I'm going to try some mixed styles this month, maybe even throw in a few rhyming pieces. Let me know if you see anything worthwhile. Most of it will probably be babble in a wierd combination of prose and poetry. Whenever I'm not feeling particularly creative, I kinda downshift into this nonsensical poetic limbo.

Bear with me.

April 1

The King Of Hearts

Royal corpses are placed on the table,
bodies bent, dog-eared, and creased with veiny
fingers of worry.

Their visages are blank.
Cemented into a perpetual poker face.

There are four bodies.

First,
spear-headed by the finely cut facets
of a diamond, iridescent with crimson.

Second,
butchered, with stringy muscles laid bare
greased red by a shovel, razor-edged.

Third,
with crumpled limbs like spider’s legs
bruised and broken by a club.

Fourth,
Tragic. Most tragic. Dead,
killed by a broken heart, leaking life like oil from an engine.

(viscous
blue-blood-turned-black
droplets staining like red wine
eating ragged holes in the table.)

There are four kings.

This hand dealt is a tragedy
worthy of Shakespearean note.

Royal corpses placed on the table
Snapped down with finality (owner flashing inscisors)
four of a kind. King of diamonds, king of spades, king of clubs,

and a lifeless king of hearts.

Everything is very halting, due to all the periods and commas, but I can kinda see how that's an appropriate approach to the topic. Maybe combine a stanza or two to make this a little less so (maybe the first two and the last two, not including the last line)?

Royal corpses placed on the table
Snapped down with finality (owner flashing inscisors)
four of a kind. King of diamonds, king of spades, king of clubs,

I like the decisive imagery here.

And the King of Hearts? you are so totally my hero!

Happy poetry-ing!

I adore the imagery and descriptions you have painted, I also love the formating of the last two stanzas. I do agree with Leja that it reads very abrupt in places. The only other thing that throws me out of lovely poetry-ness is the First, Second, Third, Fourth. I don't much might using First to start your listing, but perhaps, when you edit, you can find a better way to herald that you are talking about the next thing.

Good luck,
Cal.

Thanks guys! I'm glad you liked it.

This next one may not be as good, though. Sophmore effort, ja?

April 2

All Men Are Created Equal

The scene:

An ax.

An oak.

One ripping through the abdomen of the other like a bullet through
tissue paper.

It had
a head like a guillotine,
bladed with simple-minded righteousness and
walking the paved road to hell.

Sighing cataclysmic whispers, the tree – with branches like coat hanger wires –
hemorrhaged sap.

It had
all the right intentions.
After all, osmosis applied to more than just
marble molecules.

Wood shavings the color of porcelain thighs littered the ground, disemboweled and
throwing curses like hand grenades at the .38 caliber Equalizer.

It had
backing from the law.
Because any self-respecting politician
supported this kind of execution.

Hands outstretched – groping a million prayers, grunting a million pleadings –
the tree slumps a little to the left.

Stump soon.

Dew splatters grass like blood, at this morning’s execution.
People nod their heads and search for a better vantage point
in order to clearer see the rhadamanthine (1) execution of this slender woman.

Weeping spade-shaped tears.

The verdict:

This tree stands taller

than the rest of the forest.

***

(1) Rhadamanthine –noun 1. Classical Mythology. a son of Zeus and Europa, rewarded for the justice he exemplified on earth by being made, after his death, a judge in the Underworld, where he served with his brothers Minos and Aeacus.
2. an inflexibly just or severe judge.

Poem 2:

This is really fresh, Kylan. So different to what I usually read, and your imagery is very powerful. The flow is good.

You start in an interesting fashion. I really love;
"One ripping through the abdomen of the other like a bullet through
tissue paper. "

I also love;
"a head like a guillotine,
bladed with simple-minded righteousness".

I think;
"Wood shavings the color of porcelain thighs littered the ground, disemboweled and
throwing curses like hand grenades at the .38 caliber Equalizer. "
is a little too long.

The simplictity and matter-of-fact tone of "stump soon" is very effective. I also like;
"Dew splatters grass like blood, at this morning’s execution. "

I'm not sure about "People nod their heads". I think that they could do a more telling action, to show their excitement/nerves/anticipation. Besides, many people nodding at the same time is an odd image to my mind...

I think I'd pick a different adjective instead of "slender", or else add a couple of lines after it describing more of her appearance or bearing.

"Spade-shaped tears" is great.

I don't really get the last two lines, though...

A great piece overall.

Jas

April 3

Beasts of the Skyline

twisted spires
and
frothing structural chimeras.

Upright syringes, puncturing the sky
injecting the celestial sphere with
wine-red
claret.

Beasts.
Clawing at the skyline desperately
their fingers coming away bloody
their eyes glowing
(jaundiced).

Slumped against the horizon
charcoal colored by smog,
metropolitan radiance oppressed by the
goose-feather down pillow of twilight.

gaping wounds
and
guilty poses.

You may need a dictionary for this one: http://misterguch.brinkster.net/vocabulary.html

April 4

The First Law of Thermodynamics (Chemistry)

Anyone could see that there was a kind of
stoichiometry about the relationship.
Where the product was twisted like running paint,
electrified by so many reactants that
the catalysts were overwhelmed with firework paroxysms.

(wounded paper cranes stumbling like ash from a cigarette
over cold drafts of ecstasy)

Love, after all, is just another equation.
Lovers are just atoms (sparking with cataclysmic energy)
in a semi-aqueous solution, executing polar covalent bonds
like French revolutionaries.

(groping at each other for electrons)

But here Le Chatlier's Principle does not apply.
There is no return to equilibrium.
Passion (imploding into a trillion droplets of flaming napalm)
ignites without a Bunsen burner.

(swarms of stripped electrons hover like a
cloud of proverbial locusts

convulsing with enthrallment
at the sight of the two reactants.)

April 5

Work Makes You Free

silent screams were painted on the walls
in hand-print smears,
distress running downwards in viscous rivers
pooling on the floor in murky, rouge lakes.

glassy eyes – fractured marbles –
stare heavenwards as they are inflated with
gas stumbling from the shower heads
like piano-key white prisoners from the mouth of a train.

stripped of any residual dignity
and naked in every sense of the word,
glassy eyes paint dribbling screams in broad brush strokes
across the wall.

April 6

The Pine Box

I.

Mustard gas drifts from his shoulders like a cloak.

In the shell hole: earth shoveled out of place by the
cupped hands of diety, he lies pristine,

his head cushioned in soil's loose obsidian lap,
his hands clenched tightly into ceramic sacks of lead shot,
tightly around the neck of his voiceless spouse.

Caressing, the mustard gas entombs him;
sickly green silk leaking from shattered spinnerets
broadcasted across the shell hole like broken shards of glass.
Fingers grope at bloated souls.

His mask lies useless, hugging the mud
at his feet. Wide and staring eyes looking forward
terrified at the green ghost approaching.

The shell hole receiving him is an open mouth
laughing as bombs wing their way over head:

dying sparrows hellbent for grounded targets

April 6:

This is really great, Kylan. The first line is really attention-grabbing and your language is perfect throughout. I love your attention to detail, like "soil's loose obsidian lap," and the whole thing feels very fresh.
Nice one.
Jas

Ooh; it's interesting that the mustard gas drips from his shoulders and not something more common like his head or his hands! The rest of it achieved the effect wonderfully, and the last line is a nice summation of what comes before it. A question though: if this is labled "I." at the beginning, does that mean a part "II." is coming?

It does indeed, Leja .

April 7

The Pine Box

II.

Gasps of air commute through the plastic lifeline
like punctuating gunshots.

Lying there, drowning in neatly pressed bed sheets
he gropes for burning shreds of oxygen

and mouths voiceless prayers – sibilating supplications –
tossing them heavenward like crumpled paper airplanes.

Shrill tones over head keep time with his heart beat
as he wades through his bed

which is an ocean of ivory, saturated with sweat and quiet sobs.
He withers there alone,

tired of treading textile water.

I like the recurrence of airplanes and flight in this one. And "treading textile water" is an absolutely lovely phrase ^_^

on the April 1st one, I'm not seeing the format as entirely effective. I'd almost prefer it if it were more unbound and not set in neat little strophes. At the same time, though, I can see why you did it the way you did... So, I don't really know what I'm getting at XD.

I do think, though, that I'd like to see less similes from you and more metaphors and straight-up trippy abstractions and such.

Anyway, keep it up. I'll try to read through when I've some free time.

Cheers,
~Ed

I really like the last one. You express yourself well, and your imagery is vivid and disturbing. I'd cut "punctuating2 as I think it's too much.
I think;
"and mouths voiceless prayers – sibilating supplications –
tossing them heavenward like crumpled paper airplanes. "
is great, and the last line is very powerful, with great alliteration, but I think that;
"He withers there alone, "
could be stronger.
Nice work, and good luck with the next one.

Jas