Young Writers Society

Well, here I am. I've not written since I was last here, really, save one poem.

So this NaPo is going to be something of a sink or swim, poetically. It'll (hopefully) be full of experimentation, most of which I expect to fail. Which is fine, because that's what NaPo's for!

April 1st: Fairy, Fairy
with pisspots and brushed teeth
you're ready for death in
ten seconds flat.
You watch your life in green
ink spilled across LCDs
in spikes,
you blink; forget to stop.
It spends
ten seconds flat.

April 2nd: Old Greg Manfish
Listen;
the looking glass winks
lime-eyed
with that painted brow
north pole look.
--So pretty pretty to all
the cities,
with their little metal bits.
Yes, glass man, mass man,
briefcase-in-hand-man;
build your smiles of
fishhooks, metal, metalfish.
The trap snaps (sounds like
coffeehouse crowds, reeks of old poetry.
Poe être.)
once for wit, two for the
kite string pull of a north like you
on all those metal bits.

April 3rd: In regards to a wardrobe; Dear Mme. Lewis--

You've a key wrapped in convalescents and vine,
strung about your neck and dull.
Dull in that shined-for-too-long way
that professors of obscurities so often have.
I want it in my waistcoat pocket
I want it in my hand, in my pocket in my hand
between skin creases and inked promises I forgot with the time of day.

I want your dearest dead,
warmed in the acorn way and stuffed in
the bloated chipmunk cheeks off the earth.
I want the wardrobe under my fingertips
and stinging through my nostrils with
pinpricks of oak and age.
I'll bend my jacket at the elbow,
push through ermines on hangers with long-torn-out throats,
and let J. Frost tie my eyelashes together with water and that string called 'cold'.
I want Narnia in my waistcoat pocket,
wrapped in a kerchief and set to dry.


April 4th: Mormon Love, or Something, Something.

Poeticks in water, string-finned
and swimming, Tawdry gills
pluck breath from seas
as lint from mothed scarves.
But you said, “You see,
quite simply, the sea,
has nothing on the stars”

So you dragged fish knuckles to the shore,
left scales behind like sinners,
dropping off and drifting
between Knock knees,
Knock knees,

Who’s there?


The ground, though,
had a rope hugged your ankles,
called it ‘gravity’
And drove a stake through to keep from air.

Listen;
after 2000 years of lidless days, spent
like foodstamps on dirt
You softened to the thought of stars,
not only at night, but all the worthless while.
So held a poesy rope ‘round your poesy throat
and once tied to a kite,
pressed it to the winds and begged
(On Knock knees, Knock knees,
--There.)
To learn to swim that height.

I love the fisherman-esque storylike quality to this ^_^ There are a lot images that I like individually, and of course I always like plays on words. Glad you're participating in NaPo!

“You see,
quite simply, the sea,
has nothing on the stars”

Why is there a comma after "the sea"? And I love "You see"/"the sea"

I may/may not understand the knock knees thing. I think I don't understand it. I'll have to ask you about it later.

The ground, though,
had a rope hugged your ankles,
called it ‘gravity’
And drove a stake through to keep from air.

I like this, but then it's so grammatically chaotic. "had a rope hugged your ankles" - it's like you're missing a word. "and drove a stake through to keep from air" - to keep what from air? And it's just your bizarre style, but it still upsets me.

So held a poesy rope ‘round your poesy throat

Again, I don't entirely get why you're using "poesy"..


I think I understand this poem. Perhaps. I'll have to ask about it and check. ^^, I sort of like it. I like the whole going to the stars thing. But then it feels messy, too. Shaky. And so I like it less than other things by you, because it seems so... odd. I don't know. I fail to explain what I am saying! Anyway.

I look forward to reading more.

Oh, I do love this. It sounds cool written and it sounds cool spoken--awesome sauce, as far as I am concerned.

"And drove a stake through to keep from air." as a line, didn't make much sense to me and didn't enhance [what I interpreted as meaning] for that stanza. You might want to lengthen the third line and take this one out.

So you dragged fish knuckles to the shore,
left scales behind like sinners,

I love how that's so hidden in the verse and so fabulous at the same time. XD

Gah, I'm so behind on this. I edited in April 2, but here's today's, written in a rush and based off of Slaughterhouse 5 :p :

April 7th: Sorry About Dresden

You:
looked at your feet, blue and ivory;
Counted toes like heads like
ninepins. 12 pounds rolling, meets faces
--My god, where's Edgar?

Lead-lidded, you drowse in cross-hairs,
and only a moment ago were in some other town
wiping dolls and dust off your shoes.




EDIT:
I also edited in April 3. Woo.

April 2: You have brilliant imagery and I love the light-hearted, witty feel to this poem. It flows beautifully. I'm not sure about the lines 'so pretty pretty to all/ the cities.' but I could find no fault with the rest.

April 3: I don't like it as much as the previous one but it's good if a little repetitive. I think you could go beyond describing the wardrobe and the furs and things and mention more of Narnia and what's there.

April 4: The ending of this is excellent, how you combine the imagery of the sea and sky and how it implies that to reach the stars, the knowledge that you have and that you turn your back on is required. At least, that's one way in which I read it but it's so subtle and multifaceted that I'm sure there's deeper meaning beyond those that I see. The imagery is lovely, the flow not quite as good as that on April the second but still nice and it's generally very well written.

April 7: I don't like this as much as the others. It's interesting but holds no meaning or understanding for me. There again, I know little of Slaughterhouse 5.

April 5th: "To all the dead dears."
newsprint catches tears,
names and places warped like eyes,
--foreign names, scratched eyes--
Two days later it's fish wrap and beautiful.

I didn't like the repetition of eyes in such a short poem but the last line is great, you have a real sense of humour and it shows through your poetry. This is a fun little poem. It's not poetic as such or particularly touching but it made me smile and I like it.

April 13th

I press chalk to the street and draw a door,
made of blue oak and chicken bones, but
you only pour laughter from your lips and
scrape the knob away.
Heel toe, heel toe.

A mother calls in her child, with
a voice like the earth, leashing the sun
and dragging her by the collar to the basement.
Peddlerman mutters something like “Hell
hath no fury--”
You interrupt, nodding, high-browed,
with “No, none at all.”

But all I can think as I spray my longhand
over the walkway and side, is that
writing is like coming home to find the fish is dead.

It's really great, whence. I really love;
"scrape the knob away.
Heel toe, heel toe."

and
"You interrupt, nodding, high-browed,
with “No, none at all.” "

I'm not sure about;

"spray my longhand".
It reads a little oddly. I'm not sure "spray" is the right word here...though I can't think of a better one right now, so that's not very helpful...

The last line startled me. I wasn't sure about it at first (and had a strange desire to go check on the fish.) but I've warmed to it. It's very powerful and fresh.

Keep it up.

Hope this helps.

Jas