Young Writers Society

First year trying! Let's see if I'll do the whole thirty days. (Also, my poetry is usually by hand, so some spelling mistakes are plausible)

April 1st-

The memories are ripe with doubt
a putrid reminder of failures past.
A tree of rotted fruit grows
but we are always under it,
always near it.

For memories, no matter how
foul or distasteful they may be
are still a shelter from the storm,
a sewer pipe in a deluge of rain.

So why are we not willing?
Why do we cling so closely
to the filth of memories past?
Because through the darkness
there are traces of light

The grains of memories linger,
both good and bad seeds planted
but why, oh why, did only one tree
grow to give us shelter?

For growth here is not marked
by water sweet and gentle
Nay, in the field of the mind
attention is the bringer
of growth fine or foul.

Where you hold your attention
is where a tree will sprout,
so turn your eyes to the light
and have a new field grow

Never talk to somebody *coughJabbscough* about being able to write about any named topic from another named topic. You might end up writing a poem about penguins from rain.

All the rain is falling
turning things dark gray.
Spring is calling, coming
melting the snow away.

But I am not the only one
missing fields of white,
for my little penguin pet
isn't quite all right.

He misses all the snowy days,
now he must go home.
Does he go to the North you say?
Nay! How far he must roam.

He says he must go to Antarctica,
a place where cold winds blow.
He said it doesn't snow too much
but rain, he said, never shows.

So off he goes, he's packed his bags!
He now begins migration.
He's on a plane, to Spain,
then back to his snowy nation.

But I'm not worried, he'll be back
once winder sets in anew.
For this penguin, I'm not lyin'
is Canadian, true blue.

Heehee, the poor penguin. You know (fun fact) when I was little I wanted to be a penguin and a dentist. I still kinda do. What a fun career that would be!

Just a few things I noticed, you said "how for" instead of "how far" and "plain" instead of "plane." But apart from those, it was awesome! Well, anything about penguins generally is...

BTW, also really like your first poem. There's some beautiful imagery in there.

-Stella x

Trying to get back into my "psychological poetry" mindset that I get all my good stuff in. This is the transition (I was also trying to not use four-line stanzas. Don't know how well that worked though):

Dragons:

Fly across the deep blue sky
let your tail shape the clouds.
Your breath is mist
your roar is thunder
the heavens are at your command.
For your magic shapes the water
that floats endlessly in the air
you control it, form it,
mold it to your every desire.

Very few ever see
the work you do in the sky
only those who still believe
you still snake across the globe
controlling storms and
banishing clouds.

I'm glad you've shown yourself to me
for your magic runs
through my veins
with the same ferocity
as your fiery breath.

I see you always
never do I forget
to watch for you
in the clouds.
I know that magic
is in the air
whenever a dragon
is around.

Okay, I know this poem needs work (majorly). Still, here it is.

Memory is what
people live by
it is their reminder
of what they have
done, no matter
what it was.

But what if
memory starts
to fail, even in those
with a young mind?
You tell them, remind them,
of things they had done,
with you.

They say they remember
those times of happiness,
but do they really?

Every time you talk
it's never fluid like
it was before.
Every word feels strained,
forced out with breath,
you don't know why
it changed or even why
it was like that before.

If memory is a record
when why it is erased so easily?
There is only one word
to describe the bitter bite
of a memory shifted:
Forgotten.

I love love love Dragons. The last one does need work but it's a nice concept and I think you can make it work.

I really like the Penguin one and Dragons. They're beautiful! ^_^

A random poem I came up with while walking home from the bus.

Watery Path:

I walk across
the barren field
full of melting snow
and soggy grass.

A path cuts beside me,
calling me to walk on it.
The path tells me that
it will be easier
to walk along its
well-traveled length.

But I look at the water
sitting in the riff caused
by endless footsteps,
then I look at the ground
beneath my own two feet.

For even though the ground
is uneven and rough
there is no water sitting
anywhere around me.

So I walk beside the path
altering my course as I
see fit, to avoid puddles.

When I reach the end
of the grass,
my shoes are dry.

Three poems today! The first two were written today, the last one was written a few days ago but I want it to be in the general public.

Mirror Mirror-

Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?

Wait, do not tell me it is some one else,
my heart could not take such a pulse.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?

I've changed my mind, I want to hear,
for I know the truth and others shall fear.

Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?

Or could it be they know the truth,
and are waiting for me to make a spoof?

Mirror mirror on the wall,
who is the fairest of them all?

You must say it mirror, I know it is me,
for nobody else possesses greater vanity.

~

Unspoken:

The words left
unspoken
that exists only in
thoughts
are the most painful
ever
known by man or
beast
for only a beast
could
understand the savagery
that
goes on in a mortal
mind
and only a man
would
understand the
regret
of not having
spoken
those silenced words
sooner
because harm only
comes
when a fear is left
unspoken.

~

Why? (Jon, you will recognize this!)

Why do you think I write
if only to understand
how simple words are hurtful
against a mortal man?

For written words have reason,
each character complete.
There is no defiance
for how the soul doth creep.

But reality is a mistress,
a cruel and heartless soul.
When shadows come to dance
she sends them to my door.

I skipped posting yesterday, but I do have a poem! I have a poem for today too. ^_^

April 7th.

Winter winter go away,
come again another day,
spring was well on its way
come again another day.

(That was after looking out the front window and seeing snow falling, and on the ground where there had been none that morning)

April 8th.

Note- This was a school assignment about what we think education should be. Since it is poetry, it still counts.

Education is the way
we learn and understand
how others behave
how we learn and
how to behave in
this place we call
the adult world.

But education should not
simply be about how
much we can memorize
and recount.

It should be about how much we can think,
about how knowledge fits
into out own life.

Remember what Einstein said,
he was considered the most
knowledgeable man of
the last century.

He said-
"Knowledge is nothing
without imagination."

Machine (Italasized lines taken from a Josh Groban song of the same name)

Blinded by trust...

My eyes were closed
to the deception that
surrounded me
every moment of the day.

Asleep to the truth...

My soul was never
awake to the things
around me, no matter
how much I paid attention.

Awakened by disbelief.

I refuse to believe
that you are hurting me
so deeply.
But who else could it be?

You're a machine!

Only a creature of metal
could ever do what you've done
to me with such precision, swiftness
and beautiful, unfailing charm.

Love is beauty

What is it that defines
the beauty of ages past?
For we see the old beauty
and we can consider it ugly.

Cleopatra was said
to the the most beautiful of all
but her images have been unearthed.
She was no pretty face.

But it was her charm
that caused her to be
immortalized in every test.
The people loved her.

It was their love that
made her beautiful in
their eyes
and their records.

It is love that makes anything beautiful.

It's quarter to ten and I need to write a poem! Therefore, short poem.

As memory fades
so does the snow.
Spring is a new beginning.

I know the first poem is a list. I just couldn't think of anything else.

Moments

Moments are the
defining elements
in our fast-paced
world called Earth.

How many times
have you just wanted
one moment
to make everything better?

The lover who let her tongue slip,
the silver medalist at the Olympics,
the paralyzed victim of a crash,
the person who was too late getting out.

All wanted a moment.

Flying free

Flying ever free
I will not
let anybody
tie me down.

The sky has been
calling to me for
too long.
I'm never coming down.

It took me a long time
to clean my wings of the
tar you had poured over me.
The weight it too great to put back.

Without it, I'm flying free.

I've been a bit tired, so I ended up missing yesterday's poem. I wrote one for today, and I might just let one of those two extra ones fill in the gap.

Secrets

There are some
secrets in this world
that should never
see the light.

They'll push away
those you love
with their walls
of judgement.

They'll hurt those
closest to you
with their knife-
edged prejudice.

Unless a life is
in grave danger,
be a wise man
and save your words for later.

(Note- The quote I paraphrased for the last line was: A fool utterth his mind, but a wise man saves it till afterwards.)