Young Writers Society

Expect to see something here.

Demeter
x

April 1st - Rom 3:12

our shadows colour the graveyard
and, as we inch closer, the walls
who are already frowning upon us
– or so it seems in the pitch –
and bryobionta has been climbing
up the severe stone ever since the spores arrived
and how many pious eyes it has faced,
how many devout souls,
and now us --
come on, you drone, we ain't got all night
look, I don't think we sh- --
he spits at the feet of the holy ghost
and I can't but gasp, I wish I hadn't
but promise is a promise
and we both know

smooth and fast, he breaks into
the shrine like a professional
and I'm too ashamed to admire him --
do I really have your name?
and with one last head-turn
we walk down the aisle and the irony,
it is behemothic and I run toward the holy font
like a horse tail shooing flies
there, there it is, take it now -
but, what if -
just take it, take the godda- --
and I cut him off with a jittery shh and
feel my back arch under the accusing glint
of saint michael's eyes

and I reach for the silver chalice
in slow motion, I can't believe I'm --
'kay, we're outta here
and he grabs it with some indulgence
and he runs
wait for me, please, wait
by the time I'm outside, he's gone,
with the family pride and my moonstone necklace
and I run
far, far from the confessional

Demeter, I really liked this first poem. The only thing I would want you to do is go through and read it like a sentence, taking out the descriptive phrases to make sure that the verbs and syntax make sense. I think they got twisted at one poitn. Also, there were a couple moments where there was too much exposition which would have worked better behind the poem. It's mostly around the actions and mostly because they're just stated without any attempt to soften them to fit the tone of the rest.

I can't wait to read all of your poems, Demeter! ^___^

-Hannah-

(Thank you, Hannah!)

April 2nd - venerdì santo

the new neighbours have only just unloaded their black escalade
and they sit on the porch with cigars ready at hand
their eyebrows allow no ifs and buts, which is why
I saved the apple pie for myself

sitting there reminds me of my many years of birding,
but without the glee and the thermos next to me,
and I never fidgeted like now, there's something detrimental about those eyes
but at least they haven't met mine

after supper I bring elaine some tea to her alcove
and go back to my window,
but they've already disappeared behind the closed curtains
whose floral pattern looks like
it was washed in yesterday's cappuccino

it's like shadow theatre at dusk,
acute motions and empty screams drawn against the light inside
and two lean willow trunks lie on the front steps
they're fresh, almost virginal and
the other one is short as a thief's footprint
and then it strikes me

remember the good friday.

"their eyebrows allow no ifs and buts, which is why/I saved the apple pie for myself"

Lovely. Made me smile. Delivered deliciously as if it were non sequitur on one hand, but still resonates with the reader completely. Not sure if I care a whole lot for the rest of the poem. Maybe a little to prosey for me? And the final stanza's a little confusing. Otherwise, solidly written.

-Kylan

You write so beautifully

Rom 3:12;
This flows very nicely, and I love your imagery, especially;
"our shadows colour the graveyard
and, as we inch closer"

"he spits at the feet of the holy ghost"

"he breaks into
the shrine like a professional
and I'm too ashamed to admire him"

and

"with the family pride and my moonstone necklace
and I run
far, far from the confessional."

I'd change;
"and I can't but gasp, I wish I hadn't
but promise is a promise"
to
"I can only gasp, I wish I hadn't,
but a promise is a promise"
as I think it sounds more natural.

I think the dialogue works really well and I love how the narrative proceeds.

venerdì santo;
I love "I saved the apple pie for myself", the whole of stanza three, and "two lean willow trunks lie on the front steps".
The only thing I'd change is to omit either "ready" or "at hand", because I don't think you need both.

Good luck, I look forward to the rest of them.

Jas

(Thank you muchly for your comments, Kylan and Jasmine! )


April 3rd - miss world

she never smiled for the camera, but she always did her homework.
she was the only participant in a singing contest, but still got the second prize
and when she was twelve, her father almost lost this house in a bet
and thereon took off with a cashier wearing false eyelashes

she ended up working for her sister's ex-beau from twenty years earlier
and resigned after a decade and a burn-out
(after that I never was the last one to be picked up from pre-school again)

one day she came home
having witnessed her mother die and she cried
and now the narcissistic no-goods still keep calling her when they're alone
and she smirks, not picking up

when I asked if I could see her wedding pictures,
she watched them with me years after the divorce,
laughed and said "What was I thinking? That lipstick looks terrible."
but there was happy dew in the corners of her eyes under that veil.

the other day she said how lucky she was, how she's got everything

she's radiant when she dances and she wants to write for living
and she loves the stirring quotes I shared with her,
but I know she doesn't really need them
she's well over fifty, but she's beautiful

she's beautiful.

Hmm. April 3rd reads more like prose. I'm not too crazy about it, unless it comes from a personal experience/acquaintance, in which case, it holds more meaning, but still isn't delivered as seamlessly as I would have liked.

-Kylan

I'm torn. I love how the story unfolds, but it sounds more like prose to me. I'd take;
"one day she came home
having witnessed her mother die and she cried
and now the narcissistic no-goods still keep calling her when they're alone
and she smirks, not picking up"
and rewrite it, because I think it's a bit bumpy.


The last two lines were a little sweet for my taste, but that's my taste. Maybe try something more visual.

I think this stands up nicely alone but it might be interesting to rewrite it using more imagery and less of the narrative voice.

An interesting read, but not my favourite.

April 4th - liability

truth is said to outweigh lies
but what if you have a kilogram of both?

this time every year they sow guiles
that grow into an enticing harvest
and in the autumn people buy them
like black-eyed peas, ninety cents per litre

they mount false guideposts
at every intersection
and strew nails on the roads
wearing safety reflectives

and contradictions fall from their lips
like the last petals of a mistreated orchid
that beggars collect and throw into fire
for they want something else to hang onto

(what you're looking for does not live here
so take the next speedboat onto the coast
if you want out with dry feet)

Lovely Demi, I'm not very familiar with your poetry so I'm a delighted new follower. The fourth one, like the third reads a lot like prose but I quite like the 3rd stanza.

I look forward to reading more in this thread.

April 5th - long time, no see

for the first time in years, I went to the grove
that's just a rock's throw away, it's odd how
I meet up with the capital soil more often,
but a lot comes back to me now and

wet shoes haven't felt this good since last time
and puddles are like coins, cupcakes, lost and found
on the streets, there should be more

the brook looks different today,
grown and matured like cross-stitch patterns
but surely it's not the only one

and new-born catkins sigh
like a bride on the brink of an arranged marriage
when the freshly baked rays circle the branches
as a cat around its prey

because when the real April spreads outside
like butter cut with a warm knife
it takes everything away and gives itself in return
like a call girl, but with class.

I like all your poetry - so easy on the eyes and clever imagery - 'freshly baked rays,' 'puddles are like coins, cupcakes,' 'real April spreads outside / like a butter cut with a warm knife.' Oh, I almost dissolved on that last one - and it took me two tries to understand the meaning in your last two lines in this poem - but I think that was the plan, yes? It kind of doesn't seem to fit in with the rest of the poem, but I like a bit of a 'jolt-factor' to awaken me at the end.

Thanks for the comments, everyone! I really appreciate them.

April 6th - maybe tomorrow

by all means, have a piece of forgotten crust
lying on the arena of indolence like those
martyrised fighters with shields and wills of their own
albeit it's no more than a crumbling grip of a fist
for which there's no mercy left

no, it was all used up for stalwarts
and left are only those weak enough to need aides
which won't come without the impulse that will sooner lay low

and the battlefield shan't be depleted
unless, perhaps, an occasional cumulonimbus swerving its route
like unsought rendezvous put off at the last minute

yes, only then will the domain surrender, if ever,
and while waiting, let us close the door
and have a cup of tea.

April 5th - long time, no see

for the first time in years, I went to the grove
that's just a rock's throw away, it's odd how
I meet up with the capital soil more often,
but a lot comes back to me now and

wet shoes haven't felt this good since last time
and puddles are like coins, cupcakes, lost and found
on the streets, there should be more

the brook looks different today,
grown and matured like cross-stitch patterns
but surely it's not the only one

and new-born catkins sigh
like a bride on the brink of an arranged marriage
when the freshly baked rays circle the branches
as a cat around its prey

because when the real April spreads outside
like butter cut with a warm knife
it takes everything away and gives itself in return
like a call girl, but with class.

Can I say I like this entire poem? I can? Okay, good. Because I do, I do.

<3 Clo