Young Writers Society

01

Summer rises from deep beneath the earth,
its hot body separating into ribbons
of imagined sweetness
which worm their way through the spaces
in the loose gravel, and follow the paths
bacteria made in rich loam,
moving always towards open air
and a vulnerable sky.

And the people outside. The ones sitting
on mowed grass, uncomfortable as stubble
in a kiss:
they feel the world, moving under them,
rearranging its organs in slight
economical ways; and summer-ribbons
curl around their anklebones
tickle the perspiring backs of their knees.

They dream

June dreams

while the sun slows down
and the day decides
it does not want to die.

Oh god. I think... my reaction would be inappropriate for YWS.

Let's just say I've fallen madly in love with you and I'm going to huddle up inside this thread and lick it all away. D: YUMMY!

02

a cityscape of piled empty tupperware
on the counter, and it's funny, isn't it,
how transparency layered over transparency
edges towards distortion, the fingerprints
solidifying like cobwebs in the moonlight.

the children with the sticky fingers have a mother.
they are gone but she is here, perched on her high bar stool
ankles crossed, elbows propped up on what little space
remains unoccupied now that she's taken the plastic containers
from the cupboards and laid them all (all) out
for anyone to see.

one, two. one, two, three.
the small delicate muscles of her calf
tauten, and the stockinged toes of her right foot curl inward
to tap the stool's hollow steel leg, like a heartbeat magnified;
and she brushes the fraying hair out of her tired eyes,

and she counts them. counts their open geometric mouths.
counts the blue lids. counts the red.

April 1

"uncomfortable as stubble/in a kiss:" You could have done something a lot less clumsy with this! I love it, but it stumbles. Otherwise, an whimsical, flowing poem. Well done.

April 2

Ooh. Nice. The restlessness of a married woman. The restlessness of domesticity. You conveyed this theme subtly, and with a hint of satire, which is always characteristic of you. I read The Awakening and A Doll's House recently, so this definitely resonates with me. "the almost invisible fingerprints/ solidifying like cobwebs in a corner after years of neglect,". I don't care for this line, however. Broke things up.

-Kylan

The Awakening is a good novel.

I like this poem and I can see it in my mind and feel her and her tiredness, but there are a few things that deter me from the poem. First is the line that Kylan mentioned. It doesn't seem to fit. The second that I didn't care for was

her ugly shapeless foot in its sheer stocking curls and uncurls

I don't like it, and so I'll find a reason that it shouldn't be here. You should consider how you identify this mother. If you give her a foot and that's all you give her, it becomes a grotesque image (in the literary sense of the word), and I don't know if that works very well with the theme. I suppose I don't see how a foot can encompass your poem by itself, but maybe I'm missing something. I love the tupperware though. Also, you. Also, Poe.

03

It's like this.

The man is in love. He decides
to give her a rose.

A rose in full bloom,
dense, intricate, suspiciously fractal,
the whorl of its center so tight that it
could almost be a midwife's fingerprint,
the dark birth blood not yet wiped from her hard hands.

A rose that looks how love should look.

He does this. And
she takes it from him,
the girl,
and smiles, and while he is watching

she clamps her pretty teeth down on the edge
of a petal and
she pulls.

It vanishes into her mouth like a second, silken tongue.
Little dimples form in her soft cheek
where the hinge of her jaw is opening
and opening as she chews.

She eats her way down to its pollen-dusted core and
he

well

he watches,
because he cannot look away.

--

lame lame lame laaaaame

It's so creepy and odd, but not lame.

O.o Alright, that was odd. I couldn't stop reading. Not bad.

04

There once was a lady named Hannah
Whose talent made me go bananas.
But she was also cruel:
Though I begged through the drool,
She'd give me no drop of her mana.

i like yr limerick.

You've got some good stuff going on. I like your second one the best, it had the best energy flow and structure. I enjoyed the imagery as well. Hope to see some more!

Yes, like Hannah, I love your poetry. Seemingly spontaneous, yet beautifully crafted, it reminds me of what modern poetry should really look like. That near-perfect use of free verse and the way you have broken up the sentences makes it a delight to read. I also love how it is so beautifully descriptive in the abstract sense, while still being about something totally earth-bound and not wishy-washy/whimsical. How about I just sum it up in one word? Brilliant.

05

snow floats on the wind
like willow leaves on water
currents daubed with white.

chase a single flake
while around you the world
dissolves stickily:

your eyes will burn, but
you will have seen the broken
body of the breeze.

even if you go
stone-blind, it will be worth it
for those lovely lines.

What would you name this fifth one? At first, I wondered if this one was going to be about anything - what I mean is that, it is so easy to come up with fantastical phrases - I've come up with many: "mushrooms in the sun...jowels of heat...murderous tiles...black-brush breath..." and to write a fully descriptive poem for the sake of having fun while pouring a stream of words in crazy combinations on the paper - but to really write with a purpose requires more foresight. An idea of where you're going.

The poem saved itself at the very end when you say 'it will be worth it / for those lovely lines' - that in itself was a lovely line. I'm not totally sure that the 'world/dissolves stickily' image works - of course, it sounds great, but I don't know how well it fits in with the rest of the poem.

Otherwise, I find it so difficult to find fault with any of your poetry. Really a wonder to read. From this one, I get a rather tranquil feeling, coupled with intense discomfort of being outside in the 'broken body of the breeze' (also ingenious), and in the end, were you to watch my reaction, you would see me grin and shake my head, knowing that that was exactly the kind of madness outside that I would brave for a poem.

Whoa, April 3rd is the best! That's the kind of unique relationship poem that I like, and the very ending:

he watches,
because he cannot look away.

Makes it all come together very well. I want more poems like this, haha.

I keep thinking I don't like five, but then I like all the parts of five, especially

you will have seen the broken
body of the breeze.

D:

BUT I LOVE YOU~