Young Writers Society

I'm writing a novel in poetry form. It's titled Into the Margins. It's not good, but I'm trying really hard.

Maybe a few days in this month I won't feel like writing Into the Margins. I will just write a regular poem. I will, however, mark it when I post it in this thread, so if you're reading Into the Margins, you won't get confused.

-Jared

Into the Margins

April 1st

MAY.

01. beginnings

breathlessly endless seem the days
of the darkness that chokes me.
like a lid, it snaps the void
--the thin void--
between light and dark.

fourty-three days ago,
light was manipulated to see.
now, however,
I can't see. I don't even want to.
those people,
the ones out there alone and hungry,
think rehabilitation is necessary.
but they forget the questions that need answering.
is it possible to make a newlife
& forget the pastlife?
or should we all give into the afterlife?

hastily, I will scrawl
into the margins
a message for your eyes only,
because in a race with death,
it's much too easy to overlook.
so here it is:

into the margins
there's hope.


-Jared

Into the Margins

April 2nd

02. butterfly wings

like golden butterfly wings, I flutter
and stutter around the soft, blurred edges
of perspective.
flying and flitting,
crying and spitting:
these are a few of my favorite things.

daniel thinks I'm crazy
& I'd have to agree--
walking through mountains,
climbing up trees.
the once bronzen sun,
so muscular and bright,
has grown unreliable as the dark, dangerous night.

'follow me' daniel whispers into my right ear.
'to where?' I question, weary with fear.
'trust me.' 'how?' 'take my hand.' 'to where?'
'it should not matter; you should not care.'

and so my brother
so big and so tall
leads me to safety,
if there is any at all.


-Jared

Into the Margins

April 3rd

03. ghost town

the city tells me:
come child, open my doors.
but I know better.
inferno lurk, hiding
& watching my every step
like poachers would a game.

'creep silent' daniel says.
I creep silent.
'worry not,' he soon tells me, 'for this is a ghost town.'
dead town suits it better; the roads are vacant
and hostile.
I trust my brother with all my heart,
so why do I feel so hunted?

'dan,' says I, 'we are watched.'
'possibly.'
'dan,' says I, 'are we safe?'
'possibly.'
'dan,' says I, 'are you scared?'
'yes.'

the barren buildings are dark and dank. it's almost
like the buildings themselves--
'I'm scared too.'--
want to hurt me.
'you took an oath to protect me.'
'am I not still under that covenant?' questions him.
'I'm scared.'
'look!' dan shouts. "a man!"



-Jared

Into the Margins

April 4th

TIM

04. small talk

- what do you call yourselves?
the strangers mingled with themselves
quietly.
the pistol's cold steel presses against my skin.
- can you help us?
the boy, he looked older, spoke. his voice
was thick, like syrup.
- I doubt it.
why, in God's high holy name, were these two
children wandering the streets?
did they not understand?
- please, sir, we mean no harm.
hah! harm? after Lily and the children were murdered,
killed, even like unto Him.
harm?!
- whaddawant then?
- we are searching for our parents.
- they're dead, kids. everyone's dead.
- we are searching for our parents.
this time: the girl.
she couldn't be more than thirteen.
it sort of pained me, like a small ache of the heart--
ah, what am I saying?
it hurt like hell to see them alone, so vulnerable.
- come, children.
I could've left them to die, I could. to be ripped
apart by those, those, those
savages.
instead, I gave them life. it was odd,
but I knew they knew I needed life more than they did.
God, are you proud of your son yet?



-Jared

BEARRRR.

--

Your poems are experimental, and I really like the boldness. In fact, I always liked the IDEA of novels in poem form, but the only person I've ever read who did that is Ellen Hopkins, and she's so over-the-top morbid. I mean, it reads great, but she's too much.

Your story is more light. Comparing it to her stuff, though I shouldn't, she creates more real-like events with each poem, and then occasionally has a poem regarding the main characters feelings. Your poems are much more surreal -- and that makes them delightful in a really quirky way.

I want to find out more with the story, so keep posting! The last line of the last one was such a great point to end on. I wanna see what more happens in the story, man.

Also, your choices regarding dialogue are interesting. Mixing it up. Quotation marks, hyphens -- I actually like the mix. I suggest trying even MORE methods. One method will get to be too much, and switching to and fro as its appropriate --- I like that.

<3 Cloooo