Young Writers Society

Here goes nothing.

i. box;
Photographs in a Shoebox

let us bite down on strawberries and cream,
flecked with flights of fancy and lazy afternoons,
and reminisce of days when our eyes gleamed
at the chance to chase after lost balloons.
but we’d have to pay before we get in,
with a currency of rainbow pinwheels,
into that secret wilderness where grins
smells like soft teddy bears and orange peel.
don’t be afraid, dear, if this turns into
carnival coloured nightmares; lurid scenes
depicting Rapunzel’s braids falling through
wormholes, or Jack losing his precious beans.
just follow the yellow brick road; you’ll know
your way out through the cruel gathering snow ---

but my liquorice rope ladder is torn,
and all that’s left for me now is to mourn
for those musty snapshots, jejune and grey,
watching wishes-that-once-were waste away.

ii. grave;
Pomegrante Seeds I (Hades)

I
he, the lone pendulum, swings back and forth,
never faltering to the rhythm
that Time, with her rose-red fingers has
given him; a threnody of the dead.
silk shrouds (one that even Penelope
would be proud of) billow in and out,
as he, the morose liege lord ascends
his unearthly throne and sees to it all ---
those who enter the Elysian Fields
and those who are already damned to fall.
quiescent, it is not in his ways
to hold grudges against misled
and fearful people. after all,
there is nothing more he can want.

iii. temptation;
Pomegrante Seeds II (Eros) and Pomegrante Seeds III (Persephone)

II
Eros, crafty son of Aphrodite,
with his pointy, sporadic arrows;
determined to prank the liege lord grim,
his bow stretches, and with a loud cry,
the arrow goes straight into his bull’s-eye.
inflaming the heart of the immortal man,
(once cold, alone; now passionate and fiery)
off Eros goes, for he knows his job is done.


III
she, the faithful daughter of the earth,
cavorts and frolics by idle hills,
teasing young nymphs (none as fair as she)
and chasing butterflies on yawning petals ---
all delight in their mid-morning amble.
even he, on his black chariot hidden
beneath the loitering foliage.
her lemon hair and red lips entices
the lonely, lovelorn liege lord ---
I will, no! I must have her, he swears,
marvelling at her luminous beauty.
without another word, he steals through
the forest, and lo! a chasm opens,
enveloping the king and his bride-to-be.

iv. child;
prayer inchoate

angels, please sing a soothing lullaby
'cos momma's so frigid and pale;
or buy her a ring or a mockingbird
since she's feeling so sad and frail.
oh angels, please wipe the tears from her eyes
and clean the ketchup from her sheets ---
by the way, she kind of looks like a doll,
though broken, and with tiny heartbeats.
but momma's a marionette, i guess;
cos' when that mister comes around,
he reels and pulls her into his dollhouse
and she obeys, without a sound.
angels, momma's just a doll after all
and mister's not a good playmate;
there are cracks on her porcelain skin
and her glass eyes are hollow with hate.
lastly, angels, please help momma stop retching ---
i can't bear to see her unwell.

(child, i'd help your momma if i could
but mister has dragged her to hell.)

angels, please sing a soothing lullaby
'cos momma's so frigid and pale;
or buy her a ring or a mockingbird
since she's feeling so sad and frail.
oh angels, please wipe the tears from her eyes
and clean the ketchup from her sheets ---
by the way, she kind of looks like a doll,
though broken, and with tiny heartbeats.
but momma's a marionette, i guess;
cos' when that mister comes around,
he reels and pulls her into his dollhouse
and she obeys, without a sound.
angels, momma's just a doll after all
and mister's not a good playmate;
there are cracks on her porcelain skin
and her glass eyes are hollow with hate.
lastly, angels, please help momma stop retching ---
i can't bear to see her unwell.

(child, i'd help your momma if i could
but mister has dragged her to hell.)

asdlfkjasdlf;kashgafkjaslakjsf yes.
-eats-

v. waltz;
solitary spiel

The slightest gasp slipped from your lips
Betrayed you: I know you’re still awake.
You are but waiting for the eclipse
To end along with your heartache.
The paint-spill colours of your soul
Is a mottle of too much blue;
Once bursting flames, now reduced to coal –
Vivacious shadows subdued.

(Like the way moonlight kisses
The Polaroid of your love at sea.)

You wonder if he reminisces
Of when you were still young and free.
But I know this: that is, little wishes
For waltzes along the Blue Danube
Are inspired by sepia photographs
And cannot be granted, you see.
You long for embraces and silent laughs
And lazy afternoon teas –
My dear, I’ll give you all you wish
If you would come and waltz with me.

Ignore my dark shroud, if you will;
Choose the rhythm of our piece.
Let not your pallid feet become still –
Oh, you’d rather quick and neat? –
Don’t brood upon sure guarantees
Embedded in your rice paper veins;
All of those are now surely lost at sea –
So come now, and waltz with me.

Admirals come, and admirals go,
They are but mere recollections
Of lives and losses long ago;
They too have imperfections.
Take my hands, trust me on this –
For once, dear, take a chance,
Your life is not something you’d miss
Thus come join me in this dance.

Let these thoughts fester and ferment,
Forget all those lost letters sent;
Follow your husband to where he has went -
And come and waltz with me.

vi. child;
untitled.

hiding underneath heaps of cotton bedspreads
he peeps out after the gravel-crunching
tire-squeaking
bottle-drinking monster
is finally gone. look, Daniel says
from his perch on the metal bones of his bed,
ain’t it nice to be free?
he shivers, looking at his best friend,
today a shade of unripe banana
against the wall. yeah, he finally replies.
don’t cha wanna have lunch?
opaque fingers pull him down
the rabbit hole and back
again.
they dine on stale loafs of bread snitched
from the kitchen.
(frankly, they taste like
stale leather and dog poop.
but children cannot be choosers.)
hey, wanna play Lego?
he turns his head to wherever Daniel points to,
and no, please, not the dragon’s lair, not me –
scaredy cat, scaredy cat, loser!
I don’t wanna go, he pleas –
scaredy cat, scaredy cat, loser!
alright, I’m going!
hesitant feet patter on musty floorboards,
echoing through the hallways
a lament of his uncertain fate.
he trembles, he quakes,
he fears
(scaredy cat, scaredy cat, loser!)
and somehow blurry tiptoeing
leads him to the scarred box in the end.
Daniel ruffles his hair.
good man, he says.

sometime after
when the moon is but a speck of dust on a backlit wash
and ten bottles aren’t hanging on the wall
but on the floor
along with a badly marred boy,
the day is over and done.
and the night rains on him like a never-ending waterfall
of broken bottle shards and curses flung from afar.
in his diary, he writes:

i built a castle today
so that Daniel won’t leave
and that I’d be safe at last.

OHMAHGOSH you are amazing.

x. being silly;
purple prose
(An Overheard Narrative from Don Quixote to Her Ladyship Dulcinea del Toboso)

O Lady Dulcinea, my departure is nigh ---
Tonight I must begin my noble quest.
To exotic, peculiar lands I will fly;
So to rescue poor people in distress.
Ah, the cruel bell now rings! But dearest, don’t you cry;
Put your tender heart and sorrows to rest.
How could I ever forget you, my heart’s sweet delight?
Perfect you, whose wings take my soul to flight?

Ergo, my lady, I present to you
This rose, as token of my love so true.

Her ethereal form, dyed with fresh blood of mine
That was pumped from my soul and chest. Notice
Arabesques hidden in how her petals align
To put together God’s magnum opus.
Your slender fingers, which her jealous thorns malign,
Come lift up and smell her fragrance so fine.
But even this lustrous rose can never compare
With you, my beauty, so lovely and fair.

May you, my sweet Dulcinea, find solace
In her when I leave you here in darkness.

xi. nothing;
never say never

the patter of her footsteps stopped and leaped
to the rhythm of cars going by.
her peasant dress swirled around her ankles
as she prepared herself to fly.

once she said, “I’d have written a sonnet
about you, my dearest, and me.
but love and sonnets are just the same;
they’d never last forever, you see.”

her love had frowned, his heart uncertain,
for her words went against his nature.
“sweetheart, your sudden declaration ---
my soul is in such rapture.”

“ah, mon cheri,” her cherry mouth sighed,
“you still blindfold your willing eyes!
everything is ephemeral, don’t you see?
even happiness would one day die.”

she thought of all this as she boarded the bird,
enclosed in its bones cold and dead;
she flew away while the poor boy stayed ---
“but I was happy here once,” she said.

xii. cento;
kneeling by the confessional

sewing up the kinks in this film, I'm
just jars of buttons spilled, recurring
in the glaring white gap;
old brain inside the new brain, inside the skull.
now I am safe in the deep V of a weekday;
I'm drunk, I stand on the porch in my bathrobe.

now I hear the clock snap, I swipe an ant,
unveil the mannequin's legs in glee. this is not
something offensive: a revolver,
paper sacks stuffed full of orange
and a refrigerator wrapped in duct tape lying
while all the wild protected liminal woods
appear to the Americans upon the cloudy night.

I had children of my own
for six months. I arranged museum dioramas,
choking (okay) Mocha, Ebony in a carousel-sweet dress
and Candy . their limbs gone missing, their
sad beds wide enough for planting
(but no falcons in this green.)

made by the passage of parents, the places cats won't go,
the climbing out onto the banks, the naked man,
the pungent oranges and bright, green wings,
pulley glitches, gully pitches, the reflected gleams
disappear, emerge, twitch, reverse course –
because I killed a snake the day she was born.

xiii. rainbows;
love thy neighbour as if he were your own

Sunk beneath all the definitions
The boy groans, clutches at his head
As he wrestled with thoughts unbidden
And words he wished he never said.
Curses flung, hymns sung in the afternoon
He knows he cannot elude
Nor can he hide from unwanted eyes
Or sentences far too crude.
His feet lead him to the windowsill
But as he prepares to leap
Beside him a voice pipes up and says
“Fear not, my strayed sheep.
Love is beyond any gender
And it will only get better.”

xiv. surprise, surprise;
how now, what news?

You might be shocked if you knew what I was thinking
When the incessant sunshine drifted along your cheek and
Girls sing the songs birds have twittered for ages –
Yes it’s love, yes it’s love, yes it’s love –
Your smile, your hand in mine, your baby blue eyes cannot entice me
From my whirring thoughts and mind. It’s not because
Our souls do not burn incandescent anymore like two lanterns
Spilling candlelight into the canvas of the night,
It’s just that the notion of why lemmings commit suicide en masse
Makes me wonder. After all, questions unanswered
Are far more interesting than promises undone.

xv. poems;
a brimming cup of tea

you ask me how i write poems and my laughter
resonates around the sombre, slumping room. my cigarette flares and snorts
powdery ash onto your impeccable carpet but
encroaches on your lachrymose desires cannot be answered for.
i can tell you only this: i am liquidated
into contumelious acrimony and delirium whenever
the wind dictates her wishes of brine and mud to me and
i drag my limpid form over to my writing desk and it's wherecaniputnadirs
ohthiscan'tbetrueandsoonandsoon
waitthebuoyisnowtaciturn! the ship sails into the harbour,
and quiescence rules the meditating night.
kid, the vastness of the sea cannot be counted;
sand cannot be bottled and put away. to hold water in a ship made of ink and paper,
first stop quibbling and drink your tea.