Young Writers Society

So...everyone's getting set up, so I thought I'd make my spot.

Considering I have to start out pretty much amazing in the tournament, this is going to be interesting.

I don't have any specific goals, but I do hope to do SOMETHING other than the simple-worded, narrative free verse that has become my "style", if you can call it that. I might even attempt *gasp* a structured piece! We'll see.

Comments are fine, and I promise I won't wait five years to post anything good this time.

Okay so I've had this idea bouncing around for a while and I thought it would be a good way to start off NaPo, although it's risky. I might do something "safer" tomorrow for the tournament. Who knows?

Ferrozine Woman

The ferrozine woman
eschews red lipstick,
so oxidized, so typical.

She lures you in
with sunny hues
and acetate perfume.

Reduced
to your naked essence,
complexed to her,
you are revealed,
a violet that screams
quantify me, if you dare.

harsh, harsh consonants.

Hannah: Um, thanks? I mean, it should be harsh, because it's chemicals...

Anyway, next attempt!

Displacement (could use a better title, but whatever)

My dear, was is so long ago
that we were bound together?
(or was it just five minutes)

You hugged my curves,
and with you in my pocket
we were secure.

Have you now found
a new crevice to sink into,
a new hand to hold?

Without you, I am homeless,
but without me, you are
nothing.

Among trash I find you,
my golden treasure,
and I whisper
(for the thousandth time)
This time, I'll never let you go.

Your choice of 'quantify' is so delicious in all its layer of meanings. I also liked the sound and aesthetic appeal of ferrozine. I took it all in first before I went back to look that up, but I'm pleased. Def a new, interesting word for me.

You hugged my curves,
and with you in my pocket
we were secure.

Hehehe. Also - the 1st stanza, should it be "it" not "is", a typo?

Thanks Audy. Yeah I use ferrozine a lot, plus it's a cool-sounding word, so I figured I had to use it in a piece. And yes that's a typo.

The following is an interesting idea, but will probably fail in its execution.

An Unrequited Love Poem to Unrequited Love

I once knew boys
who made my heart
beat faster
with just
a smile.

I could write books
founded on imbalance
and hormones.

But now the boys
are men, with faraway
lives and perhaps even wives
and I care only
for their ghosts
in old journals.

My heart, it seems,
has found equilibrium,
no flux of desire.

I once found imblance
in furtive glances
and misplaced hopes,
but that's not enough
anymore.

Today's buy one get one free.

First up, Cadi's Challenge Corner #4: Chocolate

Family Dinner

baklava and apple pie
sit on the table, because
I loved apple pie once.

yia-yia says there's ice cream too,
because you don't leave the table
until your stomach explodes.

We were just saying
that we need to lose weight,
my mother says, fighting
so that maybe she'll have
grandkids someday.

but it's for my Nicole,
you like it, honey-mou?"

my taste buds say yes,
but my body says no.

dad says he'll have some
Matt! You can't have all that
sugar! mother says

so she can take it
and eat every
last
bite.

To an Ex-Teacher

I found the remnants
of your class, buried under
five years of artifacts.

Grecian urns
or styrofoam cups?
I'm not quite sure.

Your scrawls,
never easy to decipher,
adorn my amateur essays
and bus stop odes
that reminded you
of Stephen Crane.

I believed that
like you believed it when
the cop said she was sixteen.

When the story broke,
everyone feigned un-surprise,
or maybe I was that naive.

We all forgot eventually,
moved on to new scandals,
but every so often,
I grieve for the teacher
who might have been

and I can't throw
those papers away.

Okay so we just played Poe-Tree games, giving me a lovely Poem #6 for you all!
Credit of course goes to Spark and Mesh for participating and the lovely Rydia for organizing!

Might post a more original piece later if I have time.

Heart-Stained Road

I used to read a book, about the last supper and the holy grail.
The stains of Da Vinci on my shirt,
glass pages
stained black and holy days
wrote my bible from the road.

Your lipstick redrew me like charcoal.

As you read the road, I crossed my bible,
praying the airplanes would pass over us,
fly overhead, hiding the stars.

But now I lie broken at the foot of the stairs
like her charcoal smile [a painting that was]
with a broken frozen face
and a charcoal heart covered by the cheap lipstick.

The glass has shattered, a new page has turned.
Broken hearts make exquisite paintings

Alright as promised, Poem #7.

Your love was like summer,
alive with music and carefree kisses,
all caution tossed aside.

We dug into each other,
shedding secrets on beach towels
as sand rubbed us raw.

I tried to wash you off,
but the water only
hurts sunburns more.

Poem #8: Here, have a haiku

A warm April day
dissolves into memory;
storm clouds approaching.

She ate a thousand whispers
and released them as songs
honoring those who fled
this world of lesser things
for a vapor dream of heaven.

Sing for the dead,
let their lives be exposed
for no poison can save them
from being forgotten.

Okay, so I've been bogged down with this paper I'm failing to write, but I've had this floating in my head.

In the name of experimentation, I took a cue from Karz (or at least his NaPo thread title) and tried a kyrielle. Yeah, I'm about to rhyme. You have been warned. And it's religious, although I'm not.

Deathbed Prayer

Oh Lord, I beseech you tonight,
a broken man that you did make.
I have much left here to make right.
Don't let me die before I wake.

I was a sinner with no sight,
but now my soul is yours to take.
If my pain brings this world your light,
Don't let me die before I wake.

Alrighty, so miraculously enough, I'm only a couple days behind. So, going back to the Challenge Corners, here's #5: Love.

A Celiac's Lament

Beer, bread, baked goods
bombard my eyes, taunting
me with memories
of how they felt
against my tongue.

I ate then, not knowing
that one day they'd turn
my stomach inside out
and I'd only know them
on billboards.

A taste now would be a gamble,
like the pufferfish they eat
in Japan, where one wrong move
and you're dead.

I bet even that
doesn't taste as good
gluten free.

Well I'm still behind and my round's up. So I have to come up with something.

Drowning in traffic lights,
I wonder if I was meant
to swim on city streets,
or if the forests make me breathe
and high-rises choke me.