Young Writers Society

Hello reader I hope you are doing well. Unfortunately the writing of the next installment of my fantasy series, to be entitled 'Commandments of Cyan Silver Steel', is taking longer than I would have hoped. In the interlude here are the best trio of a few poems I wrote for my amusement and practice. The first two are heartfelt attempts at expressing myself, and the last is a glorified shitpost.

Until next time, -GoodieGoat

Maplewood Byway

There goes Great Chronos to devour another barren Friday

Standing atop a robin's corpse a crow is cawin' with morning fervor

Please Demeter delay the harvest and uproot the scents of new mown hay

***

But the crow's a clawin' into the ruins with a wrathful bray,

And I must take to the bitter bitumen of the maplewood byway,

***

Travelin' now I'd rather behold paths of the hackneyed Amish foxtrot

But I oughtn't to make a fuss or a murmur,

Putrid winds are harryin' to hollow my soul sordid and rot

***

I'm Funnily watching everyone savor Thanksgiving,

Whilst begging myself for delusions of selfish misforgivings,

***

The sky is afire with the candescence of the sun,

The moment is ephemeral, the instant so fleeting

And the razor comb rakes dispar in my mind so artfully and finespun

***

An evil wind is caressing crossed a verdant field,

Any paragon a parody unto fruitlessness afield,

***

I hate the brilliance of the Autumnal polychrome of chlorophyll wilting

A hideous herald of the ultimate meeting

A fitting closure to verses so fraudulent and unlilting

***

The radio clangs with a merry twang, perhaps I'll drown myself in the Chattahoochee River,

It sure would be a damned low down shame to leech away the charity of the almsgivers,

***

Regrets and loneliness, I'm the burning presbyter of the maplewood byway,

Philophrosyne, it is to you I offer my final hopes as I pray,

***

Whence Once Winds Blew

Let me tell you a story of the happy times,

When my face yet could reflect the soft sunshine

When I'd confess my thoughts to the stars,

And when the warmth of tomorrow was ours

***

I remember it all looking back it was the summer I turned nineteen,

Through Appalachian trails so gorgeous, ambling on highways so green

Down on into the enamoring bulwark of North Carolina,

Did I meet a jasmine haired jessamine named Delilah

***

We rented on the fly, you know those coastal cottages on stilts,

And the nautical decor was a little cliche, but still handsome with cozy quilts

Two wrong can't make a right, but two Wrights can make an areoplane,

I hadn't a care and up Kill Devil's Hill I forayed running wild with free reign

***

Atop the hill is breathtaking, an ascension in glorious winds,

And whose beauty is so compelling I felt my eyes lacerated, my spirit skinned

But all awe faded when I saw what still leaves me broken and indrawn,

A coterminous fellowship a peers playing of all things Pokemon

***

"So casual amongst memorials. They must be locals." I surmised,

I greeted them and into the fold of their fellowship I was baptized

I was a dolphin, in their ocean we did caper,

A Spanish horse shipwrecked on foriegn shores, arising to be what's cherished and savored

***

Delilah was the one who took my heart and fortified it in trust and trusses,

Now I don't know much about their game, but she clearly played a top tier platinum Arceus

Reveries of time's perfection throttled distortion throughout that hilltop arena,

When her opponent won with a brilliant combo cruxed by Giratina

***

Look at me now, longing for someone probably fictitious and whose name I do not know,

Beseeching the sky that before my time I'll see a season or two more of good snows

Trying to fulfill to myself what I might never have even forsworn,

And even now every art and hope is scorned

***

Blueberry Wine

I'd have to say blueberry wine is the best of all the vinters' crafts

And to anybody who thinks otherwise I'll spit in your face and laugh

***

Now I like raspberry wine but to me it's still only second

It doesn't make you feel like shit like blueberry wine I reckon

***

Your classic grapes just leave you drunken in sin

And God uses it as a metaphor for the genocides He calls a win

***

Dandelion wine ain't bad, their pretty flowers with tasty seeds

Unfortunately there abhorred as nothing but detestable weeds

***

Bananas are a catch, the tropical flair is uncanny

But I'd hate the be disrespectful to the memory of Miguel Dávila or Queen Lili'uokalani

***

Strawberry wine is poisonous, a lick of a harlot's tongue

So would say those whose sustiance is slurped from the eye of their congressman's bumb

***

What about apple wine? Surely it is wholesome and rich?

Well I'd hate to be eaten alive by some stray deer that are bewitched

***

I've tried blackberry wine before, it was amenable and I'd say amen

But unfortunately it blew out my intestines like my exploding phone from 2010

***

Oh and then there's peach wine, which is just fine and peachy

But perchance my pastor made it and its taste was sort of over sweetened and preachy

***

Orange wine is a masterpiece, all the hard work put in is such a validator

However it's made in Florida and the winemakers always get eaten by alligators

***

Its ain't exactly wine, but perhaps I'll head on up to Kentucky for some killer moonshine,

And when the fed boys come we'll hop in our General Lee and show them our behinds

***

And lastly I'll confess honeysuckle would triumph blueberries for me

Unfortunately I'd get inundated with catcalls from bumblebees

***