Young Writers Society

Bare with me, this is only the second poem I've ever written in my life. So please, attack it, tell me what I should change so I don't hand in ...

You come in on drumbeat Casual in black and gray Forged in darkness, the ring you bear Has a silver inscription, twisting the fine lines Of our friendship into love, ...

This was beautiful - not only can I relate to the speaker, but I am moved by what was said here. Your imagery is beautiful, your words forceful and full ...

easter but when I added the salt, I thought "my first boiled egg at home alone" and knew it might not be alright perhaps I'll burn my fingers; just so ...

And I scream out for you For the no-one-in-particulars I call my friends And faintly a response surfaces the cold water Only a bubble Not you It was never you ...

Ok. This one's a bit abstract. If any of you have listened to the band TOOL then you'll surely know what this is about. If you haven't I strongly recomend ...

Belabor has become of me. Derailed imaginations spark felicitously in my wooly-cotton conscience that cadence down to my feet in sundered patterns. Ink. Drips. Down. Echo. The shattered glass writhes ...

Birds in the night, Their cries of fright, Make a camper wonder What on Earth could make them sound Like clouds of frightening thunder. He stands up from the forest ...

Certain things will often leave me, Things that I can only hope to see, in a glimpse of light. They conspire with dark shadowed things, And glisten on the small ...

You come from a far away place, One that I cannot describe, Still, I am your champion, But I do not wear armor as I wish I could, Or ride ...

It seems there is no escaping, from the tenacity of my being. That caught me from child's grasp, to wake from dreaming with a gasp. I know who I am; ...

A Deafening Silence 'Never' has a sound. Its voice is loud and echoing But it cannot distinguish itself Out of many other nothings. Whirling, Swirling, bloodred. The sickening sound of ...

in your mind, jagged melodies are cutting themselves to pieces while a senseless snarl of sound disintegrates into lilting lyrics and bass-lines that reverberate in your chest cavity. in your ...

(To my Great Aunt Gil) Tick Tock I listen to that clock Grandfather in the hall And I See Black cabs Mayfair, Glamour... Oh, what a life could be London ...

Onion skin is on my bitter lips tonight A sidewalk canvas open to the mytique that lays near me - side by rotten side wheels to the carpet pavement hand ...