Young Writers Society

Alone, child, you whisper You cannot face this world With thin air on your arm – Searching from darkness, You scrounge dumpsters And struggle to shine light All the way ...

dance floor sagas are created and shattered among liquid stripes of light and congealing techno beats that fuse hipbones together. lean fingers scrabble for a taste of flesh real skin ...

'Rapture me,' you sang to me, 'Please succumb my soul from this wretched body.' I apologized, and refrained from doing so. 'Apathy,' you explained, 'Is greater an opiate than religion.' ...

Something from the archives of my life. I think I wrote this a year ago. Enjoy. The Sunset The waning light glanced off the bay piercing the sand near were ...

The only draft that has been drafted is the one presented here. Not my best work, but it's something recent that I'm fond of. The Tragedy of a Tradeoff (Haiku) ...

Welcome to the evermore pool Opulent and crystalline, you drip Sweet stillness on sour minds. Echoes of souls within Its cryptic depths – locked Water-tight clandestine Fingers golden in the ...

battered shins and you with your John Lennon glasses (pick between your teeth.) a phonographic needle of the brain bop shu bop bop. and me Miss Mercy Blue Eyes, cold ...

I started out writing this in the shade of a tree, but I became so inspired that I finished it in the tree rather than beneath it! This is the ...

I sit by the clock, but I wait for the time As I hold the pen over the paper. The minutes go by and I can’t seem to find The ...

4’33” edited version 4’33”, the epic piece, no fingers ever grace the keys. So silent is the performance that for a short period of time the audience realizes the chaos ...

Code: Select alla single silver note prolongs� �a breath withheld� �the slightest of shiversand a fragment of a shipwrecked night� � � � � � � � � � � ...

Breathing the Green Girl I am a cactus girl of spikes and spines and wooden needle spokes. (venus rising—odysseus waning) como agua para agave. Saguaro with pot-smack holes, a nest ...

This next poem is the latest from the scrawl of my algebra notebook. I really love it, and I don't know why. I guess I love it because it is ...

Miasma I think: this mire is only made for one— for me, for blood that pulses through my limbs. I watch the fog that leaves all hope undone, and cry, ...

This piece is actually untitled. I put it here because it does tell a story. It's autobiographical, dealing with a trip I took to Belize and the death of a ...