Young Writers Society

poem 1

all that i need to have something count,
is a few lines of ranting emotions.
the tried at pouring my heart out to an
empty page, just to find that every section
of this notebook, has already been filled
past the brim.

poem 2
like any other

like any other person, i find myself only knowing a few things.
some i may believe to be true and others are simple lies,
put up feelings, that only mask what really needs to see the light.

the light came to me and i thought that i would see it,
but it left quickly, like everything else that has ever come
to me. they all leave, no matter what form they take when
gracing this land. whether they are in the shape of a man or
hide behind the falling limbs as the canopy of oaks breaks upon me.

one of the sayings that i think to be a fiction, is that of
“don’t put all your eggs in one basket.”
as if to dream, that i have more than one thing to offer.


i have nothing to give to this world.
this is a statement i think to be a fact,
those around me try to prove that it is a fiction.
they aim to say that when i think bad things about myself,
those words are nothing but fiction.
i still believe that they are facts.

i struggle each day to find the facts in the fiction,
all the words that may surround and tempt me.
but the only thing i continue to find is the lack of trust,
the lack of feeling, that makes me like no other person,
knowing even fewer things about myself.

poem 3
La Florida

the thoughts run smoothly, like the flowing suwannee river, next to an old plantation house.
the oak trees gather to form a canopy, far apart from whatever scene may be happening.
separately, cypress knees come up to haunt the shoreline, tripping hazards to
the troupe that will soon be marching through.

the songs of the days talk about kentucky or virginia or texas.
yet this place is sometimes ignored, for neither the union nor the rebels,
viewed it as anything but that place called a 'paradise'.

when ponce de leon landed on the shores with the men in the boats,
they looked towards the flowers for the name they would give this land.
ignoring the creatures that may have lurked in the water or woods,
seeing only the beauty that any beholder would be able to find.

it was praised first for the beauty of the landscape,
and second for the resources it might bring.
they had no thought for the others that may conquer,
though they would soon learn of these dangers,
as each new boat came into their harbor.

there was no expectation for the magnolia trees,
for the pecan pies laying in the kitchen window,
and the donkeys braying out somewhere in the lonesome farm yard.

no, for that singular moment of discovery,
there were very few thoughts about what this land was,
there was little recognition of what it may become.

only that they had found the land that may contain a path to eternal life.
the sword placed by the sailors, had claimed this front in the name,
la florida.

poem 4
it's easiest just to watch the birds on the shore, look at them preening their precious pink plumes, rather than working on the log in hand.
describing their beauty is a task so different than capturing it on film or the specifics on a piece of paper.
who would rather know their height, than how bright their feathers may shine, when placed in exactly the right light.

poem 5
puppers are the children of dog

blessed are the peacocks,
for theirs is the kingdom of hues.

blessed are the maltese,
for they shall bite ankles in comfort.

blessed are the mink,
for they shall inherit the estuary

blessed are the hares and turtles,
searching for righteousness,
for lettuce they shall be fed.

blessed are the magpies,
for they shall obtain meals.

blessed are the panthers,
with a pure heart of kittens,
for they shall see Dog.

blessed are the puppers,
for they shall be called
the Children of Dog.

blessed are the persecuted raccoons,
for theirs is the kingdom of heaven-ly
trashcans.

poem 6
if you give a snake a strawberry...

the snakes cross like vines in the garden of eden,
not as much searching for someone to bring to and
edge of temptation, but instead looking for the fruit.
whatever form that they think it to be in with cold and
black, eyes and bodies, they still see the 'fruit'.

is it truly a fruit?
is it a strawberry, fallen from a vine and resting in dirt?
is it a rat squirming through the field, on its own quest?
or is it but the idea, the symbolism that all go chasing after,
that imiginary idea of truth from the most natural source?

the snake comes to the vine in the dirt and sees the strawberry.
it looks at it and then as quickly as it found the fruit,
open the jaws and scarfes it down.
everybody likes the sweet simplicity of strawberries.

I really enjoy all your poems and your writing style <3 My favorite is puppers are the children of dog haha c:
Good luck with all those poems!

@TheBlueCat
Why, thank you.

poem 7
love is like...

love is like parading through a dune of fire ant hills, choosing to wear nothing on the feet, taking every leap.
it starts out with the doubt of the risks, how much does one need to get to the other side, when there are so many dangers lying in the path? perhaps it should be waited out for the wind to take the troubles away, only to wait for the rain to bring them up a level.
will they not drown in the rain? won't the troubles be over with?
instead it only moves the issue closer to the lover, the rain are the tears, the ants are the fire that burn up and down legs, while the poison soaks into the skin.
the poison is the worst part, for even after the pain is gone and the tears have subsided, it's still bubbles up under the skin and leaves certain reminders of what happened.
but still the lover will do it, go running across the ant filled dunes, just trying to find that love on the other side of the pain.

poem 8
these are a few fleeting moments,
with just as fluid words that try
so hard to work, but still they will
continue to fail at what is asked
of them. they cannot even address
1%, for the emotion they needed
to be the most important form of
transportation.

poem 9
half of an abcedarian house
anyone can say that a poem will
be inspirational to its reader. but
can anyone really say in advance, how
deep the emotions may slip into
ears. that's the real portal of a person,
fear will be realized through their ears.
"go out in peace" is shouted from by a
homestead, sunken somewhere
in all the old cypress plants, walls covered in
juniper. their blooms are simple like
kisses from someone who has their
love, adjusted exactly in the right place,
making all the difference in the world.

poem 10
el lagarto rosa en el sillón verde
usted pone en el cojín de rayas rojo.
espera al sol pacientemente,
caza los insectos de la noche.
una vida simple es la de
el lagarto rosa.

Wow, 100 poems! And I thought 30 was tough...

These are all pretty cool so far! I really like if you give a snake a strawberry - and puppers are the children of dog made me smile