Young Writers Society

Oh how reality should die
and it could
and it should
but if it did
where would dreams lie.

Yummmm. I like the image here, but /maybe/ if you wanted to, you could find a better word than 'lie', though I know it rhymes, it takes away from the strength of the contradiction thing you're trying to do.

That and I love the story about the kisses and the too young to care thing.

Also

It is hell, a candy covered
purgatory that dances
hand in hand with
euphoria dripping from
the hands of Artemis
as she puts the earth
to sleep.

Is my favorite. Please let me eat it. <3

Ah, thanks for reading these Cal and Hannah. Punctuation! Punctuation! I keep forgetting about it but I will try to use it. <3


April 11

I know I'm a guy but I like wearing ruby slippers

Railroad tracks kiss our toes,
our eyes, our hearts, as we
soar through the valleys,
north-bound.

The sun is high in the
sweet blueberry patch
sky, smiling our 6 PM
smiles.

After a long day
in the mines, I'm
ready to kiss, to hold,
my baby.

Men groan around me,
complaining about going
home to their love-less
wife and kids.

They talk about how
the only thing they'll
get at night was a
cold dinner.

As the engine of my
heart goes chug-a-chug
-a-choo-choo, I think
of my lovely Sue.

The first time I set
my coal-birthed eyes
on her, I knew she
was the one.

All the rich gents in
town tried to buy her
with their chocolates
and diamonds rings.

But she settled for me,
the man who couldn't
give her anything but
the smile on her face.

As the men complained,
I smiled, knowing that
after a long day, there
was no place like home.

April 12

if the Beatles were Gods

The world would be strawberry
fields of heaven, that would
span across the universe.
And because the skies were
blue, I'd cry because all
you need is love.

On holidays, we'd meet
up in Liverpool and
bask in the sun singing
"I wanna hold your hand"
Until the broken hearted
people agree that there
will be an answer. And
we can all just
Let it be.

The wars, the hatred, the
fighting, the democracies,
will all be nothing but a
dream. And we'll speak
the language of love
and liberty.

But The Beatles were
only human and baby
quite frankly that's
all they'll be.

And change can come in
through the bathroom
window bringing peace
and liberty but we got
to let it be.

Baby, look round and round,
oh darling, it's a brand
new day. The sun is
shining and its beautiful.
Oh, won't you come out
and play.

Just because we have not
had a revolution, well
ya know the world is still
goin. But won't you open
up your eyes? And see
that it's a brand new day.

Songs

Revolution by The Beatles
Dear Prudence by The Beatles
Let it Be by The Beatles
Strawberry Fields Forever by The Beatles
Across the Universe by The Beatles
Because by The Beatles
All You Need is Love by The Beatles
I Wanna Hold Your Hand by The Beatles

Other Notes

1.) Liverpool is where The Beatles are from.
2.) "Change can come in through the bathroom window" this is a reference to the song "She came in through the bathroom Window" a song written by Paul McCartney
3.) This was supposed to be a song but I put it into poetry form. I just started singing the first stanza and it turned into this. So hopefully you enjoyed this.

Hi Angel! Oh, how I'd love to enter this! Argh, why did I only saw it today?! Anyway, I'll review your piece ^^

On holidays, we'd meet
up in Liverpool and
bask in the sun singing
"I wanna hold your hand"
Until the broken hearted
people agree that there
will be an answer. And
we can all just
Let it be.

I only have two comments.
~ I think there's a comma missing after Liverpool.
~ I don't think that 'Let' must be capitalized. I think it would connect the two sentences better if it wasn't.

dream. And we'll speak
the language of love
and liberty.

~ Comma after 'love'.

But The Beatles were
only human and baby
quite frankly that's
all they'll be.

~ Comma before 'and', on the second line.

And change can come in
through the bathroom
window bringing peace
and liberty but we got
to let it be.

~ Comma on the end of the first line, after 'window' and after 'peace'.

goin. But won't you open

~ It should be: goin'.

Punctuation was all I could catch. Anyway, I loved this. I'm not particularly familiar with this style, the ne that seems the sentences are cut), but I liked it. It screamed out Beatles, in my opinion.
*Kat*

April 13

Grandma Elle's Recipe for fixing a Heartbreak

1 Box of Kleenex
2 packs of Pillsbury's Cookie Dough
1 Pint of Rocky Road Ice Cream
and a monster pizza to go.

Some old Jazz tunes
6 lavender scented candles
A hot shower
and a bottle of Jack Daniel's

April 14

King Poseidon Sends His Love

Dear Rose,

The waves are a simple whisper
of how illustrious and cerulean
a God can be. He can sway the
stillest of souls and kill the
strongest of beings.

The water fills my lungs,
my mind, my soul, my heart,
until I am submerged. Until
there is nothing else left
but the light

And really, my dear, Death
is a friendly soul who
welcomed me into his arms
the moment he saw me.

Hopefully, one day you'll
be able to meet me one
day.

Yours truly,

Jack

P.S. King Poseidon sends his love

April 15

daylight's eternal

It is the spring of
my soul. As I lay
beneath the violet
kissed hills, I can
feel nothing but
Heaven beating
in my soul. And
that sudden
murmur of my
heart, the lively
butterfly flapping
it's rainbow-inspired
wings in my chest, is
the words to the
song of my love
for you. Listen,
let the rays from
my smile kiss
you. Lay here
with me, my darling
and our love will
be forever.

April 16

Forever

Into the sky,
into the night,
into the dawn,
we see each other.
We see our minds,
our souls and our
hearts. And in the end,
is the truth beautiful
or is it too much to
bare?

April 17

fruition

unspoken sins,
iron-wrought steps to
a place unknown.
whispers so celestial,
and quiet, like church
mice singing hum
hallelujah, fill my
head as I climb my
up to heaven.

April 18

Purgatory

Oh, nights are lost in the dreams of a universe
that was born by the consummation of the perilous stars.
They are augmented by the same songs, sung in the same verse.
But it is with great hatred that it burns and chars.

This hidden universe, with all it's resemblances to Eden,
is a flowery Hell, that beckons you forth like a Siren's calls.
It will speak to you like it is heaven
but only purgatory has temptation and sins for walls.

April 19

roses et violettes


perfume and sex kiss the air,
leaving the room breathless,
and as moans cry out against
the painful darkness, a shillings
worth of pleasure is slipped into
a moth-eaten pockets.

naked and violated, we lay back
on the matress, our extremities
exposed to the sliver of sunlight
knocking on our door.

then he pulls up his trousers, buttons
his frock coat, brushes his hair from
his lust-filled eyes, and leaves.

at the waking of evening,
the mistress of the brothel comes
round and takes our money and
then, it is time to get ready for
another gentlemen.

April 20

goodbye, my lady

wide-eyed, minstrels,
golden clarinets a ringing,
sweet on the high of the morning.

whistling, drumming, kissing
lovers goodbye, seas of tears
filling the dust colored sky.

graceful, lithe, and beautiful,
voices, softer than an angel's
cry.

heavy hooves a trampling,
set on getting to the lady's
destination.

goodbye, my lady, goodbye

April 21

snowglobe

broken-like a home without a
mother and a father,
cracked- like the Liberty bell,
silent-like the birds on a Sunday
morning.
holy-like the sermon the priest
gives when his eyes are wide with
God's love.
blessed-like every day I wake up
alive.
cold-like a wintry kiss upon each
cheek.
dark-like the streets of Germany when
the Nazi's took over
gone-like the wind.

April 22

Aziza


through the shell-shock haze,
and the rising thunder,
she emerged like a ocean,
her body as smooth as it's
white tips and curvacious like
it's illustrious waves.

he wanted her badly,
she was like a drug not known
to man with her opium inspired eyes.
her lips the the color of the
Devil's blood, boiling with sins.
flesh, as pure and as virgin,
as one's garden could be.

trapped, seduced, reeled in like
a moth to a broken lampshade still
thriving with a yellow light. she was
the sweet amber scent at the end
of a long night, when the evening
was still young.

brown like a tree's bark,
his hands delve into her
hips, her thighs, exploring the
beauty of her untraveled map.
he's almost there, he's coming,
he's coming, X marks the spot.

the ship lands on the golden paradise,
tasting the night like there was no
blessed tomorrow. he throws down
his hands and worships her pot-bellied
feet.

she was the woman who launched
ships. her name is America, our
beloved.

(Aziza means beloved in Arabic)

April 23

young love

morning past, half-tempest lost,
beneath the pregnant sky and
the star-crossed moons, rest young
souls with virginity fresh on their
lips but absent from their hearts.

April 24

Eternity

And I wait for it's sweet bliss to peak over the
much awaited horizon. It does not come for
night has it in it's hallowed arms. Give it to me
oh Goddess of fate for I can not judge my
will any longer. It is secured by the day which
holds my heart in it's fair hands but I fear that
they are not as pale or as beautiful as the
hands of lady Juliet. She is the east and the
sun sets in the inevitable west. The stars
have not a say in my fate for my heart has
won it's quarrel with the moon and the
planets have aligned for on this night,
she shall be mine and the morning will
come.

April 25

Death

Much adieu to the pardoned souls who
have painted my demise upon their
raised brows. Is it not I who shall take
this dagger, oh how happy it appears
with it's gleaming silver, and kill the scarlet
bird behind my breast? Is it not I,
the famed Juliet, the widow of a star-stricken
lover, who is cast out from both God and
father? Aye, I prove guilty to both and
therefore I shall pay the consequences.

April 26

Mona Lisa

her lips are wilted gardenias
her eyes: other edens, tamed
by other gods.

April 27

freedom

moth-ball eyes written with age, stare at the sky;
it's blood-red skin hanging from the galaxies,
the day is a mellow page ripped from the book
of death. he stands there, like a patron of night, his
skin a mirror image of the translucent stars. his
fingers are lost in the thighs of humanity. those
eyes, lost to a time unbeknownst to ours, read from
the book of life which has been scattered across
the world in tired increments. lips like sandpaper
form each word like the sound of spirits leaving
a soldier's body: let my people go. he says this
over and over again, until his voice is nothing
but a distant past.

I think this is one of my worst poems yet, if not gruesome. I have noticed that lately my work has been taking on this dark form and that freaks me out...


April 28

lost & found

the night, unlike the many days in solitude: are sexless memoirs of the past,
where the stars are pregnant and the eyes of all the children are wide and gleaming.
he sits, he stands, his washes his hands in the sins of his fathers, tasting her kiss,
her words, her touch on every inch of his body.

as she slips on her lingerie: strands of ebony fall down like a vine, curling and
curling round and round like a Ferris wheel, to her swan-pale neck graced with
roses fully blossomed, he watches, slowly getting hot inside, so hot he can
taste the lust in his throat.

porcelain, like the finest china, so fragile, so beautiful, he slips his hands past the
belt loops of the window and eases it open, letting in the night. she doesn't notice
him, staring at her with wide eyes, gleaming and charcoal-inspired, fiery and hellish,
hungered and deprived.

he imagines her skin: mapped by the stars but so complicated. there's the valleys
below her collarbone, the mountains just on the eave of her neck, the oceans in her eyes,
and then there is those roads that are less traveled. he steps inside, ready to explore.

slipping into bed, unaware, waiting, waiting, for that other woman with her twelve hour
shifts and badges and guns, to release her husband so she can make sweet sweet
love to him: she lies down and closes her eyes, waiting, waiting, unaware that someone
is watching.

"Shh" he whispers, so soft, so lovingly, that you'd think that the sky had said them. her
screams are like a broken record player at first but then they become loud, like thunder,
only more blood-curdling, more pleading, he shuts her up, a hand to her lips, the very
instruments that he imagined in his many fantasies.

fear lines her every iris, pupil, eyelid, until the whites of her eyes are dark with tears,
they slide down her cheek, cutting into his fingers, his palm, his wrist. she writhes,
and wriggles and jerks like a tsunami but he tames her, by wrapping his legs around
her and....

TO BE CONTINUED

(This poem really does end like "to be continued")

Angel of Death wrote:I think this is one of my worst poems yet, if not gruesome. I have noticed that lately my work has been taking on this dark form and that freaks me out...

You ain't seen nothing yet, sister. Trust me.



Mona Lisa and freedom are especially delicious.

Ta,
Cal.

April 29

wake me up when september ends

the thunderous dirge plays a sweet sweet
melody to my demise. my heart is beating
and roaring and rumbling, starting a war
in my soul. the curtains are drawn, the
pain and the hatred and the fear, is
building up inside of me. i can't breathe,
I can't love, I can't live. it hurts so much
to inhale the beautiful toxins that
he was feeding me. with every kiss,
with ever 'I love you' I was dying. now
I'm left, broken and tired, like the
Fall leaves that drift slowly to the
ground. please, wake me up
when September ends.

April 30

Paramour

a vision of lipstick and perfume, sweetly kissed by a
hint of secrecy, he tentatively holds her hand across the
table, his wedding band smiling at him in the beer-induced
sunlight, unfaithful, unfaithful, sings the church choir as he
plays footsies under the table.

she smiles at him, wondering at his pacific and atlantic eyes,
how they gleam with a meaning so unfathomable, whore, whore,
her conscious screams, but she quiets it down with another sip
of her daiquiri.

the music is blaring, mixed with emotions and oceans of lust
mistaken for love, augmented by the casual shots of expensive
liquor. they kiss passionately or figuratively speaking, they kiss
like the night is the end of the world, and all the while, he's
thinking of his wife's face on this woman's body, and she's
thinking of him with nothing on.

and at the end, he walks her down the street, under the
cold streetlights, the moon and the stars, absent from the black
of the sky. no soul is alive and the wind is not talking, with whore
on her lips and the word unfaithful on his mind, he slips her a twenty
and sadly says "They're be more next time."