Young Writers Society

I'mma try another happy one. or something.

Poem 13:

I tilt my head
and smile my delicate smile;
as the clocks ring twelve
and the cooks burn our food.
We are better seen than heard.
Let them discuss their politics and foreign policies and trouble in the Middle East and-
we'll sit here with our legs crossed and quietly speak of petunias and maybe the governer's new wife,
only 23 is she,
so young for a man so old.
The ladies leave and all the cooks and maids and servants
clean.

~*~

So much for another happy one, right?

I read a few of your poem on here, and they are all really good! I enjoyed them (:
You definetly have talent!

Thanks Silent!

Um. I meant to edit the below but I accidently put a new one I think. So I'm going to leave now. Bai.

I wrote a poem that I really like but I don't think it's appropriate for YWS.

ANWAY.

~*~
Poem 14:

Light up my acid candy,
set my blood on fire;
Shatter the bottle against the wall
and lick the liquid from the floors,
cut your tongue on the screaming glass.
Fill the porcelain tub with my blood,
lap it up like a dog.
I love
that crazy-eyed look that
only you get when
your hitting me
up.

~*~

I don't like this one much but I'm not inspired and I need to get my quota in for today.

HOWYOUDOIN'? (I get greeted like this every day. It is tres epic.)

~*~
Poem 14:

She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
In place of it,
a thirty dollar cubic zirconia
from the classy counter of her local Wallmart.

She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
But wears the fake rather than nothing,
to avoid the whisperumors that
she was that old and not married,
those eggs won't wait forever you know.

She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
She hasn't since that night,
when sharp knives
and even sharper words were thrown.

She doesn't wear her wedding ring.
Keeps it in a dusty keepsake box,
where pressed letters and dry, browning roses
sleep.

She doesn't wear her wedding ring;
hides it between fluttering butterflies that danced in her stomach and
and sobbing in the shower, a loud guttural thing.
She hides that ring between
the memory of yesterday
and the thought of tomorrow.

Inspired by Indunn Sofie and WTMeighan and BondGirl007 's Astronomy notebook.

~*~
Poem 15:

We lay on the grass,
staring up at Hope's notebook,
bonfire glowing.

And in the morning,
during the fuss of breakfast,
bacon vanishes.

Our tent tumbling
and our minds still on bacon
(Turkey, for the win)

Serial killers
are newborn babies compared
to the epic bear.

It's a huge, fat thing;
lumbering away with our
BACON; nomnomnom.

So much for breakfast,
great outdoors of our backyard;
BABY HAS BACON.

~*~

HAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA. That is the most epic thing I've EVER written.

Poem 16:

It smells like incense
and it's burning my eyes;
My hands are sweaty but it's just so
cold in this room, in this house
but my body(ies) keep burning up,
fire licking up my(their) throat(s),
trying to make me(them) cough up the tar filled words that
killed me(them).
Dead flowers are spalshed with gylcerin
and
prayers are whispered,
in hope that we can make them last
forever.

Poem 17:

Do you remember us?
Remember the easter egg chocolates
and lollipops that tasted like summer?

You bought them on sale in October
at that tiny, grocery store I hated,
(I always said they sold weed in the back)
chipped front tooth biting those lips,
as you gave them to me,
(Maybe I was wrong.)
in that stupid 'Have a nice day!' plastic bag.

I would lie on the beat up couch
and let the sun tease through the dusty blinds,
the faint scent of Chinese/Portuguese/Lebanese/Americanese
dancing in the screen.

Sometimes
I'd eat one or two,
try to let the taste of July overtake the November air.
It would never work.
(It smelled like it though)

~*~

Feces, that was bad.

Poem 18:

he sounds like love,
his words transforming into
briars of silk that twine up over
the concrete petals that
refused
to
unfurl.

~*~

Poem 19:
The white-picket fence
disguises the demon rats
and Poverty's children,
transforming them into
puppy dogs and clean children
with button eyes and
sewn on smiles.

~*~

Those are two seperate poems beeteedoubleyou.

Narg. I have a ridiculous amount to do.

Poem # 20:

lol, u r 2 fune,
wit ur ch@t tlk and abrv. w0rds.
cant u c im fury
us at de way u tlk?
aaf, its ridik how u txt & im
alllll de tym. lern 2 spek prper
english u n00bs. so stfu or gtfo.
ack! gtg. ttyl. aml a&f! <3333333333

I love 19 and 20. They were so good!
Ahahaha I got a laugh from 20 ;P

Thanks

I have 10 poems to do. HERE ARE SOME CONVENIENT HAIKUS.

Failure 21:

Heaven is lovely,
he swore. But where are the keys
to the silver gates?

Failure 22:

Her throat is closed up,
tar destroying everything.
It's a horrid shame.

Failure 23:

It's been ten minutes
and now twenty-three are dead.
clocks ring eleven.

Failure 24:

She sweating, gasping
screams tearing her throat in fear.
Daddy has come home.

Failure 25:

I need to finish,
but I am not inspired
Darn poetry month.

Failure 26:

I'm going to start
blabbering. My poems make no
sense. My cell phone beeps.

Failure 27:

I've begun to hate
Fridays. It's a stupid day.
Damn, Rebecca Black.

Failure 28:

To Mommy, From Jill.
I love you so very much.
You are my hero

Failure 29:

Success is so close,
I can taste it on my tongue,
like Jolly Ranchers.

Finally 30:

April was full of
laughs, cries, two deaths and weddings,
it's (out like a lamb).


ITS OVER! FINALLY! YES! I'm so proud! I WIN!