Young Writers Society

#14.

[Bang Bang, You're Dead - Dirty Pretty Things]

just simple wealth and taste
in fine wines, dry not sweet
paid with your man's soul.
all in stealing his life and
faith, left to stir in my arrays.
fuming like cardice, in empty jam jars
an angry face with a sealed fate and
a forgotten name. this is how things
work in the game of the beggar and king.

First off, I want to thank you for using unusual vocabulary. It's really pushing me to expand my own! Now, this one (#14) initially came off as cryptic, but I think that was mainly because you refer to multiple points of view ("my" "your" "his"). If you could tweak the pronouns or syntax for a bit more clarity, that would be nice. Other than that it was a joy to read. "Cardice"–what a spectacular word. It sounds so much better than what I've normally heard it called. The theme was also interesting to read. Thanks for sharing this with us.

–antimelrose

I'm doomed D: I'll never get these done in time.

But thank you antimel, I appreciate it.

#15.

[Scar Tissue - Red Hot Chili Peppers]

The sticky heat in a thrift store,
where they line up the cowboy boots
by colour, the leather broken under your
fingers. Days that smell like gasoline
and whisky, detailed with burning pine
logs in the open sky. And the stained
white dresses you haven't worn in years
when you used to lurk and listen to
drunken campfire songs. In a box of
coins and broken clocks, you find
that picture from school years of
that tattoo you regret and you can
taste the ink and dust on your tongue.

#16.

[Harder, Better, Faster, Stronger - Daft Punk]

robots clicking, flash of a bulb
with gears that grind together in
determination. silly little automaton,
who falls over after three baby steps,
beeping pleas to be set upright.

#17.

[A Beautiful Mess - Jason Mraz]

fingers that tremble over
doorlocks, like nervous cats
on your porch at sunrise.
streaking the white skies silently,
with black fur:

(that you pick off your pants)

one
by
one

in a cold, quiet spot, where you just
sip your drink, prodding at a soggy teabag.
and you just wish it was Wednesday again.

#18.

(Yea, these are getting worse and worse, but now I think I might be able to get this thing done )

[Vertigo - U2]

in the gardens, forbidden appleseeds
they're buried everywhere:
until it's a maze of choices and chance.
so, when you come across the snake,
venomous words that coax and entice -
you always gotta aim for the head.

#19.

[London Calling - The Clash]

A paid silencer, at the end of a gun
in a world of black, white and red
drawn in graphite and gunpowder.
Smoothed over with shellshocked
bodies.

YAY!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! You're catching up so well!!! And they're beautiful poems too - can I eat them, pretty please with a cherry on top?

I'll go into specifics when I've got a chance to breathe - just wanted to say that I really enjoyed them; they were in the classic Kamas style - to the point and wonderfully imaginative and witty - and that NO, they are NOT 'getting worse and worse' - so you should just go delete that disclaimer right now, girl!

#20.

[Chasing Cars - Snow Patrol]

Do you remember those days,
when you sat on the fourth floor window?
With your head in your hands and
a night sky at your feet, dancing
with a soft palette of colours.
Behind closed eyelids, a dizzy array
of car sounds and rainbows.

Sometimes, evening birds perched
on that rotten wood ledge, with
cocked heads before they beat
wings and swoop. And you'd swing
your feet looking at the plane
of black and grey, deciding
whether to fly.

#21.

[When the Night Feels My Song - Bedouin Soundclash]

you liked to drop pennies,
on sidewalk streets and had paint
on your jeans. with trinkets and
a guitar by the train tracks,
you'd have jazz on your lips and
life at your fingers tips.

#22.

[Mr. Jones - Counting Crows]

the perfume mama used to wear, comes from
bone-chilled trees. and you sit remembering
when she'd make cake, her hands white like
the blossoms. and the rustle of her sunday
church hymns, but she couldn't sing anyways.
wrinkled grooves of the tree, elaborate designs
that emerge with age. there were always pictures
her with her hair around her face like branches,
and birds. birds that could of made a halo,
or a storm to take her.

#23.

(My goodness I'm lame. So close to catching up at I can't motivate myself to write. Also, I've notice my memories from the past kind of trend going on here.)

[Chicago - Sufjan Stevens]

grimy fingers in paint pots,
electric blue with yellow lace
that runs over the page. those
knee cuts, when he would roll
down the hill, dandelions in
his hair. freckled cheeks under
judging eyes, smeared with
the simplest of smiles.

#24.

(Argghhh >.<)

[Sunday Morning - Maroon 5]

The pearls from your Sunday's best
that reflect the broken moonlight
floating in a blanket of space and
pink cotton vests, hanging by the
coffee machine. With watery espressos
that dilute the milky clouds into
swallowed strands. And you can taste
skyward gospels in a mug.

#25.

[Live High - Jason Mraz]

(In the video, he's walking through one of my favourite places on Earth.)

i always loved those motels,
with ceiling fans and 60 speed limit
signs. and when i walked along
in my t-shirts and a backpack
then i'd lay back and look at
the cracks in the white paint
and tap the fish tank. locking
myself in the tiny space, with
dusty curtains that never hid the
daylight right i'd think about why
i loved motels:

'cause there's always so much
to leave behind.