Young Writers Society

Poem Number 8: Painting



a frenzied palette and wildly dancing brushes
gifted with a stroke of imagination
crafting flash fictions of a new world
veiled behind layers of vivid paint.

Poem Number 9: (No title for this one)



my strings that tie my heart together
are slender and fragile and elastic
sliding back and forth like the tides
that echoes the sea’s indecision
hiding the dark depths where
time nor light never existed,
swallowing the bright sand
that lay beneath the sun.

Your poetry doesn't have too strong a narrative, which is pretty cool the way you've done it. It's kind of like looking through an old photo album and seeing a tiny glimpse into something bigger. I really like it.

Thank you! <3

Poem Number 10: Fossils


Time left its mark by the seaside,
where all the tides convened to a focal point:
the cliff called evolution where it cared for
the sculpted portraits in its gallery.

Poem Number 11: A Lake Bed


In the middle of the lake bed,
where earthy dust crusts my fingernails
as I scoop up a handful of what drought had left
the lake to salvage and I wonder,
What was it like long ago?

Poem Number 12: Patterns


My doll’s plaid dress,
hatched with thin jagged lines
that cage small rectangles
travelling across the fabric.

The stitches from my sewing machine,
line the hem of my bloomers,
clearly white with no variation,
hemming its way past the woven fields.

The dates I see in my ancient history class,
where mighty men and weak princes,
battles and kingdom fading to the past
as decades pass and history cycles around humankind.

Poem Number 13:


Our eyes are windows
opening into our orchards
that bear emotions.
They slip out unnoticed
in artificially sweet smiles;
yet are always lucid to those
who look into our eyes.

Poem Number 14: Perfect


Milky lace, spinning around
with a myriad of stitches
that fall smoothly on my hand,
filtering starlight so fragile
it could shatter into tiny pieces
like a roll of parchment
marked with a fragile peace.

Poem Number 15:

Soda Laughter


Let me laugh
and feel the bubbliness
of the tinkle swirled in
the froth of humor.

Poem Number 16:

Thoughts at Sunrise

I sprinkle my tears on a sundae,
for it can’t be delicious without sugar or salt,
its silkiness dipping into my reverie;
as I sit by the window with a cup of pensive thoughts.

I open the window to let dawn in, and
the pink warm glow of the sun bathing my cheeks
will wash away my ice cream and tears;
as I resolutely rise up and face the new day.

Poem Number 17:


Open a book, and let the words fly
into your mind to immerse yourself
in a timeless realm contained within the pages;
as the clock ticks without its dark slender pincers
striking the loss of seconds and minutes;
as the world around you sighs and
curl around your shoulders to rest;
as the present morphing into the past,
catches their breath and reads over your shoulder.

I like a lot of your pieces here! I especially enjoyed reading 7 and 16 - such nice little poems.

The first line of 16 is just so sweet and sad at the same time:

"I sprinkle my tears on a sundae,"

I'm looking forward to reading more of your work.

I love how your poem about fossils describes that history as a gallery, and I like seeing how the next few poems are drawn to history, too. I'd like to see you explore that more!

Thank you, @alliyah and @Hannah <3