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Mar 29


March 24th, 2018
Montpelier, Vermont

for the first time
i felt it rise up within me.
without hesitation,
without shame,
without fear.
my own voice, crawling out of my larynx and
escaping out of my mouth,
begrudgingly pulling itself along,
weak from the journey,
but perservering.

for the first time
it demanded to be heard,
not asking for permission,
instead taking a seat on my tongue 
and resting its head on my lips,
showing its face and bearing its scars
from being told what it
could not say,
what it
should not say.
it enveloped itself in the sun and joined
with the thousands of other voices in
filling the air with vibrations.
first you see us, the people.
now you see our voices, now you feel our voices.
and oh,
they taunt you with inspiration,
they unnerve you with education,
and they
Mar 29
Emilia Perry's picture

Sorting Thoughts

      Scratchy bark. Heavy scent. Slight winds rustling the branches, now free of their leaves. This exposes skeletal arms that reach and dance when the autumn breeze blows. I sit, surrounded, hiding within these arms that wrap around me like a comforting hug. I look at the ground. Stark against the brown and green of the surface, is a yellow pencil and a pad of paper. Homework. Write a poem. How can I do that if I can’t even focus on a single thought? There is so much going on outside. Inside as well. This is how I find myself here, in this tree, surrounded by grass. Open stretches of ground, roads, people, buildings, and trees all line the outskirts of the field, bustling and talking.
Mar 28
zoebarton's picture


            The woman struck up conversation with the driver of the morning bus. Every day, she talked to the man on her way to breakfast, located at a cafe she had been consistently going to. She told him yesterday about how the traffic was so peaceful from the corner. He had given her a quick, judgmental look before she started talking about what she had planned to order for the day. Today, she knew that she would order a bagel with cream cheese and an iced coffee. She knew because she had been there many times, and always, she requested to sit in the chair by the corner of the building. Sometimes, she was granted her wish, and there, she had a perfect view of both streets. The traffic was almost rhythmic and soothing as it made its way through the intersection, which is why she liked the cafe so much.
Mar 28

A Thankful Night

The sun has gone to rest under the horizon,
The Moon got up to play with the tousands of stars,
The city grows vibrant with light in the steets below,
People walk the path to return to their beloveds,
This night was a special night,
This night was chrismas night,
For above the heights of the towering buildings, 
Were sparkles that gave people joy,
The shimmering light was not the ordinary,
They were angels who came from above,
For it was this night and this night only,
That an angel could begin to fly,
If you heard the bell as sweet as a childs voice,
Then an angel be thankful to thy,
'Cause you have done a deed,
A deed that has someone thanking you for what you have done,
So on this night and this night only,
Everyone tries their hardest to let the angels fly.
Mar 28
écrivain's picture

Flaming CIty

there was a darkness filling the air in their lungs,
but yet every time they exhaled they released
columns of light into the night sky above them.
great smoke stacks spewed silver plumes into the distance,
smoke hanging low in the rich dark sky,
flaming flecks of light contrasted against the limitless horizon.
the city was a vast, intricate labyrinth of tiny lights;
golden man-made stars burning like embers fallen from the sun.
it was as if somebody had taken a fist full of glitter and blown it across the city,
watching as it fell to earth, shimmering and sparkling brightly with gold and white light.
i sat above all of it, the ground below me alive with dazzling light.  
roads twisted and snaked through the maze of buildings
everywhere i looked i could see millions of shining lights sprawled beneath me,
gleaming brilliantly, flickering passionately.
Mar 28
H20.hollym's picture


the little boy sits
in the seat across
from me
on the yellow school bus.
he has a skateboard strewn across
his lap and
five pens shoved into
his pocket.
he reaches for one and
they all tumble
he puts them
back in
but keeps one to
doodle in a massive
worn sketchbook
filled with white paper.
i seem him wear
the same beaten khaki pants
scuffed white shoes
and speckled green sweater
every single day-
through months june
and december.
this boy is a creator-
you can just tell.
he’s giving to the world even
though i suspect that
all it ever seems to
is take from him.
Mar 27
Laurel Marshia's picture

Guardians of Childhood

I’ve always felt some kind of connection to trees. I think this comes from my upbringing in Chelsea, learning to love the land from my parents and grandparents. But I think part of this comes from what a tree represents to me. The old silver maple tree in our backyard is unwavering, throwing its shade onto the green grass and dropping its colorful leaves on our deck in the fall. The perfectly straight, slender maple behind the woodshed is youthful compared to the rest; its strong roots allow it to grow on a slope, towering over and protecting our house. The evergreen trees that stood proudly behind our swing set are forever landmarks in photographs of our house over the years. Although they are now just stumps, they still hold the magic placed in them when my grandfather planted them and nurtured their growth. The old apple tree will forever be a testament to the childhoods of my siblings and me.
Mar 27
Quincy_J's picture

I Could Just Stare

I could stare at you for hours 

Just take you in

I don’t want to speak sometimes

I just want to observe and notice how you talk

And smile 

And blink

Literally everything 

Take note of your facial expressions 

They bring me so much joy 

Watching you make a questioning face at what your mom is saying 

Or smiling that sneaky grin when you are trying to trick me 

I can tell what you are doing before you even do it 

It’s hilarious 

You know I go wild when you wink

I can’t suppress my smile

Being able to just look fills me 
Mar 27
gleasonl's picture

The tree

         The wind whips through my hair as I sit on the highest branch of a tree overlooking a wide-open field. I feel the hard bark underneath my hand as I sigh. I am transported to a different place when I am up in my tree. I see a watering hole in Africa with all sorts of animals. I see zebras, gazelles; I see elephants, giraffes and wild boars. I hear their hooves on the ground, see them drinking, ever so peacefully, making soft ripples in the water.  I smell the dirt from the ground and the grass underneath their hooves. The sun is setting from the behind the watering hole. The animals are slowly leaving. I wish I could stay there forever, but then I remember I have homework. The watering hole slowly disappears as I jump down from my branch, leaving the only place I feel safe. I look back at the tree, the branches swaying in the wind. I smile to myself, not sad to leave because I know I’ll be back tomorrow. 
Mar 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Rain



The rain can bring darkness.
And skies that are dreary.
It brings heavy dark clouds.
And makes visions bleary.

It makes the ground cold
and the wind thrash.
It makes the trees fall.
And the water crash.

However, the rain also gives life.
And helps new things grow.
It can make things bloom.
And the ground glow.

It washes away the tarnished pieces.
And eventually reflects the sun.
Which creates bright colors.
Then the storm is done.