Apr 30
emily.hess's picture

It Does Get Better

i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

sometimes i still think about it 

sometimes it still makes sense

but i remember that 

when it always made sense 

i then met you

and i realize how silly it is now. 


i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

because i think you needed to meet me 

as much as i needed to meet you

and there are more you's to meet 

more time to be had.


i'm glad i didn't die before i met you. 

i'm glad i'm gonna be here for a while. 

 
Apr 13
Fading _Into_Darkness's picture

The Horizon


The Horizon where,
In It´s pinkish-blue,
Softly shaded hue,
The grass does lie.

The Horizon where,
Opposites do meet,
Hot and Cold
Dark and Light,
Meek and Bold,
Wrong and Right,
Joyous and Sad,
Peace and War,
Good and Bad,
Fact and Lore.

The Horizon where,
Everything collides,
Emotions, pain, and great divides.
The rumbling tumult of chaos,
Masked by still on the outside.

The Horizon where,
I long to be,
Chaos, confusion, yet right at home.
Fear, Pain, Love, and Joy,
Whispering thoughts to a lost young boy.

The Horizon,
Just beyond my grasp.

 
Apr 11
J. Scott's picture

How Ought We to Live?

Existentialism is my vice of choice
my bad habit,
for to theorise and ponder over how we ought to live
misses the point of living.
It squanders our time
assembling a puzzle 
we have but half the pieces to.
It is a game for cowards,
those who fear the deep, guttural 
truth of life,
those who waste their scarce years
asking questions
rather than seeking answers
I know this.
I understand the futility of philosophy
and yet I count myself among their ranks.

 
Apr 10
poem 3 comments challenge: Last

the sunset and night

This is your last chance,
before the day becomes the night,
up at the sky i glance,
the sky has colors so bright,

as soon as you see the color,
it all fades to darkness,
you are like no other,
for most others are heartless,

watch the sun set and the moon rise,
you start to feel a little blue,
as the darkness multiplies,
the days demons you thought were slew
In the night, yet again.They arise.
Apr 05

sunset(tle in)

cobweb filament shatters 
over your knuckle 
dust dissolving in a sunlight fountain 

catnap in a creaky pink 
recliner arms around 
the girl who writes you love notes 
orange glow through the 
crack between curtain and window

red light on your mouth, 
in her hair, warming posters on the walls 
holes in your blanket bunched up in the corner chapstick kiss on your forehead

what color are my eyes tonight, love?

black like the sky now

goodnight,
goodnight.
 
Mar 29

dare

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 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 23

My Heart The Acorn

My heart is silent,
I tremble at this revelation.

Veins pump soundlessly,
and carry dull blood
to my arms and legs
that move me wearily
up the tree.

My anxiety has once again
gotten the best of me,
and now all I can do
is hide.
I sit uncomfortably in dead branches
that are uncushioned by leaves.   

I want to dissociate
because thinking hurts too much.

I can’t help them,
the accusations that shoot
into my brain like needles:

I think of every hello
I’ve never answered,
or the bridges I’ve burned,
because drifting apart slowly
makes me feel blurry.
But most of all,
for not being better.

Soon the sun goes down,
and the stars step out
from behind a black curtain.
They twinkle the way
a lover winks to you
from across the street.

Off a branch
not far from me,
a small acorn drops
Mar 23
Emerson.K's picture

Flight of the bird


I am feather-light
wings bright
soaring

The last leaves flutter
to the ground,
yet I stop

I’m tired
need a rest

a pause

I see where I’ve gone
where I’m going
merging

Blue sky touches earth
earth touches tree
tree touching me

No hills
no mountains
just me

This is my journey
I make it
alone

But beneath the tree
long overlooked
is another

pale brown
small and curious
exploring

Down in the shade
on the ground
a companion

The fur to my feathers
the soil to my tree,
earth to my sky

Eyes meet,
rest taken,
pause

I am feather-light
wings bright
and soaring
 
Mar 23
neczekaj's picture

Running Free

I sit on the branch
feeling the rough bark of the old
oak tree
bite at my legs

The cool, misty air
kisses my skin
as the leaves whisper
secrets
to one another
in a language that only they
understand

The golden fur of my retriever
glistens in the pale sunlight
as the sun
just peaks through
the tangle of forest trees up ahead
casting a warm glow and 
bathing the backyard in
velvety hues of yellows and reds

I pick at the tree bark
before swinging my feet
over the branch
letting myself down
onto the soft, damp grass

My dog pants
greeting me with a
childlike enthusiasm
her tail wagging as
her wet tongue licks my face

I grab a stick
holding it tight
her chocolate eyes wide in
anticipation

“Ready?” I say
pulling my arm back
The stick catapults across the lawn 
Mar 20

Beautiful

Green.
The shade of a hemlock
on a sunny day
covered in snow.

Snow.
The hush as it falls
and the laughter
as the sun reappears.

Laughter.
Joy in the form
of vibrations
traveling through the air.

Books.
Pages like soft hands
feeding words
to hungry children.

Gram’s hands.
Wrinkled and velvety
with arthritis in the joints,
but always open.
Mar 17

Artist's Envy

Your words are beautiful,
the way they overlap and intertwine,
combining with perfect precision
to display every last hue and texture
of each thread.

Your words are beautiful,
shining in their honesty,
gleaming with thought,
radiating creativity.
It is thought out
and executed,
refined and poised.

I have fallen in love with your words,
the way you weave tales
from moments
and images
from ideas.

I have fallen in love with your imagination,
broad,
panoramic in nature,
and whole.
There is gentleness in its raw fragility.
There is grace in its naivety.

I have fallen in love with your work,
like a woodworker's creations sanded to perfection,
like a composer's magnum opus,
like a- like a- like a something.
A something I cannot name
or describe
or compare
or imagine
or phrase
no matter how hard
I try.
Feb 26

i don't want to be afraid anymore.

I

i remember sixth grade
with a certain sweet sadness.

i remember flashes of
sun between branches- a strobe light
as we raced past evergreens
and hemlocks. we were free then.

i remember art class with Mrs. Bird, and the
bookfair, and the library, and the broken swing
on the playground, and morning meetings,
and i remember the man who came to my school with a knife.

i can’t help but remember Mrs. Gray’s shrill laugh,
cartwheeling through the hallways and rolling down
damp hills, the scent of grass wafting through the air,
the pine needles stuck in my hair, and
huddling in the corner of Mr. Tessin’s room.
i remember it was dark as he rushed to lock the door.

i remember October 2nd.
the calm voice over the intercom telling us
to stay where we were.
i remember the worry that settled in the bottom of my stomach

Feb 21

February 21, 2018

PRESS RELEASE:  On February 21, 2018 at approximately 1130 hours, administration at BFA St Albans were notified of an anonymous threat made at the school via a note.  The threat was related to shooting that was to occur this afternoon so the school immediately went into ‘secure the building’ mode.  Officers responded and along with BFA staff, the decision was made to send students home early.  There was no active danger located at the school and officers were on scene as students left for the day.  The school was cleared by SAPD officers. Officers stood by at both St Albans City and Town Elementary Schools as a precaution.  
St Albans Police are investigating the source of the threat that was made and officers will continue to be at the schools as the investigation carries out.
-St. Albans Police Department


I remember in 2010,
The Vancouver Winter Olympics aired.
My 4th grade class was a beehive,
Buzzing in excitement and working
Feb 12

convince me.

Whisper like you mean it
softly demanding
take my wrist
without worrying about
squeezing too tight
run deep through my veins
and dont apologize
consume me
not with your body 
but eyes
make me 
believe in something
without having 
to wish it true
hold me close
but dont be afraid
to lose me
marry my 
fingers to yours
and have them dance
across my face
take your breathe
and paint
come claim me
but do not take ownership
let my ribs
be the xylophone
and your lips the musician
give me
tough
honest
playful
look at me intently
with no other thoughts
and convince me
of our love.
 
Feb 09

It's Cold Tonight

I take us to our spot,
the one that is marked loosely
with ancient mossy rocks.
You sit down on a log
while I prepare a fire.
It’s a wonderful mess.
I throw together wet logs
and green branches.
I have no newspaper,
and my lighter is in the car.
I clash rocks together
in hopes for a spark,
and instead find blood
when I smash my ring finger.
There is no flame produced,
so I sit down next to you,
utterly defeated and fuming.
But I feel your fingers crawl
over and around my flannel
as you draw yourself
under my arm,
telling me that I am enough
to keep you warm.  
 
Feb 07
poem 1 comment challenge: Say
Ink Sparks's picture

Do You Remember?

Do you remember?
​How we would talk about nothing
like it was nothing.
Do you remember?
How we would laugh together
when there was little reason for laughing.
​Do you remember?
​When you hid around the corner and scared me
​and I got you back the next day.
Do you remember?
​When I wrote your funny nickname on your folder
​and you asked me to write it in marker.
Do you remember? 
​When I was feeling down
​and you talked to me until I was laughing again.
When you looked at me and I looked at you
​and I felt a connection there.
Did you feel it?
I felt it.
I remember everything.
​How I gave you that note
How we met on the playground
​to talk about us
and I thought you wanted me.
​Then when we came back to school
​we were so distant and awkward.
​You didn't want me anymore
​and it hurt.
I tried to push away my feelings
Jan 22

schizo

I wish I had known you
before the darkness crept in,
before the voices whispered,
before the demons lurked in every corner.

Kind, compassionate, caring,
all manner of “C” sounds to describe you then.
They describe you now still,
only changed,
only not.

It first manifested,
ceaseless, complex, cacophonic.
Your diary read, “I can’t take this,”
and you hit your mother with a wrench,
or so you thought.

Meal time was spent on the porch,
alone.
Inside the house, siblings laughed.
Inside your head, something laughed too.

Aunty took one look and said it,
a cruel, careless word,
the word of a trained nurse:
“Schizophrenia.”

Dad was scared to death.
You were 3 years older than he.
What if he caught the loony gene too?
Oh God, what if they all did?

A trip to Ohio was supposed to set you straight.
Audio download:
schizo 3.mp3
Dec 22
poem 2 comments challenge: Mundane
Abi Domingue.'s picture

A Tender Sip


Her lipstick prints onto the white ceramic 
creating a collage of red against the white gloss
as the ripples in her lips magnify the texture of the stain 
highlighting the white’s matte coat.
Over and over again, she kisses the rim 
darkening the first coat, and shadowing the white, 
establishing a trim of red-blossomed flowers 
painted delicately to match the vines of gold growing from the base. 
A masterpiece of tender sips. 
Dec 12

Snow

Right now all I feel like doing
is running and spinning in circles
until I fall and then I'll
make snow angels and
laugh and laugh at nothing
because my happiness can't be
contained in my chest
it wants to burst forth
as energy and sound waves.
But I'm stuck in AP Lit.
I'm supposed to be writing
an explication on a poem.
I enjoy the poem,
but all I can think of is 
frozen white flakes containing
an infinite amount of joy.