Oct 16
Graceful's picture

Just as Bright

          Her smiles were radiant

 Her eyes were clear

          Her hair was flying.

 No longer tucked behind her ear.

        The day was a wet rainy


 The clouds were a dark grey


         She kept on shining as bright as any other


Oct 16
Barciaf's picture

The Ski Weekend

Zippin and zoomin straight through the snow

Put on my boots and watch me go

The snow is very deep

I wake up early when the whole world is still asleep

And when i'm chilly to the socks

I run around like a snowy fox

I smell the waffles straight from the press

I zoom past the lines like i'm playing chess

I do my tricks to try and impress

The weekend is the time, no school! No homework! And no stress!

But suddenly monday rolls around and makes you feel depressed.

Oct 15


I cut through my spiraling, twisting, coalescing thoughts by turning my attention to my phone.
I press the small button to wake it up.
I look at the time.


I turn again, this time away from my phone, and the thoughts come back.
Foggy, confused, uncontrollable.
I think about every action I took today
And how I could have done things differently
Said things in other ways
Left people alone for certain amounts of times.
It feels like I could think about every single thing I did for hours and hours and get no answers,
No conclusions.

I’d have to do something else.

I fumble around with small objects
I tidy the space around me
I shift a glass just a little to the right
I glance at my phone.
I hit the small button, and the phone lights up.
I see the time.



I pick up my phone and text the person I need answers from.
Oct 12


"You're a different soul aren't you?"
  I shift my gaze up from the cracked sidewalk to meet the gaze of the man with the guitar. His dark chocolate brown eyes trailing over my face, and body, as if reading into my soul. I nod in response to his question, glancing back down to the ground, watching the crisp autumn leaves swirl around my feet.
  "I thought so" he replied, returning his gaze to his guitar, plucking the strings in a soft melody. I turn my back and begin to walk down the sidewalk, my feet creating a melody of their own, my heart creating the beat. 
  It was true, I was differnt. Maybe it was my beet red hair that implied I was different. Maybe he could tell by that array of freckles that danced across my face. Perhaps it was the way I walk, cautiously. As though avoiding stepping on shards of shattered glass. Which, I suppose in some ways, I was.
Oct 11

i fell in love with your hair

i fell in love with your hair, 

the way it smelled on Sunday morning,

just before your coffee and right after your shower. 

But now i realize that it wasn’t you I loved, 

at least not at the end. 

At the end, i fell in love with your shampoo, and the memories the smell held. 

But just not....

Oct 11
fiction 1 comment challenge: Almost
Ice Blink's picture


The scene in front of her was almost perfect. Almost.

Uncle Jack smiles as his fingers fly over the black and white keys,
the others clapping along to the funky rhythm,
their feet caught  up in the river of sound,
legs competing with each other as the song comes to a close.

As a new tune begins, this time a sad old classic,
she thinks about her grandfather,
the lively, sage old man she remembers,
now seemingly just a wisp of smoke in the chimney.
 He used to have this saying; "Music is like a Hurricane,
it picks you up like a leaf and once you're in its hand, theres no leaving until the storm is over."

That was before.
Before the tiniest hopeful hint of a smile was the only indication that he was still the spirited man he once was.
Tonight is missing something....

It's his laugh.
Oct 09
hmseymour's picture


the blue bird sings at the top of his lungs,
and I wonder if he ever tires
or gets bored
or realizes that his constant tweeting is pointless.
the golden retriever trots along his daily route,
attached to a short red leash.
I wonder if he ever resents
that short red leash
for straining him when he simply wants to be free.
the man travels back and forth to work everyday;
an everlasting routine.
he becomes exhausted 
and bored
and resents his choices and his life/
I wonder if he will ever try to end
this seemingly never ending routine.
I sure hope so...
Oct 09


There is something magical in the leaves during Autumn. 
Oct 07

the steps of making tea

i have never found myself in poetry,
but i think i may have found myself in your arms
as we sit in your kitchen, waiting for the kettle;
your soft eyes and parted lips, sculpted by aphrodite
as you silently boil the water. 

you have careful fingers as you pour the hot water
into two red, chipped mugs. i remember the
gentle pressure of those fingers twisted in my hair. 

curled green leaves lay with small jasmine flowers,
Oct 05
poem 1 comment challenge: Winter/18

The Season of Night

The world is darker in winter.
The wind begins to bite.
It no longer runs its fingers
across my warm cheeks.
It pinches them with its cold
and frozen hands, dead
like a corpse that whispers.
White little flakes melt
and spot my black mascara.
They make tears feel
nice and comfortably warm.
Their intricate patterns
beyond naked hazel eyes
break from up close.
Lips blow mists as shoulders
lift and fall and relax.
Scarves curl up like cats on
tense and cold necks.
The sky is cloudy and heavy
with frozen white mist.
Coughs are sent into elbows
and pink watercolors
brush cold noses and cheeks.
The night prevails in
darker skies and a single star.
The bells and voices
of a choir in carol sing along.
"Hark how the bells!
Sweet silver bells!" and all
grows quiet as winds
moan the carols of the dead.
Oct 04
zazu's picture


Look over your shoulder, and you might see the person you've been trying to forget.
Lingering there like a shadow.
The ghost of your past.
Try, try, try not to notice.
But it's hard.
Just another walk down memory lane.
You're stronger than you think.
That person is behind you.
You're the one in front of them, ready to take the first step on.
Don't look back,as you fade into the distance.
And continue walking forward.
Forward, into the pouring rain.
Oct 03
mccaffre1's picture

Apple trees and pumpkins

The leaves shift from green to brilliant red

The workers at orchards press hot apple cider into a delicious steamy drink

The crops turn from beans and brussel sprouts, to pumpkins and parsnip.

The last days of October are filled with candy wrappers and apple trees ready for the picking

But what if every Autumn it's not only the trees that undergo change

and it's not only the pumpkins that are carved into unique shapes.

It will be the people this Autumn and every Autumn after that.

It will be us that renew the colors of our intelligence

And us that carve out our personalities again.

Us that shed our wrappers of ignorance and pompousness

Our happiness that we will bake into our apple tarts and thanksgiving dinners that we share gladly with others.  
Oct 03
poem 2 comments challenge: General
Layjmo's picture

Brilliant Words

Brilliant Words

I want to write something fun

Riddled with prose full of excellent puns

Such a thing is more difficult than it seems

Because not everyone has the means

To write such a witty and brilliant speech

Is a goal I cannot even hope to reach

Oh how I wish these words were brilliant

I guess I’ll just have to be resilient

And wait for that spark

That awakes my inner lark

And makes it sing the words

That are much less absurd

Than what has been written in the past

But words like that won’t even last

Because that spark goes away

Soon after the things you set out to say

Enter your mind

They are one of a kind!

The brilliant words don’t appear often

I wish that they could be harnessed like oxen
Oct 02
ZAP's picture

This year, I'll be maple

I stand on the uneven slope and breathe in, feeling the crisp air fill my lungs. Today is the day, I thought. The day of change. I am the last one this year. All day, I will stand in the meadow, breathing in and out, in and out, until my mind is filled with only the rhythm of my breath. Then I will change. My feet will go first, bare toes lengthening and hardening into roots of all sizes and shapes. Then my legs, morphing together and growing into a long trunk. After that, my torso, solidifying into maple wood. My arms will raise, leafy branches reaching up to the last rays of sun in the skies. My closed eyes become wood, hair growing into twigs and leaves. I can’t see, but that does not bother me. I am intune with Mother Nature. I feel her heartbeat. I sense her love for all the things from the earth. The world is quiet. I sleep. For how long, I don’t know. Then, sometime in February, a presence awakens me. I know the cold, I know it’s there, but I don’t feel it.
Sep 30
audio 3 comments challenge: General
Layjmo's picture

The Box

The Box

The idea that people aren’t the same

Seems to be something our minds cannot frame

Young people want to “fit in” and “be cool”

But is that really how we’re getting through school?

Kids are stifled, trapped in this cookie cutter

Our unique abilities tossed down the gutter

Too scared to show who we really are

But tell me, will that truly get us so far?

It seems we’re being trained to fit into a box

The way we all walk, the way everyone talks

Moves alike, identical syllabic flow

But what is it that we’re trying to show?

That we’re all able to be one and the same?

To follow societal rules in the avoidance of shame?

The alternative isn’t so bad, it turns out

Just showing the world what you’re all about

Where is the problem in that, I ask?
Sep 28

Thinking, Thinking

Thinking, thinking, thinking
My head in the clouds
Soaring with the birds
Flying with the breeze

Oh! A lightbulb lit within!
A fire burning bright!
Illuminating webs and shadows
What a great idea!

Planning, planning, planning
So many things to do!
Must I do this now?
Must I do that then?

Worry, worry, worry
Life is not so kind
Anxiety presses down
So little, little time!

Thinking, thinking, thinking
What had I just thought?
My head is full of water
And everything is naught!
Sep 27
poem 0 comments challenge: Hey!

More Than

I am not reliant, and I am not an accessory.
I am a person, not an object for you to move around the plot at your disclosure.

I am here to help to move the plot along, just like everyone else.
Too often, though, I’m simply a car.
An object used to get from one point to another as fast as possible.
One selected for beauty and functionality.
Not for personality.

I am here for a reason, and it is not to stand still.
It is not to be a statue the other characters draw inspiration from.
It is to tell my story, to develop further than a couple of thoughts from my head or - heaven forbid! - the smallest expression of my individuality.

I am here to support my fellow characters, but not at the expense of myself.
I am not the cheerleader off to the sides of the game, unable to do a thing.
I am your teammate.
I can make plays, too.
I can take action.
And yet, I am not allowed to.
Sep 26


And she missed him.

She missed him every second of every minute of everyday. A longing ache in her heart has been ignited and burned furiously like a wildfire should. She missed him like the moon might miss the stars. How the sun might miss sunrises and sunsets. She missed his playful smile, his bright brown eyes. She missed his messy cocoa powder colored hair and the white scar above his pink lips from that time he fell off his skateboard. She missed his dimples and the freckles that mapped out his checks. She missed him. She missed his puns and sarcastic humor. She missed his empathetic demeanor and witty comebacks. She missed the way her hand fit in his, and the way he made her feel on top of the world. She missed the warmth of his skin and the scent of his hoodie, which he had given to her. She missed feeling understood, she missed feeling a smile upon her lips that never seems to fade. She missed him, a lot. She missed him more than she had missed anything ever.
Sep 24
sophie.d's picture

She Swallows the Sun

With waves crumbling on her back
She stands
With neck growing to the sky
And clouds dotting her eyes
She swallows the sun
And smiles. 

Her throat blisters like 
Swallowed ghost peppers
Tears squeeze from
Eyelids clamped shut
Her burning body
Screams for a shortcut
To dissipate the tempestuous fire.  

With raindrops flying from her back
Her heart smokes 
With wind prying her hair
From her head
She feels her blood warm
It whooshes through her veins
Amid a rising storm. 

Her body tenses and 
Strains under pressure
Light fills every nook
Of bodily space
Every cranny of personality
And light 
Streams down her face.

With feet in an angry sea
She stands
With head in hungry clouds
Fire erupts
From her fingertips
And sews sun into 
A world left barren.

The sky becomes her blanket