Aug 08
poem 0 comments challenge: Three

Moonlight Skin

Your moonlight skin
cries along with 
the silver sky.
 
Aug 07
abbiemm19's picture

Silent Keys

Aug 06
earleyg's picture

Cries

I'm a cryer. I'm just gonna get it out of the way. It's said that on average, women cry twice a month and men once a month, but I'm gonna go out on a limb here and say that those numbers don't apply to me. I used to always think that in the seconds after something drastic happens, you have a choice; cry or hold it in. A few times, I surrendered to twin waterfalls on my face, and other times, I let a stone expression mask my inner feelings. It feels good to let loose sometimes, to just unleash pent-up emotions, some you may not even know you had. It's a way of deeply expressing yourself, putting clear visuals center stage and letting the waterworks take you down the river. Of course, it depends on the severity of the cause that will affect the level of reaction. Had a rough day? Shed a tear. Had a small fight? Hyperventilate. Was just at the wrong place at the wrong time? Suck it up! Had the worst day of your life and wish you could change what you did?
Aug 06
H20.hollym's picture

waiting

on a wire
i'm perched
in this parking lot,
the air molecules
so empty
and the silence 
so sickening-
potent
with only
lonliness.
time falls ill
the minutes
un-moving
me
from
the wire
in the space
where one
waits
for another.

 
Aug 03

When Everything Left

It was sunny the morning everything left. 
The birds in the trees,
ripples on the water,
and you in your shaft of light,
eyes closed,
dust in your short, dark hair. 

We were happy,
I would have it forever. 

And then, you left. 
Quiet steps down the walk 
and a train ticket in a worn-out
overall pocket. 

And you wrote me 
but me but I never did the same.

Because who leaves without saying goodbye
(except the sun, maybe)?
And who forgets to close the door
on the way out
(except when you’re in such a big hurry

you forget who you’re leaving)? 

Don't you remember who
we were together? 
 
Aug 02
sophie.d's picture

Cocoon

She burrowed nimble fingers
into the soil's depths.

Brown lines traced themselves 
upon her short cut nails
And cool brownie crumbs
danced in her palms.

She lifted her hands
as one would lift the world:
carefully, powerfully,
backed by the sky's love.

Soil lay in the cocoon 
of her hands.

She rolled her eyes back
as if trying to look inside herself
for something of interest...

Aha. 
And so the tongue wiggling began. 

With a vehement spit
A black watermelon seed
plunked down onto the soil.

She wiggled her hands a bit
to blanket the seed
And then stood still

waiting for the rain. 



 
Aug 01
bayleer05's picture

The Woods

Evan and his group of friends were walking over to the baseball field when he hears something coming from in the woods. He stops and walks towards the edge of the woods. He can hear whispering and feet crunching on the leaves.

    “Evan, you comin’?” Asked one of his friends Charlie.
Jul 29
mythicalquill's picture

Photography

While choosing which photos to showcase at my photography camp, I decided to split them into four categories—Photos that included flowers, fences, windows, or photographers. Originally, these “themes” were slightly broader (nature, ‘barriers,’ buildings, and people), but I chose not to display four of the images I had printed out in order to keep the categories more contained. Many of my photos play with depth of field, blurring some areas of the scene while keeping others in focus. In the future, I’d like to play around with different shutter speeds, photographing things in motion. I enjoy photography because it allows me to capture unnoticed or unappreciated details in the world around me, from the unusual slant of a dock to a bee alighting on a flower.
 
Jul 29
Zane Telesford's picture

It’s Ok to be Sad


The dusk comes for all of us,
Do not bother running, 
Because it will take you regardless, 
And the best things do happen in the dark

Roam calmly through the shadow,
Feel your way around the night sky,
And surely you will find another one, 
Lost in the haze of their own heartache

Find their hand, and hold it in yours,
Give them a squeeze, 
Run your thumb along the backside of their palm,
Draw them into willing embrace and finally,
Without fail, without hesitation,
The two of you will emit a glow potent enough to pierce the black

Weep, fall to your knees
Accept the darkness that eats away at your heart,
For we are all one in our sorrow, 
And our grief is universal.
 
Jul 29

Willow Tree

I sit beneath this willow tree,
praying.
Praying that one day,
I will have the strength and courage,
to live as long as this willow tree.
The cracks in its bark
resemble scars on my skin.
We have been through so much,
and I'm sure we both know
that there is so much more to be done;
to,
and by us.
 
Jul 28

Dublin

Seagulls cry for the ocean,
wings flapping,
bodies soaring,
through the smokey,
salty air.
A rare bit of sunlight,
bursting through the windows,
spilling,
like a stream,
flooding its banks.
My pen
tapping on the coffee cup
cutting through the
distant voices
of the cafe,
and the silence of our table.
I’ve never felt
lonely like this before.
in a room full of
half-strangers
I remember:
I chose to be here.
My stomach is
a pit of nerves,
my head pounding
a single thought
reverberating:
maybe this was a mistake.
But as I panic,
the flowers in the window box
drift lazily in the breeze.
the sun shines.
The world
isn’t on fire.
And I know it’s not a mistake.

Jul 27

For You

To the tiresome eyes and worried faces,
stuffed together in the smallest of places. 
To the flowers that grow around our feet,
and the contemplating heads admitting defeat. 
To the beautiful people who live in this world,
and the tapping of fingers and hair being twirled. 
To the ones who may worry about their complexion,
and the ones who don’t care that much for affection. 
To the brave civilians and the ones who are fighting,
and the ones who are bored that make things exciting. 
To the ones who show up when others won’t,
this poem’s for you and the ones who don’t. 
 
Jul 26

i chose money over my father and i don't regret it


because of what I bought.

love is a currancy i hesitate to spend.

i have $483 dollars of non-refundable
deposits of memories.
deflation is inevitable.

my love was only worth
5 calls
and 
an email.

they taught me macro-econmics in school
but i think he only learned
micro.

he was expensive.

love was the only payment i knew before
he started asking for another.

dirty money

that's what he threw at me.
resentment,
guilt,
anger,

anything to keep me buying.

my debit cards have a limit
and i think he found mine.

i chose money over my father and i don't regret it
because i spent it on my
mother
my
sister
my
friend
my
self.

i chose money over my father

and i am 

all the richer now.
Jul 24
g_rob02's picture

A Poem For Nature

I'm supposed to write a poem for nature, but I don't know where to begin.
How am I supposed to focus when there's a dogfight commencing over my head, insects bombarding my brain with bombs of blissless buzzing.
I can't write a poem for nature.
Not with these cars. These cars that create an artificial breeze that blows the grass, making it dance like kids in a middle school gymnasium. Swaying to the silent sound of a soft song. Thinking they're old, not living for long.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.
Not with this wind. It moves my page in frustrating, ways sending me spiraling fast down a vast fissure of nostalgia. Remembrance of summer rocking chairs, and skipping stones.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.

    I'm sorry
I just can’t.

 
Jul 23

Reborn With Horns

I looked harder,
drew closer,
and realized a terrible truth.
The evil before,
my eyes,
had an origin of innocence,
that I ignored.

My mouth,
dropped open with astonishment.
I was reborn,
with horns,
and a masked devilish grin,
but I am hurt,
and broken,
by the things that made me,
unfortunately,
me.
Jul 23

the in-between

It is in the in between that 
I live,
the unknown and 
unrecognized reverie
that consumes and spits me out
every day.
 
Jul 21
nolans's picture

Futuristic

A sound outside wakes me up. I roll onto my side to look at the clock, its 5:30 am. I look outside and All I see is one car slowly making its way but I can still hear the sound. I look up and then I see it. A plane? No, this is too big to be a plane. The flying ship is just sitting there in the air and looks like its straight out of star wars. I cant believe as im cranning my neck to admire the big ship through my window. Then the sound happens again; a ZOOOM then its gone. I lay back down on my bed full of unanswered questions. Will anybody believe me?
 
Jul 20
poem 2 comments challenge: General
EB164's picture

Fears



If you honestly think about it,

Nobody's truly afraid of tests

They're afraid of failing,

Nobody's actually frightened by the dark

They're frightened of what could be hiding in it,

Just like,

Nobody's really scared of death

They're scared of not living