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Mar 18
poetry challenge: Waves
Ravioli's picture
Ravioli

Only the Sea

There is only the sea.
Ancient, yet forever new.
Stretching out past eternity like a cat lounging in the sun, spread out to soak up every possible particle of light.
There is only the sea.
Waves rising, falling.
Steady, unbroken breathing.
There is only the sea.
The sky is empty, void of life.
A blue plain, eternal, so far, and so near.
There is only the sea.
And the boat upon it.
A little thing, at the mercy of the waves, a candle before a howling wind, soon to be extingiushed.
In the end, when the setting sun of life sinks below the horizon, into black depths,
There is only the sea.
Read More
Posted: 03.18.23
Mar 18
poetry
roxyforthewin

Bells

Once, on a fine September Tuesday when the air was bright and clear, every bell in the world rang at once. They didn’t play a song. There was no melody. Just one collective ring. From the smallest sleigh bell to the largest church bell, from school bells to wind chimes to grandfather clocks, every bell rang, all together. Most people aren’t sitting around in a room full of bells per se, but most people have at least one bell in close proximity to them. So about 8 billion people looked up from what they were doing –working, sewing, feeding babies, washing their face, writing poems, picking vegetables, crying, napping – and said out loud something along the lines of, “What was that?” And when it didn’t happen again, when there was no second chime, they all said something along the lines of, “How strange!” And went back to what they were doing. At least one bell maker went mad.
Read More
Posted: 03.18.23
Mar 17
poetry
Sawyer Fell

Of Mothers and Daughters

i finally understand female rage.
Read More
Posted: 03.17.23
Mar 15
poetry challenge: Climate Messages
wildcat

Last Words from Human to Pale Bear

I see you, Pale Bear,
posing atop a glacier
that is sinking,
your white fur glistening in the pale sunlight of the Arctic
eyes seeing, looking, searching, 
for a way to escape.

I see you, Pale Bear, 
Perched precariously on an iceberg that is shrinking,
icy waves lapping at your feet.

I see you, Pale Bear,
and I want to wave to you, but I don't know if you will have the time to reply.

I see you, Pale Bear,
and I want to say goodbye –
for I'm not sure how much longer you'll last before descending into the deep. 

Read More
Posted: 03.15.23
Mar 14
opinion challenge: Climate Messages
amimi

The Extinction Project

The Willow Project is a multi-billion dollar oil drilling project in Alaska.
The federal government plans to release 629 million barrels of oil and produce 287 million metric tons of CO2.
This project is extremely harmful to the environment and all the animals living in Alaska.
Half of these species are already at risk of extinction, and due to this project, over half of them will most likely be wiped out.
This oil drilling will cause even more climate change and damage to our Earth and environment.
President Biden has recently just granted approval for the continuation of this project to secure jobs for those living in the area.
Although many will receive jobs from this harmful project, the conditions they will be living and working in will become extremely polluted and dangerous. 
Our planet needs our help, and we are not providing for its needs.
We are doing the complete opposite.
Read More
Posted: 03.14.23
Mar 14
poetry challenge: Dictionary Poem
henleycook's picture
henleycook

The Moon Is Where I'll Stay

When I was small
I thought the moon followed me
I didn’t know how 
But somehow 
We were on the same team 
Forming a pact to work together 
Maybe she was my friend
 
Driving home on late nights
My head pressed against 
The cold glass of the car window 
In search of her 
My breath fogged up the view 

Perhaps we could visit her sometime 
Drive into the mountains 
Our car would have just enough traction 
To suddenly lift up and fly 
And sail amongst the stars 
Towards my new friend 
The Moon

She changes like me 
Sometimes she would be a crescent 
Calling it a “fingernail moon” 
And other times she would be big and round
But I was bound to the earth
Where I stay 

We made sense as friends 
My sunny disposition 
Hers more dark and mysterious
Opposites attract they say 
Read More
Posted: 03.14.23
Mar 13
poetry
Penelope

Ti amo

It’s hard when I never really knew the real you. 
The illness clung to you, pulled you down and you were lost. 
You didn’t know the years of tears that were cried for you. 
It’s easy to miss somebody, especially when I wish that we had more time. 
I don’t remember much from before the cracks in your mind got so big 
That you forgot us. 
Just that year on the porch in the so delicately designed house
With the Hello Kitty cake and candles and light, camera, smiles, Real smiles.
We didn’t know, even though we saw the signs. 
Until it was too late and all we could do was watch. 
It makes me sad because before I even got the chance to know you
It was ripped from my grasp all because of something that we had no control over. 
I won’t lie it was hard that one summer, the last summer, 
You waking up and not knowing us. 
We made the best of it while we helped you eat breakfast.
Read More
Posted: 03.13.23
Mar 11
poetry
rishi_jraman256

forsythia

and tetrad petals are words—
written on my branches,
poetry i write on rainy days
    each burst of amber blossom,
    a sad metaphor—
flowers break when i hear
“you used to be so talented”
    falling behind
until i am barren like
old winters—old friends
are in the forest i reside
    but they are all butterflies
    whose wings are torn and broken,
i am still here, yearning for a film
of the past that’s long gone,
but it’s what they want from me,
    i’m still not that kind of beautiful, blooming
    i’m still failing, still breaking down into nothing
            but at least i’m not crying,
            at least my branches aren’t breaking,
            i was blindingly gold, tarnished into silver.
i am forsythia, and life was my early apricity,
but now i see it’s an artifice,
a poison that only kills my roots
hear my lament.
Read More
Posted: 03.11.23
Mar 10
poetry
Writer1326

The Wood Nymphs

When the sun sets,
And the moon is high in the sky,
The naiads swim to the surface-
of their watery home. 
The moon's pale light reflects-
off of the sea of stone, 
They look out past their home.
On the land, instead of sand, sits-
a forest full of slumbering trees.
Moss covers each and every tree
like a soft, green blanket. 
They stare in awe at the dryads-
as they grow oak trees in seconds.
In the pale moonlight, the dryads'
moss green skin looked like sea glass.
As time quickly passed, the dryads disappeared-
into their homes, high in the oak trees. 
 
Read More
Posted: 03.10.23
Mar 08
poetry
Scarry Night

Key Change

Some things in the world
just click,
they just fit together
as one half of a pie
would with the other.
They get tossed
and turned
and thrown around the world,
until they find their place.
Sitting on my small,
dainty bed,
I listen to song after song,
piece after piece,
on my bottomless playlist,
and when I hear this one,
something about it turns a switch inside me.
Just when that perfect moment hits,
that flawless key change,
its tunes grow arms,
grow vines,
that break the brick wall of my skin
and reach, 
spiraling,
deep down into the maze of my chest,
searching for the lock
because that one key change
holds the key.
And when it finds it,
my heart explodes.
It erupts,
sending shockwaves of 
electricity 
and power
and something so unbelievably real
throughout me,
throughout the air surrounding me.
Read More
Posted: 03.08.23
Mar 07
poetry challenge: Sunshine
keegnjewell's picture
keegnjewell

I Prefer It This Way, Calm and Gray

On cloudy days, the sky is gray,
But that's why I prefer it this way,
For in the absence of the sun's bright ray,
There's a certain calmness that comes to play.

The world slows down and takes a breath,
As if to say there's no need to rush ahead,
And the stillness brings a certain depth,
To all that's around us, both living and dead.

The clouds themselves are works of art,
A canvas of white and gray and blue,
And as they drift across the sky's expanse,
They paint a picture that's ever new.

On sunny days, the heat can be too much,
And the glare can hurt our eyes,
But on cloudy days, there's no such fuss,
And we're free to roam beneath the skies.

So let the clouds come and have their way,
For they bring a beauty all their own,
And on cloudy days, I'll always stay,
To bask in the peace they've sown.

 
Read More
Posted: 03.07.23
Mar 06
poetry
ruby444

Taiwan

noodles drip peanut sauce
between two wooden chopsticks
i am pinching my fingers
outside, men drive motorcycles
trailed by stinking gray smoke
through bustling fruit markets
beneath tropical foliage
golden sun shining
in here the lights are dingy 
plates clatter from the kitchen
a-ma dragged us to this place
she is our interpreter
taiwanese to english 
quick as a light switch
i am skeptical as we enter
the run-down storefront
until I take a bite
dan bing (egg crepes)
an unknown longing
is finally answered
the other half of home 
Read More
Posted: 03.06.23
Mar 06
fiction challenge: Sentence Completing No. 18
miss_phee's picture
miss_phee

Kitty in the Alley

     The other day, I was biking down my street, when I heard a small crash, followed by a long yowl from the alleyway down south. All the alleys in New Rochester were beat-down and disgusting, with bricks so old that if they could talk, they would probably recall the dinosaurs like it was yesterday. The asphalt was gray and hardened bits of gum were stuck to the ground, weathered and blackened from the pollution in the air. Everything was slightly chipped, and the balconies jutting out from above were boarded shut with wooden planks. Trash bags littered the floor, some ripped open by alley cats or raccoons who were hungry. Against my better judgment, I walked in. 
Read More
Posted: 03.06.23
Mar 05
poetry
Geri

I still love you in the mornings

I was inspired by the poem "You, The Stars, and I" by many of YWP's wonderful writers (https://youngwritersproject.org/node/46498). Thank you so much to everyone who worked on that piece! 

I still love you in the mornings, 
I still love you when it’s cold. 
I still love you in the dusk and dawn and fields and flowers and snow. 

I still love you when I’m sleeping, 
I still love you when I’m not. 
I still love you when I’m itchy or old or freezing or warm or hot. 

I still love you when I’m angry, 
I still love you when I'm sad.
I still love you when I’m happy or jealous or lazy or crazy or mad. 

I still love you when I’m running,
I still love you when I walk. 
I still love you when I’m laughing and jumping and screaming and playing with chalk.  

I love you with a penny 
or a giant yellow yacht. 
I love you like red wine,
Read More
Posted: 03.05.23
Mar 05
poetry, CJP challenge: A.I.
AvaClaire

Chat GPT Poem

This poem is not Chat GPT
I promise to convince you that
and I will attempt to convey
the human
sitting and picking the words
from cobweb corners where
computers can't find them.
there is a beating heart here
so perfectly tainted
it folds in on itself
in such a random pattern
that a computer would find it
counterproductive
but that is poetry
and I shake at the thought
that they could
tap this old tree
and write all the poems
we have left to write
clapping the erasers clean
til all the chalk-plume clouds
fade on the breeze
please
I'm begging
don't pick this lock
because we're all hiding in here
in the last room that you haven't found
drowning you out with typewriter keys
see now
have I not convinced you
it's me?
can you not hear my voice
as I whisper into your ear?
this is not a Chat GPT poem
Read More
Posted: 03.05.23
Mar 03
poetry challenge: Great Artists
Sawyer Fell

House Fire Down by Snow Alley

they buy the marrow of weakness
on the corner of featherless angels.

then resurface their stashed rigs
within the chest of their chapel.

they blaze spooned tar and pour
liquid heaven into icy blue rivers.

then discard of their cutlery and nod
off to the banner of a greater world.

they float higher than the mist 
that ascends upon the northern hills.

then the torch that bled their creation
embarks on a path to their blackish bed.

they burn in daylight, cremated by the
golden hues of their beloved’s maker. 
Read More
Posted: 03.03.23
Mar 03
poetry
Mr. Glazer's Class's picture
Mr. Glazer's Class

"Reach Up: Hope in the Night Sky"

-Reach Up-
Hope in the Night Sky

To those who are brave -  the blind they seek
      Call past a dark dancing - look up

A whisper, a strand, a sigh
      Find where the stars - hope
             Where it lies

To those who brave the mist
      Call - to churn the strands of fog -
Mist blinds the seeked in ravines - hopelessness 
      Where it lies

Weaving, spinning, thawing 
       Brave a storm of dark dancing, fog churning, sighs spinning. 
Find the hope - dwelling between weeping shadows. 

Reach up.  
      These speckles of light.
             They dance for you.
                       Hope.

By Ella S. 

 
Read More
Posted: 03.03.23
Mar 01
poetry
ruby444

i live alone

“will you move in with me?”

i felt so elated when the winds
blew from the east and
tickled me with endless possibilities 
of what lay beyond the horizon
that i couldn’t help but say yes
to your one bedroom studio apartment.
after all, 
infinity has to start somewhere.

at first, it was small, not intolerable.
we had enough love to make do
with a fold out couch and a mini fridge.
and we got out often,
each coffee shop visit a promise
returned to me by the morning sun
in the form of laughter and scones.

until a new feeling emerged,
sticky and scared and stiff as a board,
like a soggy stuffed scarecrow,
smothered by the rain.
coaxed out by your watchful eyes,
it took up residence in the pit of my stomach,
and only grew larger as time passed.

with this the apartment felt smaller,
and the rooms grew narrower every time i entered,
Read More
Posted: 03.01.23
Feb 28
poetry, CJP
emi_art_now

Hard Questions

Sometimes I have to ask myself hard questions. 
I almost never have an answer. 
I delve into the depths of my mind looking for clues, and always resurface with memories. 
Memories I'd rather forget. 
Memories that make me worry. 
Memories that never should have happened. 
Memories that make me cry. 
Once I remember one, I can't stop. They keep on coming until there's nothing left of me
But a puddle of memories on the floor of a darkened room. 
Sometimes all I wish for is to choose what memories to keep, and which should be buried away in my brain where even I can't find them. 
Sometimes that feels impossible. 
But I'll just have to keep trying, for there's nothing to do but carry on, 
Put on your hat, 
Drag your feet through the slushy snow
And face the day. 
 
Read More
Posted: 02.28.23
Feb 28
poetry
roxyforthewin

God and The Public Schools

I often wonder who made me like this,
God or the public schools?
Was it haMelech haOlam
Or the principal and His rules?
Was I born to be unhappy? I wasn’t born to play this game.
Was I born to be a puppet? I was born to feel ashamed.
I ask myself these questions and I ask them of the sky
I ask, “Why must I live like this? What does it mean to die?”
I ask, “How come the others didn’t seem to suffer like I did?”
I ask, “Btzelem Elohim? Unless you’re still a lonely kid.”
I ask, “Why did you give me this body that I was born to hate?”
I ask, “How come I didn’t understand until it was too late?”
“Am I really made in your image if I wish I was someone else?”
“Am I really made in your image if they destroyed my sense of self?”
I ask the darkness questions, I ask, I plead, I pray
But the superintendent of the heavens simply turns and looks away.
The clay that I was made with didn’t fire properly
Read More
Posted: 02.28.23
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