Let your imagination run free! Let the words flow! Write about anything in any genre – poetry or prose, fiction or nonfiction. Return to contest details here.[Art by Ice Blink, YWP]
A line That lies over the world In cities made by us And over all land
A scape is Imagined It is simply An image And a scene From a place In nature Or in a city
The scape of all things Simply lies above the world Watching Waiting For someone to even pay A second of attention With a *click* From a camera Or a remark To a friend Saying How truly beautiful It is
Scapes cover our world And nestle it In an invisible blanket The one That lies on top of it all Buildings and trees Simply existing
A thumbprint A fingerprint And a print It has been left In many a places
Yet A print is one thing You can never lose No matter how hard you try To remove it it stays with you You can’t abandon it
You have one I have one And so does everyone else All of them Are unique Different
Mine is special and so is yours Mine is of a person Academically oriented Pouring hours upon hours Into things others hate
I use my time to do this for a simple reason I enjoy it I strive for complexity And use the sheer complexity of questions To fascinate myself I use such boring and mundane tasks As a way to not feel bored And as a way to satisfy myself
I find certain things interesting and fascinating Such as Math Sciences Reading Writing Along with others
Acrostic, Haiku Sonnet, Free verse Styles, styles and well More styles And even more styles
Clicking return and deleting Constantly And stanza after stanza Their own idea Together with others To make a poem
Rhyming or not rhyming A singular line or paragraphs What to do?
Continuously And furiously typing away With the constant need To go back And revise And then To go back and Make small changes Getting smaller and smaller As you go
Although It's all easy A walk in the park A piece of cake Until You finish revising And editing And you scroll up To the top Of the page
And what stares at you Is the beginning of your poem No title?
Perhaps, bigger font? And stare, keep staring Read and read You know what you wrote about Or do you?
The night is dark but the buzzing luminance from street carts and lanterns light up what could not be seen before. The grill hisses as a man, Ivan, flips the tortilla twice, then chops the carnitas with his knife. His cooking is a song amongst the other voices, the chitter-chatters of passers, the guitar pluckings of the street performers, and the moonlight melodies. The woman everyone calls Mimosa drums her cart with her calloused yet delicate hands as she hollers that one bite of her isaw and kwek-kewek will blow you away. Next to her is Anh who can turn noodles into pho and bun bo nam bo, steaming and sizzling into the cool crisp air. The smell of pork and broth dance like the people dance as they sing their own stories in different ways. Giuseppe came from Peru with nothing but the memories of his mother’s tamales which he now stuffs with
She was not going to budge. This wooden dock had been Madison's desk for thirty minutes now, and she had at least six more hours at work. She had chosen the right day for her protest: blue skies with light gray clouds speckling lit, it was picturesque. She had planned this day for weeks, tracking the weather and tracking the tourists. Madison had formulated a perfect protest plan. The only potential flaw was that she wasn’t sure what the outcome would be.
Mediocre Simply ok Nothing much Whatever you say I know I should do more I know I should be better I understand that this fog of dysmorphia won't last forever I can't run away Not anymore Yet a part of me Wants to linger It loves the relief the easy feel Of not doing anything all together I say I want to be great By putting goals that are far away To ease the pain Of simply being ok I say that I'll try harder I say that I am doing much better To mask the fact That I am simply the same
