Nov 15
jessie.p's picture

Blackberry Pie


At the top of the hill, are the blackberry bushes. Momma and I use to go up there and pick them until there were none left in sight. We'd go there every other day of the very short season, and get scratches all over our legs. We'd freeze the blackberries so we could make pies all year long. When the time came to actually make pies, we both had the recipe memorized. Now, I couldn't remember it if I tried. Making pies with her were the best days of my life. When I smell a blackberry pie, I am transported. Back to when we'd make pie crust from scratch, and make it perfectly every time. To when she'd let me make the classic knife holes on the top, and always told me it looked good. To putting on the aprons my Grandma made for us, even though we never made a mess. 

This is my recipe for happiness. 
Nov 08
activist_fieldhockey's picture

fire

the flames flicker
among 
the scattered
embers.
the heat burns
when it touches
my skin
from inside
the fire pit
the shadows dance
their firey figures
cascading off of the 
hearth 
the Embers crumble
slowly dispersing 
into burnt ashes
the fire burns


 
Oct 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Run

Escape

I am running
running away
from my home
from my family
from my country
because
my country
was unfair to woman
like me
and I only just
became the woman
I am today
I turned 18 last week
My country 
favored men
over woman
like a dog
eager to please its master
and this dogs master
is my leader
the leader
I am running from
 
Oct 19
lana.W's picture

Mean Makes you Ugly

There's plenty of creatures in Ireland.
But none of them are like me.
Your attitude can getcha damned
But you can't be blamed for being ugly.

I've tried reversing my stepmum's curse.
Everyday, it's just no use.
There's only me that I can blame,
I've no other excuse.

Back when I was a wee young thing,
my stepmum came and said,
"Don't be mean, it makes you ugly."
And I was until the end.

The older I got, the more I was mean.
And I got uglier as I got meaner.
​In addition to this, it also destroyed 
my self esteem and demeanor. 

Young children would scream,
as I walked through the park.
Stray cats would look up and yowl,
and dogs in the streets could never control
their viscious and hateful howl.

Such a creature like me
deserves just what he got.
He's bereft of a friend.
He's bereft of a lot.

So listen to your parents.
Oct 18
K.grant's picture

Winter


Winter time
Oh dear the winter time
The cold, dry air of the winter time
Yes there's nothing like the winter time
The time when you step out the door and feel the cold hit you like a bulldozer
When you stand outside for four minutes and your toes tingle and go numb
The only time of year you actually want to go to bed at 5:30 when outside your window fades into darkness
Winter is the time you curl up with 5 blankets on your bed so the coldness doesn't sting your nose that peeps up over the blanket
When you don't want to go outside just to get in your car and go somewhere because you shiver the whole time your car warms up
Shivering and shaking the whole time you are outside no matter how long or how many layers of warm clothes you have on
Winter is pretty when the snow covers the ground and you look out your window while the warmth of your fireplace hits your skin
Oct 18
Ella23's picture

Home

White angry clouds clatter down on my face,

As the wind swishes my hair and drags my eyelashes,

Up and down,

I feel like I’ve been walking for an entire lifetime,

Or maybe it’s been just a few minutes,

But the pain in my teeth aches,

Feeling the metallic taste of blood rise in my mouth and down the back of my tongue,

My muscles tighten and scream for warmth to return,

Nothings comes until I look,

Up and Down,

Then I see it,

The place I can call,

Home,

Trudging my mouse like feet,

Barely wiggling my toes to take frigid steps,

Through the layers of puffy white blankets,

Dragging the plastic orange sled behind me,

Feeling warmth radiating off the windows,

Teeth chattering,

Numbing hands,

Bright red noses,

And the clear crisp smell of frost,
Oct 10
Buffy The Shep Slayer's picture

Me

I put on my blue dress.
blue like my mothers eyes.
it's me.
not just that it look good or it fits.
But it's me it's a part of me.
a part of me that I never want to loose.
A part that I hold close to my heart.
But insted I insit on wearing my red dress
Because 'it's more me". 
But it's not
The light blue
The dazzling one
That will always be here with me 
Is a part of me 
Not the new red one 
That I got from TJMaxx
But the one that I got
From my mother
That she got from her mother
That she had got when she was a little girl
The one that has fit us generation after generation
The one that's me.
 

 
Sep 20
poem 4 comments challenge: Creature

creature


Creature.

That’s what they yell at me from across the street.

Freak.

That’s what they said when they followed me home.

Monster.

That's what they shout when they punch me in the chest again and again and again.

Creature.

I am no ‘creature.’

Just a person,

Trying to survive,

In a world where being different must be something to feel ashamed of.

Something to hide.

Creature.


-Zach






i hope this isn't horrible! this is my first attempt to write poetry, so i'm very sorry if it sucks :)
Sep 18

Just a Little Upstream

Oh, how I hate saying goodbye.
 
Maybe I should lie and say,

“See you soon.”

And with a sigh I send the rosebud down the river.

It floats downstream and disappears.

I remember you staring out the window,

summer, autumn, winter, spring, repeat.

You sat faithfully beside me, on the bank above the stream,

your ears perked,

your nose twitching,

your hazel brown eyes tracking the rustle of leaves.

Tonight I lie out under the stars like we used to.

Do you remember?

You always fell asleep as I told you stories of the constellations,

my fingers running through your long, soft fur.

Bliss and happiness. I thought it would last forever -

until the day you ran away, upstream from where we would stay.

I remember the pain,
Sep 11

Verbs

In Spanish, 
We change the verbs, 
Action words, that is, 
Because the word has to match the person. 
But doesn't that make them adjectives? 

See, language is only something
Humans created. 
Like socks, 
And microwaves. 
Although, 
We can express ourselves
Just fine
Through looks, 
And stares, 
And movement. 

Do we overcomplicate things
When we use language, 
With it's grammer
And sentance structure? 

Or do we overcomplicate our analysis
Of how people look, 
Stare, 
And move.
Is that why we created
Language
In the first place?  

Maybe we need to stop 
Matching 
The assumptions,
With the people, 
And let them, 
Change their verbs. 
 
Aug 27
wondering about rain's picture

In the right mind

When the wind blows I imagine the world
is speaking to me, guiding me into a secret place,
a place only my heart will see.
I used to see ghosts
that came out of the floor boards
and talk to strage fairies that lived in flower condos.
Late at night I would stare at the moon
and sing a siren song of lament
about a life not known to human kind.
Planets circled my head
in a world of day dreams.
Trees leaned in to listen
to my plights and the shadows under my dresser
held mischief and strange demons with
glowing red eyes.
The lapping of waves on the shore
was the lake saying hello and how was your day?
In the bed of the old truck was a polite ghost
who enjoyed our car ride chats.
Elephants on a wall tapestry danced
before my eyes in the dark and came to life 
in my dreams, only to be still come the morning
but every so often shift
like we shared a secret.
Aug 09

Brain Waves

I'm not going to lie, I'm scared. scared. I'm always the one to smell fear before the others taste. see no evil, speak  no evil, hear no evil. i am a child that has a shadow of pure energy. energy purified. i see with my lips. i see. i see, with my lips. i put my hands to the sky because I want to feel the morning love. clouds. coffee. cuddles. my brain is like a drain, it only sees one way. One way. on these days i put my blue dress on. pink. red. orange. as a light stands at my feet. spotlight, stop shinning you're scaring me. some say gold is the proudest metals. stone. gravel. and i understand because I feel bronzed of my silver.  My silver. the silver has remained in my hair. remain. remained. remains. I'm on one train. yellow bricks. that takes my mind off the world's  codes. 1 2 3. if I am strong why must I be reminded.  blood in my eyes but same as it is in yours. sssssssh. I'm finding the white rabbit but the smile gave me all the directions. N. E. S. W.
Aug 04
poem 1 comment challenge: Rain
iski23's picture

Sunlight in a storm
























Thunder pounded my chest
All I saw was haze
I was lost in a daze
The lightning struck
I was out all out of luck
Home was gone I was only left in the rain
It brought me pain
I kept walking through the mist hoping for light
The rain and I began to fight
Then sunshine peeked through the darkness only rays
I looked towerds the light oh was it ever bright
That is when I found out the world comunicated in many different ways


































 
Jul 19

Abrie Howe Art

May 24
Amazingnutmeg12's picture

shoes

i love my new pale yellow converse
they are like the moon
beautiful and mysterious
when i wear them
i can fly
away from the troubles of the 
world
rock on
chuck taylors
 
May 02
wondering about rain's picture

Patterns in the Rock

You can't walk across hot coals,
I found out, without a stinging sensation.
I take a step and I am seven again,
walking across the worn down
rock driveway on tiptoes feeling
the smooth sharp edges on my feet.
I am there again,
walking, with a friend
who holds me.

Once the rough rock patterns
from a climb marked my hands,
shaping the life line
that runs across a palm.
The click of metal as I swayed,
the shock of height drove my heart to
a snare drum beat.
The next suspended plank a step ahead.

Maybe the coals followed,
each step golden, red, glowing.
Marking each footprint is the past.
Worn down rocks, a old rope bridge,
coals.
 
May 02
Lorr's picture

Last Chance

This is your last chance, your last chance for glory, fame, and fortune. Your standing back stage waiting for them to call your name, your hands are sweaty and stomach is in knots, you’re filled with nerves. You have to wait, everyone says that you’re good at what you do. You don’t think so, but you’ve made it this far. The people say you’re good. Even if you don’t succeed you still have popularity. You get this feeling everytime, you know that once you get up on the stage your nerves disappear, but you can’t help it. You’ve learned to live with this feeling all your life, almost everything you do gives you this feeling.
Apr 15
activist_fieldhockey's picture

colors

Swirling
Spiraling
Twirling colors
Twisted
And engraved
Into each other
Blue
Like the water
brushing my toes
Red
Like a blooming
Blossoming
Rose
Orange
Like a soft-setting sun
Golden
The color of the metal we won
Pink
The color
Of a evening sky
Black
The silhouette of the birds
That fly by
Green
Like the grass
Under my feet
Rainbow
the colors
Of the people we meet

 
Mar 14

The Trip Away


2 months, 3 weeks, 6 days, 17 or so hours.
​It has been a long journey.
​When the cruise ships to the Red Planet first voyaged 
​out of Earth's atmosphere and into
emptiness, I knew that I would one day go.
I didn't want to go. 
needed to.

I wished
​to stand upon a foreign, celestial body,
​hundreds of millions of miles away from
​the azure of home's familiar oceans
​and the green of home's comforting forests.

​I wanted to see the unthinkable rivets of ​Valles Marineris,
​the largest canyon in our solar system.

​I wanted to gaze upon the irregular faces of
Deimos​ and​ Phobos
from a desolate,
​mountainous world: 
a world where none can live.
​A world where the insignificance of man
​can truly be realized.

​It has been a long journey.
I am tired and old.

Mar 09

Sunrise


Sunrise.
Breathe, breathe you’re alone,
no one to judge, no one to make your teeth grind like a tool.
No one.
You may open your page like eyes and show the sun your words.
Sip your coffee, it will get cold.
See, look at the rising sun. Look at the orange and how it melts into the yellow,
red, orange, yellow, pink.
Look at its beautiful eyes, it gives not warmth but song.
No it may not sing, but it may talk through the birds,
song of the birds.
It is starting to die.
Wave it goodbye, but it may keep a promise.
It will fill your eyes with words you lack and sounds you crave.
It will be back tomorrow.
Wait for me. I'm coming back.