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Dec 10
Icestorm's picture

Not Forever

When I was younger,
I did not understand
why I was not allowed outside after dark
or why I couldn't play with knives.

When I was younger,
I could not fathom
why my parents never watched the news around me
Or why I was told to say
no, I don't feel comfortable when you do that.

When I was younger,
I got angry when
I couldn't walk home with my friends.
or go see the new PG13 movie in town.
Nov 27

dancing on a white picket fence

I saw her
when she was
dancing on a white picket fence.

The sunlight dappled her
autumn hair and the freckles on her nose
as she twirled in the breeze.

Closed eyes
while the melody
played on her skin.

Her feet knew the way
like they had been dancing
for a thousand years.

A daisy
flipped behind her left ear
as she swayed, skipped, and jumped.

The world was far away
for her
Nov 20
poem 9 comments challenge: Wonder
H20.hollym's picture

Pink and Blue

I wonder why our boys are told
that they mustn't let their souls slip out,
they remain safe if it is hidden.
It would be an act of horror
if it were to roll down their cheek for all to see.

I wonder why our boys are told
that they should blaze blue or rage red,
as they throw, or catch, or tackle.
The words beautiful should not be uttered
about anything other than a female,
especially not yourself.
Nov 17

Masterpiece

My life is a canvas,
The paints of my palette are the experiences and lessons that I have learned,
And my pictures are the events that come with living.
I am the artist.
I'm the only one who can paint my story.

So why do other people feel the need to paint my life for me?
And why do I let them?

This is my masterpiece, why am I letting these amateurs deface it?
Oct 25
Nightheart's picture

Out

I need 
to get out of this place,
where the ideas crush
my wings 
and chain me down,
instead of letting me fly.
I need to 
to get out of this place,
where the concrete
jungles loom,
and the smoke 
from the factories
clogs the air
and enters my lungs,
making me choke.
I need 
to get out of this place,
where the regular colors
are beige and gray,
and I've started fading,
slowly blending in.
Oct 22
poem 0 comments challenge: I Am

I Am Who I Am

I am who I am -
The birds in the silky blue sky,
Silently soaring.
The bright painted leafs on the trees,
Swaying in the Breeze. 
The unknown, unnamed fish in the sea;
Swimming wherever the current 
Takes me.
Oct 17

Vegas.

Editor's Note: This piece is featured on vtdigger.org. 

9:50 pm
a starlit city on the
dawn of october,
burned red with bar signs
and stop lights.

on this night in Sin City
steam rose from the
floor of the concrete jungle.
predators prowled, prey lurked.
metal vines swung from construction sites,
sun and moon peered between buildings to cast
Oct 12

muse


through the lens i saw you
shudder in the cold.
i captured your paths detaching
frost from blades of grass,
scrunching your eyes with a
side-smile
passing over your face.
glasses fogging up,
breath-clouds,
like smoke through dense
december air,,

i wonder why you always look happier on film.
 
Sep 29
whatever's picture

the daily ritual

Mom. Give me space. You’re sUFFOCATING ME. I’m not allowed to go places with my friends anymore because, yes, I’ve made some questionable choices in the past, but I’m a teenager! All teenagers are a little irresponsible! Let me live woman! If you continue to try to “protect me” I’m going to go to college and go absolutely crazy! I know, I know, it’s because you want me to be safe, you care about me, blaahh blaahh blaaaahhh.
Sep 24
Fiona Ella's picture

rock cycle

i discreetly wrote this in science class, constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure no one was prowling around, ready to pounce on me for being off-task, which is why it's so short. if anyone was wondering. 

weathering doesn't happen quckly, 
you can't wear a mountain down to a speck in a day. 
no, 
it takes a long long time, 
centuries of raindrops streaking the surface, 
centuries of gusty winds whipping at a raw nose, 
Sep 18

Today, It Snowed Milkweed

I crouched in the field
just below the grass line ; 
the scratchy strands itching my bare feet 
and then,
I saw it.

The stalk 
was just out of arms reach
and slowing to the end of its life;
brown pods sprouted off the top
creating the effect of a miniture corn stalk.

I pulled one from the dying stem 
and cradled it gently in my palm.
Then, without pause 
I dug my fingertips
into the heart ot the pod,
Aug 27
Icarus Blackmore's picture

End of Summer Poem

Gold stains the green leaves,
The summer sun whispers goodbye,
As the birds sing their farewells,
And shadows creep over the yard

They beckon forth the days of cold.
Their shapes sinister and strange,
They are reminders of short evenings,
And the mountains of school work I am to face.

I long for summer’s empty warmth,
The unkeepable promise of never ending days,
Only accentuated by the starry night,
Aug 01
Mackenzie 101's picture

The Laughing Man

I walk down the street.
It’s evening,
The sun is still out,
The grass is glowing,
And my face is probably burning.
I slip on my sunglasses and see
The world through a different lense,
Literally.
As I turn the corner I almost run over two girls.
They both have ice cream in their hands,
They both have pigtails,
They both are living life to the fullest,
And they’re both laughing.
As I continue walking,
Jul 20

Offering

Jul 20

seen in roanoke


today i saw three children
they were not much younger than i am
sixteen, or maybe seventeen years old
sleeping under an old concrete bridge

their shoes lay hapharzardly next to them
the soles of their tired feet grimy and bare
i thought of how hard, how unforgiving 
the stone must feel beneath their heads

then i walked
in clean shoes and socks
into an art musuem 
so sit leisurely and look at paintings
Jul 18
poem 2 comments challenge: Dream

Painting Poppies

I had a dream the other night,
And you were in it.
We were painting the night sky.
Yes,
I know,
It sounds crazy.
I mean,
Who could get a big enough ladder to reach up there?
Well,
It was weird.
We could just sort of...
Reach it,
Without standing on anything,
Not even our tippy toes.
But the weirdest thing was,
We weren't painting stars,
Instead we painted poppies.
And instead of planets,
Jun 23
poem 3 comments challenge: Cliche
mythicalquill's picture

An Ax to Grind with Cliches

Okay, let’s dive into this headfirst.
Here’s a word to the wise:
Leave cliches out of your writing; they’re the worst.
Don’t let them pull the wool over your eyes.

I hate to burst your bubble,
But I think I got here in the nick of time.
You’re up to your ears in trouble
Your cliches are a dozen a dime.

Every time I see one,
It sends a shiver down my spine.
They’re always the same, been there, that’s done,
Jun 02

That Song Sounds Like Blueberries

Could you play that one song?
You know the one I’m talking about.
You know,
The one we blared from the car stereo,
With all the windows rolled down so all could hear.
The song we would play picking blueberries;
In that all natural,
Weed choked,
Berry farm.
I want to be reminded of the times
I would pick four flats to your two.
I want to remember the day
Where I traversed the fields,
To see where you were,
May 29

Her

Every now and then
I look at old photographs.
Sometimes, I see
Her.

She is centered in the photos,
with a black bob, dark brown eyes,
and gangly frame.
She smiles with teeth exposed
and laughs with mouth wide.

Her eyes gleam
like sunlight on a rushing river
moments before the surface shatters
into thousands of diamonds.
Looking at Her,
I feel something
and I smile because of
Her.
Apr 18
Fiona Ella's picture

Apocalypses Arrive Quietly

Apocalypses don't come smashing down from the heavens, 
destryoing civilization in one easy wave of fire
and sending everybody into a frantic scramble to survive twisted political ideals 
and stay alive. 
They don't steamroll over people's lives, 
destroying political and social concepts all at once. 
They don't dry the Earth up all in one giant cloud of dusty red smoke, 
leaving us on a Martian desert land full of prehistoric beasts.