Oct 24

captured

I cry
I curl up
and time stops
until I'm trapped... 
totally
captured 
I want to stop
I want to smile
and hide
but I can't
I want to keep it in
and leave me to be
but I know 
the truth will hurt me
my feelings are too loud
Oct 19
Ordinary Owen's picture

Solitary Winter

Swing sets grind to icy halts, and fluffy layers of snow are trampled as my classmates swarm into chaotic crowds, eager to leave December’s chilled embrace.

Friends leave mid-conversation, teachers stop listening to maintain the mob of 11-year-olds.

Insulted that the snow, blanketed with care, has been destroyed, abandoned Winter begins to straighten the ground once more with frigid attention.

Eyes lost in the glistening seas of snowflakes as they slowly climb down from the heavens above, a body stands by the howling wind.

There is a comfort found in frost. A solace found in the cold.

Lone Winter and I find friendship. We do not leave each other mid-conversation, we do not stop listening. Because in the presence of each other we are not alone.

One electric blue jacket stays within this gelid plain of white.
 
Oct 16
ccdussault's picture

Snow Plow

Digging holes in the snow,
These would be our homes.
We are like an old couple,
Bickering back and forth on who has made the best one.

The cold had made it to our fingertips,
Our red cheeks glowed brighter as the bright flashing light moved closer to us.
A loud roar creeps towards us by the second.
A rush of adrenaline soars through us as we run away.
We are stumbling,
as the snow grabs onto our feet after each step we take.
We feel the strike of cold shoot through our bodies as we go head first into the snow.

Wiping the bitter blizzard away from our faces,
We watch at the last instant,
as our whole afternoon is diminished.

We watch the light fade away,
With sour faces.
As if nothing had happened,
Our whole afternoon had been abolished.

 
Oct 16

Joyous Winter


White flakes
         Drifted down to the cold ground
                 Covering the dead grass with a fresh sheet of foam
                               Laughter filled the air
                  As small children ran out the door
           All bundled up in their coats, hats, scarves, and gloves
Their boots left little footprints in the fresh snow as they ran

Their joyous laughter         cut threw the muffled cold air
As they caught crisp snowflakes on their tongues

Screams of enjoyment echoed from their mouths
            As they were called back in
                    With rosy pink cheeks and red noses
             Their shivering bodies ran back through the door

For a warm cup of cocoa
The sign

That winter has come
Oh joyous winter  

 
Oct 09
adowning's picture

Biathlon


Biathlon

Benjamin Edwards




Skis fly

Target seen

Jump into prone

Steady to fire  
Skis fly

Target has a hole

Jump up

And off I go
Skis fly

Shot again

Get back up

Dash off
Skis fly

I’m a blur

Faster faster
My tired eyes cross the line
 
Oct 09
adowning's picture

Black Ice


Black ice

By Regis Houlier





Black ice, the villain of

Winter  

Always incognito

Hiding, Waiting for me. Wanting me

To slip into its trap

Creeping up right under me  

And right when I get near it

When I least expect it

It springs to attack

Shooting me

Across its villainess body

SCARING ME

And slamming  

Me to the ground like

A nail

 Laughing at me

With its cold heart

As I limp away

In pain


  
 
Oct 09
adowning's picture

Winter and Summer


Winter & Summer

By Lauren Angus
Love catching snowflakes on my glove

Summer’s popsicle  

Both melting as soon as you get them
Love building a snowman

Summer’s sand castle

They don't last long
Love having snowball fights

Summer’s water balloons

You get wet either way  
Love finding icicles

Summer’s flowers

They come every year
Love having snow days

Summer’s vacation

Always outside  
Summer

Winter

They are almost the same

Just different
 
Oct 06
kat_writer's picture

winter

Winter, such a bleak time
but in some way magical.
With all of winter's great, fluffy snow
it's a shame that it's dark
when I get home from school.

What is better 
than after a great day with the skis,
than coming home
to hot food and TV?

Winter, when my hands dry up
and my house works to stay warm.
I roll in the snow like a child and wonder
without the snow, what would life be?

This season is such a meaningful time
for all people like me.
And while it is below zero out there,
I appreciate me,
and this massive warm box I call home.

Winter, when we all curl up
like tiny little kittens.
Some people wish to find warmth down south,
While others must stay in this white heaven.

I go outside and watch my breath
float away in the wind,
I cannot believe this will end,
But also want spring to begin
Jun 23

Peanut Butter Crackers and The Inevitable Ghosts of Tomorrow

Today I found you in the peanut butter isle. I stood there for a moment, frozen by the possibilty of your expression as you turned and recognized me and tried to think of what to say. Flustered, I ducked into the next isle, ran halfway down the row, and stopped, counting my inhale and pretending to examine a box of wheat thins. I can see it now, as you spun and caught the breeze of my getaway on your face, raising your hand to hide your eyes. I like to think you knew it was me, that you looked up at the florescent light above you and counted the seconds before you had to look away, that you were okay knowing I was there, nine feet away, parallel and never touching. It doesn't matter what really happened because as I went to pay, I saw you in front of me and it wasn't you after all; you were just a boy with a jar of grape jelly and the same messy haircut, in a grocery store check-out line on an early Tuesday evening. 
 
 
Jun 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Haiku

Diamond droplets

 Salty air tosses
Hundreds of diamond droplets
Hurling through the sky
Jun 22
poem 0 comments challenge: Haiku

Butterfly

It flutters away
Lacy wings against blue sky
Where to, butterfly?
 
Jun 22
poem 1 comment challenge: Freedom
Kittykatruff's picture

I Thought, It Flew Away

ink spreads across the page
in blatant color

but some kind that I've
never seen before

sweaty palms grip a pen;
slide down to the tip.

so fingertips trace salt
on broken memories;

broken souls reaching out 
in fractals,
on fresh-from-the-printer
paper,

already
wrinkled like that
elementary school Valentine's day card
you kept, for some reason,
but this wisdom's come from
tears instead of 
age,

so fingertips smear ink across
a tree that hasn't seen the forest
in so, so long,

fingertips dip darkness into
tidepools, salty tears scattered
on the page,

watery strokes of black to gray
with tips fading
to a point;

these feathers lift off of the page
and your mind flutters
out the window,
half-second hesitations threatening
a hard fall to the 
Jun 21
poem 0 comments challenge: Freedom
Flowergirl12300's picture

Different

We are all different
Different
Color
Race
Country
Different
Feelings
Lives
Stories
Different
Times
Thoughts
Looks
Our differences 
Make us who we are
Our differences
Make us unique
Oue differences
Are our freedom
 
Jun 21
poem 1 comment challenge: Freedom

when this is over

may we dance in dappled autumn light
wearing silk clothes wrapped around our
tanned bodies, sun-streaked hair 
billowing behind us.
when this is over,
may we nurse our wounds and tend to the bruises
from the rusted chains that held us back 
for so long. 
when this is over,
may we scream our secrets into silent gusts of wind, 
knowing that whoever finds them will 
keep them safe in small green glass bottles in a 
velvet-lined box.
when this is over,
may our wings stretch further then ever before,
taking up all the sunlight and
take our voices back from those who stole it from us,
discard our bonds,
slip silk clothes over our bodies and
fly. 
Jun 21

Marbles

Once upon a time, 
blueberries reigned and 
children died for satin. 
They longed for the taste of 
silver and wished for creamy, 
woolen sheep, reaching up 
towards the ink-filled sky. 
Pluck your blackberries, clutch 
your coins, dream of winters. 
Fly with Peter and run with 
Maribelle. Hide from the Queen’s
ruby apples, bow to lilies.
But you may laugh,
scoop up glittering marbles
from the grit of riverbanks,
twirl your dresses and coats.
Love and lean into life.

 
Jun 19

In the Name Of the Idiot, the Betrayer, And All Lying Bigots. Amen.

I've crossed into the spirit world
I've found that it looks strange.
Everything that I was told
Its really not the same.
Where is the trumpet fanfare?
The golden bridge to cross?
The hovel I had slid down
I practically got lost.
I've crossed into the spirit land
But clouds aren't by my feet,
Why do I walk through ashes
To a steady drumming beat?
Where are the lyres strumming tunes
And spirits decked in gold?
The figures here are gray and bent
Their melting screaming souls.
And the honeydew? The grand reward?
The pots of gold and jewels?
Where art thou twelve disciples?
For here I be with fools!
Angered by just punishments 
They cry on molten rock,
This spirit world is strange I say,
... its smoke and red, and hot. 
Where are the crowns of olive leaves
To thank me for my work?
You gave me, ah alas, a rose
Its thrones my finger poke. 
Jun 18
poem 0 comments challenge: Freedom
Mrs_Mango3340's picture

Car Ride

Today's car ride was different,
Today wasn't like any other day,
Today was a day I will never forget,
No parents.
No rules.

Maybe it was because we were in the car with teenage girls,
Maybe it was because everyone was having a great day,
Or maybe it was because I was in the car with people I had so much in common with that we just worked!

As we drove down the highway with the radio blasting,
Screaming every word to every verse,
We watched people turn and stare at us as we passed,

It was such an amazing feeling,
Feeling Free,
Feeling Older,
Feeling Liked.

I didn't want that car ride to end,
I wanted there to be more traffic,
I wanted to stay in the car with them FOREVER!
Jun 18
poem 1 comment challenge: Weaving

Amaterasu's gloves

My hands are adorned 
by gloves constructed 
from the warmth of life itself.  

The California Sun 
of asphalt mirages 
beating down and 
bronzing skin and 
sucking the earth dry. 

The rage 
of generations
of injustice 
changing the heart 
into a seed 
that is slowly cracking. 
Letting rage 
spew out 
like lava. 

The racing 
from the crystal snow
to the piping hot 
brown cocoa
splashing slowly down the throat 
and brightening up the soul. 

The almighty, 
Satan scorching, 
fires from hell. 
Turning bodies 
into wax museums 
of dripping, faceless figures. 

The red cheeked, 
shy smile, 
averted eyes blush. 
From the next door neighbor 
peeking out their door. 

My gloves are woven from the threads of the world

hours of happiness 
and snapshots of suffering. 
Jun 18
EvaC's picture

Lost opportunities

I tried to fit the pieces
together, but my introverted self
ended up pushing them
farther apart. I wanted to
spark something, 
light something on fire,
watch it burn deep inside as 
the smoke and ashes prick
my frigid cold arms.

I wanted to watch the fireworks
light up and burst
with prickling excitement
as my fingers laced through yours.

I turned my opportunity into water,
there but just out of reach,
slipping right through my fumbling fingers.

My heart beat so hard against my chest
it broke
and I let it.
I threw gasoline on it 
and watched the sparks ignite.

Letting my opportunity
lose itself to the flames.

The flames are all around me,
surrounding me, 
but yet I'm not burning.
I'm under water,
lost in what I can't touch.

My opportunity gone with the tide;

an idea turned to rust.
Jun 18

Cinnamon

She was always wrapped in cinnamon.
Her aroma was a mixture of brown and gold oak
stacked together like firewood,
as was her house on the side of the mountain
made from a similar material, 
perhaps christened with it. 
Her hair rained cinnamon dust
and her hands were smeared with dough.
The house always smelled of cinnamon too.
We'd smell it four houses over on our walk there. 
She'd take out a laughably small pot,
add three cinnamon sticks,
and let it boil.
That's how we were always greeted.
Instead of spraying perfume around the house, or Febreze,
she'd boil cinnamon sticks.
Our breath carried the earthy sweetness of the cinnamon, too,
as we'd help her make cinnamon buns.
We'd secretrly lick the sugar,
licking our fingers before squashing them
into the small white china bowl
and then sticking our fingers,
now crystalized with cinnamon sugar,
onto our tongues.