To touch the skyI want to rideTo touch the sky6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
the London eye
once in my life
touch the sky
don't ask me why
because I'm alive
I want to try
I wanna fly
look into my eyes
I want to sing
as daylight dies
don't ask me why
I'm full of light
when I see skyes
reflected in your eyes
Desert SongThe night is listingDesert Song3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
too far to the left,
asphalt carrying the road
deep into the canyon
where the cacti keep
a lonely vigil.
I taste gravel
and the crunch of stars
like chrome pressed
against the windshield,
its cobweb dusting the roof above me,
my face cracking the dashboard
like God's own map.
Breathing becomes an art
and I can hear
the crazy clatter of limbs
as the gas tank makes
with my soul
but a solitary lizard
to hear the desert's song.
A Short PoemThrough the fields of tallest weedsA Short Poem6 years ago in Urban & Spoken Word More Like This
I run without a care
Thinking not about my needs
Feeling joy without compare
Through the waters, dark and deep
I swim my fears away
Knowing the darkness of the night
Soon turns to brightest day
Through the skies of darkest clouds
I fly as I ascend
If again I ever see the ground
I fear it'll be the end
Through a heart of coldest stone
I blow the heat of love
And hope I don't get left alone
As it soars to life above
Through this life, I wander lost
Just yearning for a smile
To warm this soul covered in frost
And truly live awhile
catch a falling star, put it in your pocketthere's something about those little brokencatch a falling star, put it in your pocket2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
dreamer girls with misproportionate promises
and lingering whispers,
who walk like angels, lost, and trying
to find a way back home;
whose hearts bleed abnormally loud
and resonant- those girls with
shadows like ghosts [dead and haunting],
that make them a flavor
to taint your tongue.
if you listen close, you can hear the
unraveling words that once knit the hollow space
between their bones,
you can hear their shallow sighs like
sun sets for a final time.
you can hear their ticking time bomb lungs
and you can touch their secrets, because they
wear them on their skin. not like wounds,
more like sun kisses or wispy tattoos
ingrained into who they are; you won't know
what they mean until you connect the dots
and find answers in their questioning stares.
they'd like to remain something unknown, because
they've identified the world as a disease- vile and
insidious, with the capability of sinking
underneath your flesh and changing who you are.
You call it Judgement, We call it SinEmily needs the words to understand that she isn't being unreasonable. She just wants them to mean something and not be a string of words which flows into itself over and over again.You call it Judgement, We call it Sin2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
She doesn't like her name either. Not because Emily isn't a pretty name but because she would rather be called something she feels like. (She has never quite forgiven her parents for choosing her name for her.) If she could, she would call herself Glass, because that is what she wakes up feeling like every morning. As if crystallised pieces of glass are edible and her insides tingle as she swallows them whole.
Emily lets the words call her names sometimes. She writes them on her knees so that she can remember them. Sometimes the words call her a whore, and sometimes stupid, and sometimes a loser and sometimes a tramp (She has never learnt that loving too much is a crime and boys with pretty eyes sometimes lie.). She sits in the bathroom with a pen the colour of blood and writes them carefully
NaruHina- Punk Hope 2NaruHina- Punk Hope 22 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
"Band meet band? Ok, now you guys can introduce yourselves." Kakashi said then left to go read a book.
"Hey... I'm Shikamaru..." He said, scratching the side of his head.
"Kiba." They shook hands.
"My name is TenTen." She said, and shook hands with everyone.
Sakura and Sai were whispering to each other and kissing here and there. "Sakura! Aww! You look so cute with Sai! Now, give him to me!" Ino said.
"No way Ino-Pig!" Sakura yelled.
"Whatever Bill-Board-Brow!" Ino yelled back, before they both burst out laughing and hugged.
"Ok, whatever, let's get down to business." Sasuke said. "This TenTen," He was pointing to each one. "Sai. Sakura. Kiba." His finger found Hinata. She turned away when he said her name. "And I am Sasuke. Ok, there. Your turn, though we already know who you are."
Shizune spoke up. "I am Shizune, here is Shikamaru, Gaara, Ino, and Naruto." When Naruto heard his name, he walked off. "W-Wait! Naruto!" Shizune yelled, but he ignored her and went into the RV. "Well, that
The Little Things: Part 1JohnathonThe Little Things: Part 12 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
The camp was pretty lively today, swords being swung, Pegasi in the air, and even Mr. D looked happier than usual. The sun was out, hardly a cloud in the sky, and there were birds singing; I was completely disgusted.
Don't get me wrong I don't mind it; I just can't help but feel so pessimistic, ever since I was a kid I felt like this. Besides teleporting shadow to shadow I guess my power is to see the darker side of things. I'm Jonathan, son of Erebus, buzz kill extraordinaire.
I've narrowed the reason down to two possible reasons. I've lived in the underworld so long the depressing has rubbed off on me or most likely that stupid curse.
A long time ago in the late 1990s my father, Erebus god of the shadows and spirit of judgment, fell in
A History of ImaginariumWhen we were young, we believed. In myths, in legends, in stories beyond the wildest imagination of the best story teller in the world. Tomorrow always held surprises, new stories, and new worlds for our imaginations to explore. Everything began with 'Once upon a time' and ended with 'Happily ever after.' We lived in a land where we all owned pet tyrannosaurus rexes, maybe a few dragons, a sword that rivaled Excalibur and faeries and pixies, who just happened to make great playmates. Fae food for some reason always seemed to be so much better than your average meal, and who needs an adult to talk sense to, when you could have a talking lion?A History of Imaginarium3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
But time passed us by. And things changed. We grew up, much to Peter Pan's dismay. And things became what they would never become if we believed. Things became boring.
Reading became insipidly real, about average people with average lives. And what was worse, we enjoyed that much more that the fantastical tales that our imagination wa
TrappedI'm not paranoid, you know. Quite the opposite, actually. It's just that... it's been days - days - since I've had contact with anyone. My internet's been shut down, I can't find my phone...Trapped3 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
Believe me, I've spent countelss hours pushed up against that door, yanking, tugging, banging... No one hears me. How could they, when the snow is piled so high no one can open their windows without the fear of being crushed?
My supplies are running so low I'll have to break open the closet soon enough. Every time I pass by that door, the chills hit me so bad I shake uncontrollably. Even when I've sprayed every drop of air freshener, hair spray, and perfume I have, the stench in unbearable. I avoid going in that room as much as possible, but it still gets to me.
I'm the only one left in this house, possibly in the neighborhood. And if the snow never melts, I'll live as long as possible, not giving up on the life I used to have; the life that I miss so dearly.
But the temperatures are droppin
Fragment d hiverTimide et doux soleil berçant ma belle aurore...Fragment d hiver3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Le gel, manteau glacial, habille tout de pleurs.
L'ultime rose à la branche s'enlace encore
Pour qu'une fois, une dernière, il l'effleure.
L'herbe gercée se fripe, se tord et craque,
Sous des pas insouciants, sa peau trop fragile.
Partout s'entend de l'hiver l'effroyable attaque
Pointant, dans les prés, la silice des dactyles ?
AgonyAgonyAgony2 years ago in Songs & Lyrics More Like This
Une douce et lente agonie,
Entêtante, berçante mélodie,
Pour le coeur du condamné
Qui souffrira, oh! souffrira pour l'éternité
L'archet transperce ses tympans
Et son âme au demeurant
Goutte à goutte coule son sang
Pour le violon, oh! sera tambour mourant
Un regard figé, fixé sur lui,
Une vibration montant sans bruit
L'entend-t-il? L'écho, le chant de la Mort
Qui détruira, oh! grandira dans son corps ?
S'essaiera-t-il, le condamné,
À tenter de le contrôler
Le violon d'outre-tombe damné?
Il tombera, oh! tombera, il sera fauché
L'archet moissonne les âmes
Les cordes deviennent des armes
Ombre et lumière, comme l'éclipse
Il chantera, violon d'Apocalypse
C'est la dernière beauté
Ta dernière volonté
Le néant devenu musique
Ce sera, oh! ce sera la fin symphonique
Ce sera, oh! ce sera l'oubli chimérique
Seventeen (In Phases)1.Seventeen (In Phases)2 years ago in Emotional More Like This
It was because her parents had named her for the grandmother who had broken her mother’s heart. The grandmother whose heart was supposed to have melted from her birth and hadn’t.
That was why her mother barely looked at her. That was why she called her ‘girl’.
That was why she liked to pretend she was the quiet woman in the background of an old black and white movie. Because everything here was like an old black and white movie.
[And if she really looked back, her mother had never appreciated the elegance of the 1950s enough.]
It was because she hated surprises. The surprise she got on her sixth birthday when her father left taught her just how a single person had the ability of taking your soul, splitting it in two and wearing it on their breast pocket like a white carnation waiting to die.
That was why when she lifted a book, she looked at the last page first.
That was why her namelessness had become a comfort to her.
That was why sh
Another Language called EnglishI took your adjectives for granted. There was something about the way you skipped over your 's'es and gleaned over your 'i's and 'e's, that never really made me want to kiss you. You'd sit there with your languid fingers clutching a book that was half finished, and read me words that were completely mispronounced. It would prickle me under my skin and I would grit my teeth, wondering when you would stop. I would never understand the english language you thought you spoke, and your confidence in your own words annoyed me.Another Language called English1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
It was comical when you spoke in front of our friends. Your mistaken pronunciation of the word 'pronunciation' in particular made them giggle. I would stand in a corner, clutching a glass of rum and coke and cringe, flushing in second hand embarrassment. You would smile at me from across the room, and continue with your tangled tongue as though nothing was wrong.
I felt sorry for you. But not sorry enough when you took your favourite writing pen from my d
Online"I have a problem."Online3 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"You always were a worrier."
"Don't you want to know what it is?"
"Not if it's going to worry me as well."
"That's precisely why you should know it."
"I really think I'll pass."
"But this time it's a really big deal."
"Oh for the love of- All right. All right. You win. What is it?"
"What did you think the first time you met me?"
"That's not a problem, that's a question."
"How am I supposed to answer it exactly?"
"I don't know if your mother explained this to you, but all you have to do is open your mouth and words-"
"Shut it, smart ass."
"Then answer the question."
"I thought you were beautiful."
"See, now that's impossible."
"And why is that?"
"Because the first time you met me, it was online."
"It wasn't your face I was calling beautiful. It was your anonymity in your words."
"What does that mean?"
"It means that in the vast abyss of the seas that form a web of people, you were the one who sat alone in a life broke
Star CollectorThey said he collected stars -Star Collector3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
plucked them one
from the abyss
left dangling off
with his father's best
He could feel the future
in their shiny points
and the sharp prick
of something maddening
glowing under their silver skins;
and when he held them
their embers glowing -
tiny spines curling up
to tell him stories.
But their laugh
was what he loved best -
sea breeze and green glass
and the whistle of a dandelion
shedding its blustery mane
across the pebbles
of the pond.
PuddleLook deeplyPuddle1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
as the trees
no eyes -
in the skies...
Nothing Lives Foreveri.Nothing Lives Forever1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
When you were a child, we would sit on the porch to talk about your day. And sometimes, we would find a dead bird, or a frog on there. And you would ask me about death and why it happens, looking at the poor creature in my hands, its life cut short and touch it tenderly. I would always say the same thing.
Nothing is meant to live forever, my dear.
The school called me in on your twelfth birthday and asked if I had known how clever you were, that your test scores were the best in the state. They asked me if I knew I had a genius child on my hands who grew bored easily in class and tended to distract others in his classroom, sometimes causing arguments, fistfights and could manipulate his classmates into doing anything.
We don't think this is the school for him. He needs to be challenged appropriately.
You fell in love at seventeen and she was lovely. Kind, caring and beautiful, I couldn't ask for a better girl for you. She was our neighbour
Insomniiprea obosită să mai gândescInsomnii3 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
nu mai știu, nu mai pot
îmi trec mâna peste pagini
ca orbii, dar nu mai știu să citesc
și nu mai am ochii verzi
nu i-am avut niciodată, mereu cărpui
urăsc (nu,nu,la naiba, nu!) ochii cărpui
niciodată nu vor să se închidă
niciodată nu vor să doarmă
avea chihlimbar în ochi și suflet castaniu
superb, superb, cel mai frumos suflet
prea obosită să mai gândesc
nu mă lasă să adorm
care-mi desenează cearcăne sub ochi
fii mai urâtă decât erai deja"
chihlimbarul încă n-a apus în mine
nu de tot
de-ar muri odată
vreau să dorm
For Just One DayLast night, I heardFor Just One Day2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
the locust's call
for just one evening -
that was all.
Soft summer breeze -
and no surprise
Through frosty autumn
turned harsh New England
Breathe deep and long!
Discard your pain.
a Fall refrain.
L'OMBRE GRISEL'Ombre Grise.L'OMBRE GRISE2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Méchée de gel atone la prêtresse dépèce le squelette
Des vallées mortes
Ses longs silences blancs de sel
Hurler le ciel catastrophe aux reliefs d'éthers froids
La bouche offerte aux serpents
Paralysée de suicides rêches les béances
Massacre des autels ses ongles d'acier glace au cur de cannibale
Le vent du vide déroulait les draps du carnage
Sur sa face de pierre
Elle a rincé l'Épire noircie aux foudres du chêne silence
Où broyés de bronze ses soleils creux ensevelissent les vestiges du double
Morne Dodone les fleurs amorphes sèchent cruelles cicatrices et la Terre
Cadavres fracturés aux yeux stridents d'abysses c'est le règne des loups
Dans les lugubres bois mugir les feux mobiles des souterrains sans lune
Surgissant à sa dextre les dieux sont soumis les scolopendres
Close to the heartWhat isClose to the heart1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
to the heart
it is hours
to shore -
And what is
PlaceboIl arrive toujours un moment dans la vie où le sablier du temps semble vous jouer des tours où il semble figé, comme si votre grain de sable était collé au verre et regardait les autres se presser, se bousculerPlacebo3 years ago in Introductions & Chapters More Like This
Ningyô, recueillie mourante par Alexandre, est persuadée que son temps s'est arrêté, qu'elle n'est rien d'autre qu'une poupée. Laure voit en Alban plus qu'un fou et se bat pour lui octroyer un semblant de liberté. Maël est fasciné par sa voisine qui l'aide à gérer sa transformation en vampire. Antoine, touché par Aurianne, prisonnière de son passé, tente de l'en sortir. Isaline, perdue dans l'écriture de ses romans, y invite Aliénor. Karine recherche un ange
Suivez quelques grains de sable en décalage pour savoir si le temps est le remède de l'âme ou s'il suffit d'un grain pour tout chambouler
~~~ Extrait 1: Alban et Laure (p18/19) ~~~
The Importance of Gold FlecksHereditary.The Importance of Gold Flecks2 years ago in Stories & Vignettes More Like This
I learned the meaning of the word when I was young on a summer afternoon. Too hot to play outside, I was sitting with my dad on our blue couch with the small white polka dot fabric. In retrospect, it was probably a tacky piece of furniture, but love is unconditional when you are small, and I sure did love that couch. I remember my dad watching Winnie the Pooh with me every Saturday morning on its spotted cushions. That day, though, we had a conversation about eyes that I never forgot, and even then, its deeper meaning was not lost on me.
"Daddy, your eyes are green like a cat's," I said.
He smiled, and told me that mine were also green, but unlike his, they changed colors. "Sometimes they are blue. Your eyes were so blue when you were a baby! Big and blue.... Someti