Silencio"¡Pero no dije nada!"Silencio2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
The Sum of InfinityI don't know if I'll ever tell my children about you.The Sum of Infinity2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
(I don't know if I'll even have descendants.)
A family was never on my to-do list,
until you came along.
You made me wonder if I wanted kids, just so I could say to them
"You know, the day your dad and I met…"
because I thought we could last forever,
and I'm still not sure if we have.
Our friendship endures, even as I fall asleep
picturing her arms around you,
and I wonder if you'll ever come back to me
but spend every day noticing the reasons I'm glad you left
and hoping you'll return.
Never intending to fall in love,
we were an item
before you knew my name.
She reclaimed you,
you still belong to me
by virtue of the ampersand connecting our names
in the mind of every person
who watched us walk,
tall & short,
monochrome & kaleidoscope,
yin & yang,
through the winding, leaf-littered pathways
that are our life.
TeeterWhen I wake,Teeter2 years ago in Visual & Found Poetry More Like This
among the stars,
on the brink
between dreams and reality.
It’s so easy
to see through the
between waking life...
and the power of Imagination,
that same other world
in a sea of dreams.
Two PoemsPainted over with the years’ blemishesTwo Poems2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Old. Battered. Familiar.
Case chased with filigree colored by tarnished silver
Kept in the bottom of my knickknacks drawer.
Even today, I can still feel the warmth of his fingers,
The heat where he held it, nested in the palm of his hand.
Winding the key, as he taught me to do,
Always counterclockwise, turning back the time,
Time measured in seconds, minutes, hours, days, years, and lifetimes
Colored by the memories of those who pass beyond it,
Held in reminiscence by objects left behind.
A fleeting messenger that heralds both
The birth and death of every plot and scheme,
That hopelessly entwines the strands of fate
And cuts the thread of life we all must weave
Can ne’er be understood through measured count,
Though every second ticked its weight has felt,
And when it swift is passing, this is but
A construct of our human minds in vain
Attempt to comprehend the limitless
And vast entwinéd river that is wrapped
Around our very being.
Sans regrets: Part II"I miss you."Sans regrets: Part II2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Message not sent.
HelpTurning away...hoping you'll chase me.Help2 years ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
Forests of the Mind"And this, our life, exempt from public haunt, finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, sermons in stones, and good in everything." William ShakespeareForests of the Mind2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
In the forest my thoughts
ring unnaturally loud,
like a voice on
an open stage
when nobody’s around.
Stories unfold in my mind,
new leaves in the spring
unfurling from pale green buds
like butterflies emerging
from their chrysalis,
the pages of a never-ending saga
written in birdsong
and soft, wind-rustled branches.
My mind flows like the brook,
smoothing the rough edges
of my narrative, fluid and free
until time catches me
and my thoughts are drawn irrevocably back
into the endless revisions
of the real world.
Brushing Up Against HistoryNovember 1963Brushing Up Against History3 years ago in Philosophical More Like This
I'm eight years old and sitting in class (I strangely recall that my seat was in the middle of second row, on the side away from the window), when the principal comes in to tell us that the president has been shot.
I do not know
what it means, but I know
that it scares me.
My mother meets Senator Robert F. Kennedy while he is campaigning in San Francisco and gets his autograph. I live with my father in a small town in Michigan, where every year leading up to Memorial Day, I sell paper poppies for the VFW.
blood of soldiers on the field
war has come home
I watch the news and see the body count, arranged like a scorecard. The numbers say we are winning, but one of those numbers is from our town, the only casualty that week. I don't know him, but I see his picture on the cover of Life Magazine.
I turn 17 the next month
and try to join the Marine Corp
my father will not sign
As a small-town b
Sans regrets"I love you."Sans regrets2 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
Message not received
macrocosmici.macrocosmic2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
i have a theory
that the size
of the universe
is measured in
so small that it
became big again
thus we are all
and each other
and our expanses
when we touch
and the universe
every nebula or
a star was re-
that wasn't nothing
or a nothing
lately the hole
in my chest
so i will observe
and wait for
a bleak space imploding
stark ribs contracting
is this a refraction
of some light unsourced
or bouts of redacting
doubts interacting with stellar patterns
unquell our orbital shackling. we're asking
seas to stay churning while ashes keep spurning
our totems over
in certain collapse
i'm a supernova
CrepuscularTo the girl teaching herself to fly,Crepuscular2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
a hospital bird with soot in her lungs
and patchwork wings,
you only fly for a little while.
If you want to stop hurting,
learn to drift in the silence of the dark
between night and day.
We're all made from broken parts:
bird seed, letters addressed to no one,
things found in old coats,
brittle things like love.
Glass bottomed birds,
we used to make butterfly hands,
until moths swarmed into our throats,
like dancing butterflies; still
we choked on dusty wings.
Love is a smoke made with the fume of sighs,
the same smoke that you'll inhale.
Let go, little bird --
You were made for moonlight,
never for hummingbird lullabies --
Hummingbirds only fly in the sun,
and the sun was never a child.
We were not meant to be angels.
The nestlings, children of the stars,
we glide together on clipped wings
through the dark.
The Only Thing Missing Is You7:55 PMThe Only Thing Missing Is You2 months ago in Short Stories More Like This
you would have liked today. we went upstate like we used to, to the woods. i know it's been a while since you've seen the trees but they're as pretty as ever. they're just starting to fall. i wish you could have been there.
i always wait for a reply from you, haha. then i remember
anyway, we took a walk down to this lake too. there were rope swings hanging from a tree nearby and we froze our asses off swinging for nearly twenty minutes. i swear it felt like we were floating.
hell, it was everything you used to love
it's funny, on the ride home i was practically falling asleep, but now i can't even shut my eyes
it's just... it's not fair
whenever i skipped a rock i remembered the first time i taught you how, and how excited you got. every time i said i was cold i remembered the way you would call me a baby, but give me your hat anyway. we even walked on the same paths we used to take, and everything is the same. the trees are st
She promised him forever....Forever never lasts long, does it?She promised him forever.2 years ago in Short Stories More Like This
lacunae of longing, loftiness of wordsinked and reaching, this is my remembrall fleshlacunae of longing, loftiness of words2 weeks ago in Free Verse More Like This
and if we were to never speak again
you'll find the rest of my bones in the graveyard eaten by a dream
i hear knives in the wind and earth inside me
survival is a balancing act-
a selection of extrasensory impulses
a fracture in late august
a week of kisses
and i am crying out for time not yet lost
when stars collapse,
the sunshine shaking heart of the universe will burn with me
while looking for a silver lining in the sea
on the edge of nowhere laughter speaks with death
about maps not meant for following
when i think about you, i remember it all wrong
maybe you were just a hit and run
strange how the mind fades o
A ClicheI wish I could sing you a love songA Cliche3 years ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
about roses and stars and the rain
but I couldn't sing like the blackbird in spring
so I think I will simply refrain.
I wish I could tell you a story
about beauty and trust and my heart
but all I could say's what they say every day
So I don't even know where to start.
I wish I could write you a poem
'bout the birds and the bees and my bed
but all I would write's being said every night
So I wrote you a cliche instead.
AnonymityLast train to who knows whereAnonymity2 years ago in Free Verse More Like This
Glides past in a bumpy, jostling line of cars
Like schoolchildren waiting in the lunch line
Or filing in from recess.
The haunted whistle of the train’s alarm
Pierces the night like a screech owl’s call
As the carriages race past, a continuous black shadow
Against thin moonlight streaking the rippling river water.
Every scene along the track—
Families in living rooms, late-night bar patrons,
The dairy farm stretching for miles along the line—
Are merely blurred moments to the denizens of these rushing carriages
Traveling through the blackness in their private tunnel of train light,
Heading for destinations disconnected from the rails they ride,
Unknown to fellow passengers and carriage workers alike,
Gone before dawn tips the trees.
Wherever it's Christmas (p.6)The Doctor, Amy, and Rory have decided to cook Christmas dinner in the Tardis kitchen. But the Tardis kitchen was built by Time Lords...Wherever it's Christmas (p.6)2 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
Amy handed each of them a sandwich.
"Is this all we get?" Rory asked. It had been a long time since tea.
"We're cooking for tomorrow. Deal with it." She bit into her own sandwich and took a drink of her orange juice. She plopped down wearily in the console room chair. She set her glass on the floor and shucked off her old-fashioned shoes.
She massaged her toes while she ate her sandwich. Rory sprawled in the other chair and the Doctor perched on the steps between them. He was picking the pickles off of his sandwich one by one and eating them.
"So now what?" he said, running out of pickles and taking a bite of his sandwich.
"Don't tell me," Rory said. "More shopping."
Amy scowled at him. "Well, we at least need a grocery list."
"Nope!" the Doctor said. "This time the Tardis has everythi
Artist Blue - If It's AlienArtist Blue - If It's Alien2 years ago in Sci-Fi More Like This
The old woman pushes the book across the counter, "There you are, miss."
A young woman picks up the book, a story of adventurous pirates, one of great fame: Treasure Island. She's never read the book before, despite her near obsession with literary works. She stares at the cover for a short period, the image of the pirate captain and the young boy approaching a beach speaks volumes onto it. She opens her tiled rainbow satchel and places the novel kindly between her school science book and notebook, which are surrounded by miscellaneous items placed in careless areas. She leaves the library, a light smile upon her gentle pale face. She pushes her blonde hair from her face as she steps down a small flight of stairs. The free hair brushes annoyingly against her blue hoodie. She grabs her hair and ties it up to cause less self-disturbance. The snow is finally melting in the town of which she resides, she walks patiently to her home, about ten minutes into this walk she pulls out the book i