Poetry |
A Little Fox: Part 1 |
Anonymous
O woe me, the poets scream out
However - I am not a poet The words I construct will never make sense Not in my mind nor yours Picture From Andrew Hyams
She Tastes Like AmbrosiaMollie Donovan
If you could
You would bleed ichor Words fall from your lips As sweet and slow as honey She taste like ambrosia FlashbacksAlani Santiaguel
On the other side of the line
My gaze meets your cold eyes To accompany a stern face, your closed smile Hesitant breaths between words of denial Quiet steps towards our own downfall Your sword grazed my broken chest This time not to heal me, Me and the tension of intense regret. Haiku of HolidaysLaura Masic
Autumn leaves falling
During dreamy dreary days I can not escape Escape leaves falling Trap my spirits, keeps me down Down and sorrow filled Filled with much sadness Ready to be blown away Like a pile of leafs Leave my sadness when Chrismas comes and the sun shines And the snow reflects Reflect on the year As new opportunities come through to greet lots Lots thanks for reading This haiku of Holidays Let the leaves fall down Picture From Andrew Hyams
UntitledAlani Santiaguel
half-drinken champagne glass shattered photo frames maybe i'm the one to blame for corrupt campaigns and one person blind dates showed up too late got the check and a migraine
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Kyleagh Peralta
A little fox trots down the river bank with a smile
A little fluffy tail following behind it as it walked through it's quiet isle A little walk the fox always took, no longer than a mile A little fox sits down in the warm, sunny sand A little face pointed up to the sun, whiskers white and fur sun-tanned A little smile turned to one ever so grand A little fox gets up and continues on their little merry way A little breeze blew, making the beautiful orange leaves sway A little blue bird flew out from the orange tree, wanting to play A little fox and little blue bird get along well A little more than two hours passes by, the two being cast in a spell A little bit longer and the little blue bird left the little fox with a little blue shell A little fox watches as it's friend flies away in a fading orange sky A little blue bird flies away on tiny wings that takes it so high A little bit of friendship they share with no one to ask why A little fox returns home to the shore as the sky darkens to night A little black nose pointed up to look at the stars so bright A little fluffy tail curling around that same nose as the little fox sleeps oh so tight Childhood GameKatie Reddel
There it Lay In all its Glory the Shiny Dusty Metal Handle Bars oh so used The wheels, a faded Red The neck that could be made short I took it by those Red Foamy Handle Bars And Scooterd away. All its Friends line up in the Yard One Pink. One Wobly. One Black. But Mine was the Best How I dreamed up routines The Execution. The show. The Best Times
Picture From Andrew Hyams
Man, AnxietyJosephine Shelton
I feel sick,
butterflies won’t stop hatching in my stomach, the ground beneath my feet is gone, and I'm falling. I can’t stop bouncing my leg, or biting my nails, or escape my mind, or fall asleep. I’m not sure why i’m like this, maybe it’s because of school, maybe it’s because of work, maybe it’s because of sleep. Maybe it’s because i’m overthinking, I'm stressed, I'm tired, I'm dead. I don’t want to feel like this, like i'm falling, like i'm flying, like i'm dying. I just want to feel full, feel awake, feel healthy, feel alive. |
Love Me Only in the FallAnonymous
I watch as the sun slowly sets and the cool breeze moves the orange and yellow leaves around. It was tranquil to say the least. The silence takes me back a few years. I had been standing in the same spot with them in the middle of fall, enjoying the view. The view of the ocean from a clifftop where a small bench sat surrounded in oak trees, our hands were interlocked. I remember the warmth they had brought me, maybe more than the hoodie I was wearing that day. I remember the long conversations we had with each other, being with them made me feel timeless. It was our spot. It was our season. We did everything there. I remember how we carved pumpkins and stayed up late telling scary stories. I felt happy even after getting scolded by my parents for getting home so late. Their presence was something so special, oh how I wish they were here next to me, enjoying the view we once adored more than the view of each other through a heart eyed lens. I remember that one cold early winter night when I got the news, they were dead. I had gone pale. I remember my heart dropping and a wave of grief overcome. It’s been a few seasons since, and this has been my first fall here without them. It’s all just a memory. Sometimes I feel their presence and the warmth all come back to me in this chilling weather. I look at the stars in hopes of a wish, a wish to have one more fall with them. Who am I kidding, it was about to be winter, the season of betrayal. Maybe, we were meant to love only in the fall.
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Picture From Andrew Hyams
Picture From Elizabeth McCardle-Blunk
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