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Oct 11
sophie.d's picture

On A Deserted Road

In a muddy gray car
On a thirsty dirt road
She drives with no destination in mind. 

The last drops of
Balmy air whip her hair
Into a thorny halo
And guitar-rich music
Trails behind the car.

Sweetness diffuses into
Her nose
Along with hints
Of ripening leaves
Distant cow manure
And a future pumpkin patch
(She smells her mom in the kitchen).

The sun is hovering
Somewhere over a golden lake
But she can't keep her eyes
Off the pink-streaked sky
Set over the orange speckled hills-
A crown atop a queen.

She's afraid she won't
stay on the road
As beauty hijacks her senses
But she doesn't care
Because she has nowhere to go but
Where the sky leads her.

The leaves skip from their branches
The sun melts into the lake
The last popsicle of the season.

She turns off the engine
Oct 09

Autumn

There is something magical in the leaves during Autumn. 
 
Sep 17
Fiona Ella's picture

formby

when i went to formby point it was a cloudy day
chilly even though it was july. 
another girl and i took the train out all alone
into the town. 
we bought sandwiches and kinder surprise eggs at waitrose
then asked the lady in the bakery for directions
and then we walked. 
we had no idea where we were going
or how far away the train station was from here. 
we must've walked several miles all told, 
past fancy houses with names like
'greystoke hall'
and places that looked just like those places only a little cleaner
where rich american tourists could stay. 
eventually we reached the point. 
we slid through behind the cars into the nature conservatory
hoping that we wouldn't need passes and, 
if we did, 
that no one would notice. 
and then we walked some more. 
this time, through forests. 
i picked up a magpie feather from the ground. 
Sep 16
embermist's picture

Welcome


Welcome to the fanfare of fall.
To the fire-sprung foliage that flutters onto ping-pong tables
And frustrated fighting over paddles.
Welcome to forgetting.

Welcome to wistful warmth.
Welcome to wood cabins and weaving branches,
Water reflecting here and now
A whispering world wills us away,
Away from wanderlust.

Welcome to scintillating sky,
To six AM stars, sunset streaks, spider-silk cosmos
searching for summer constellations
seeking solace from insomnia.

Welcome to pealing laughter
Loud laze of campfire (we love campfire!)
And after-dark tetherball
A leaning lullaby
liberating from life and its labours.

Welcome to melodramatic
Morse code and magic
Mastering the art of amusement 
Me, drooping eyelids while memories are being made

Welcome to hungry happiness
To hand games and hideaway
Sep 11

I Will Never Forget (Because I Can't)

I saw the planes for the first time.

I don't know how I've never seen it before. I've heard about it, everyone has, but for some reason, whenever we went over that in class, we saw only pictures of smoke rising over the once clear New York skyline. Only heard numbers, quickly recited before moving on to the normal topic of discussion.

But today, I saw the planes.

I've always thought of them as graceful, soaring above and through the clouds and taking people to far off, distant lands. There was nothing graceful about these planes. Or maybe there was, and that's even worse.
Sep 09
AboutToSnap's picture

Sunny days

Sep 03
BorayZ's picture

Summer 1870

Every summer my grandparents leave the sweltering, moist weather of Florida and return their summer cabin in Vermont. The outside is wooden and slightly rundown with that classic old cabin charm, but in the inside is modern with every shade of grey and beige you could think of. Tapestries from countries around the world hang on the walls and small abstract statues sit atop the floor cabinets containing old games I don't understand the rules to. The cabin is part of a grouping called The Bridges built in 1870 just off a country road, across from what used to be a small hospital.
Aug 27
wondering about rain's picture

Judgment day

I don't know why but I don't like my neighbors hedge.
Stupid bushes cut to sheer perfection, 
every time I pass it by I feel distaste.
Something about the way they keep those stupid
plants in line, a neatly kept barrier
against the neighbor hoods comings and goings.

I dont know why but I didn't like it when other girls,
wore short shorts or revealing clothing.
Faces painted to perfecection, to me, 
just screamed, "I am insecure" and it
irked me to no end.
A short dress was like a big,
"I need attention" sign.

I have made so many judgements.
Shame is what I feel for every time 
I didn't try to understand or see my own 
reflection in the people I judged.
i'm sorry for every person I have spoken ill
about or even just talked about behind their back.
i am sorry for every secret I did not keep
and every secret I created.
Don't be afraid. Don't turn away now.
Aug 09

Clean Ultra Fresh Lemon Scented Dish Soap

Let's face it, we've all been there. 
The dying urge to relieve your bladder must come first
even if it means using a God-forsaken gas station bathroom to do so. 

I told my dad to stand guard outside the flimsy door,
that surprisingly didn't lock. 

I shut the door and came face to face with what a small glimpse of Hell might look like. 
Floor to ceiling tiles, covered in years of foreign substances
only one can imagine what might be.

I didn't inhale through my nose,
although that made me wonder if I could then taste the smell,
so I went back to breathing through my nostrils. 

I did my business, quick as could be
and approach the cracked sink in the corner of the small closet. 

I looked around for the soap dispenser and came up with nothing. 
Then I noticed it. 

I kind of laughed, although laughing required breathing normally,
Aug 09

Brain Waves

I'm not going to lie, I'm scared. scared. I'm always the one to smell fear before the others taste. see no evil, speak  no evil, hear no evil. i am a child that has a shadow of pure energy. energy purified. i see with my lips. i see. i see, with my lips. i put my hands to the sky because I want to feel the morning love. clouds. coffee. cuddles. my brain is like a drain, it only sees one way. One way. on these days i put my blue dress on. pink. red. orange. as a light stands at my feet. spotlight, stop shinning you're scaring me. some say gold is the proudest metals. stone. gravel. and i understand because I feel bronzed of my silver.  My silver. the silver has remained in my hair. remain. remained. remains. I'm on one train. yellow bricks. that takes my mind off the world's  codes. 1 2 3. if I am strong why must I be reminded.  blood in my eyes but same as it is in yours. sssssssh. I'm finding the white rabbit but the smile gave me all the directions. N. E. S. W.
Aug 07

Black Rain

This week 73 years ago, the American B-29 bomber dropped the first deployed atomic bombs, Little Boy and Fat Man, on Hiroshima and Nagasaki. The blast and resulting radiation poisoning took the lives of over 200,000 people. ‘Black rain’ is the term used to describe the appearance of the nuclear fallout that fell from the sky after the bombings. The following poem is my response to this controversial event that shook the course of history.

Black Rain

I

The rain had come
and it was black.
Children cried,
the fires burned,
and the rain
singed the ashes.
Tyranny rose,
civilization fell,
with the darkened skies.

II

The rain had come
and it was black.
The black rain passed.
And so did the people.
Thousand by thousand
they departed forever.

III
Jul 31

On The Subject of Ill Luck

I was always superstitious.
Some would say I’m just suspicious,
I knew better than to cry,
“Superstitions are a lie!”
Then one day my neighbor said,
“All this stuff’s just in your head.
People fear silly signs,
Fantasies of their minds.”
I thought about this idea.
Now, what was I to fear?
If a black cat crossed the road,
Would I turn into a toad?
So I squared my shoulders boldly,
Looking in the mirror coldly
I ventured out for a view
Of the whole world anew.
The sun was warm, the birds were singing,
And in the distance I heard ringing.
I pranced onto the road, gleeful,
When something made me stop all fearful.
A shaggy horse walked up the street,
Chewing on a sheaf of wheat.
I ogled at the tired beast,
Who utterly enjoyed a feast.
What gave me such a dreadful fright?
The startling fact- the horse was white.
I crossed my fingers, clicked my toes,
Jul 29
mythicalquill's picture

Photography

While choosing which photos to showcase at my photography camp, I decided to split them into four categories—Photos that included flowers, fences, windows, or photographers. Originally, these “themes” were slightly broader (nature, ‘barriers,’ buildings, and people), but I chose not to display four of the images I had printed out in order to keep the categories more contained. Many of my photos play with depth of field, blurring some areas of the scene while keeping others in focus. In the future, I’d like to play around with different shutter speeds, photographing things in motion. I enjoy photography because it allows me to capture unnoticed or unappreciated details in the world around me, from the unusual slant of a dock to a bee alighting on a flower.
 
Jul 24
g_rob02's picture

A Poem For Nature

I'm supposed to write a poem for nature, but I don't know where to begin.
How am I supposed to focus when there's a dogfight commencing over my head, insects bombarding my brain with bombs of blissless buzzing.
I can't write a poem for nature.
Not with these cars. These cars that create an artificial breeze that blows the grass, making it dance like kids in a middle school gymnasium. Swaying to the silent sound of a soft song. Thinking they're old, not living for long.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.
Not with this wind. It moves my page in frustrating, ways sending me spiraling fast down a vast fissure of nostalgia. Remembrance of summer rocking chairs, and skipping stones.
        I can’t write a poem for nature.

    I'm sorry
I just can’t.

 
Jul 13

Haunting

"I would cut my mouth if it meant I could swallow the world."
When you said that all those years ago, I laughed it off. I thought you were joking, that it was another Eila thing. I didn't notice your face then. Your eyes were hard, jaw set. Your hand trembled, but I didn't see that either.
When you were admitted to that mental hospital, everyone was whispering. You dropped out of school and I couldn't walk home with you. I worried that you'd finally gone too far, cut too deep. You knew I could never stop you with my words and I could never touch you. I didn't want to hurt you, but instead, you hurt yourself.
I saw you again a year later. I'd moved on, or so I thought. I found different friends, ones who didn't have histories with eating disorders, schizophrenia, or self-harming tendencies. When I saw you again, my eyes widened. The whole hall quieted as you moved through, people making a path for you. Our eyes met and mine widened. 
Your eyes were dead. 

Jul 05
Sirena Birch's picture

The Competence Of A Patriot

I was once asked 
If I am a patriot
And finally
I have found my answer
My ancestors are Abenaki
Who understood
Every living thing
Has a spirit and a soul

And we as humans are no more entitled
Than any creature on this earth
Call them wild
Barbaric
But seemingly they alone
Saw the future of the white man

They alone saw the borders
The pollution
The greed
Of the white man

Competent enough to understand
The absurdity
Of the white man

Buying 
Owning
Stealing land
From our hospitable mother
Excused
Hiding behind green paper
Foraged from chopped trees
Felled 
By a white man

Spirits left haunted and unthanked
For there empty sacrifices
And metal disks
Forced down the throats of 
Thrusted into the fists of those unblinded enough to see the truth
Metal disks imprinted