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#4
young blood, baby fat we're all dead in the inside lost in solitude ~~~ This haiku is one of the few surviving ones I wrote when I first started to write poetry. (The others got lost on floppy disks and notebooks my mum threw out.) I used to give them numbers as titles, this was the 4th I've ever written.
By Imola Tóth5 months ago in Poets
The Summer That Never Ended. Runner-Up in The Summer That Wasn’t Challenge.
Dear Reader, let me tell you a story that changed my fate— and with it, the life of my whole family. A story that I haven't told to anyone in nearly 60 years. A story I stopped telling because nobody believed me.
By Imola Tóth6 months ago in Fiction
The First Cut Is The Deepest. Top Story - July 2025.
The first cut is the deepest, or so sang Cat Stevens. For me, this song always carried a different meaning. Every year, when the tree planting season begins and I cut the first hole with my shovel for my first tree, I hum this song.
By Imola Tóth6 months ago in Fiction
#3
Fingers reach towards ceiling like thin beacons, palms outstretched, fake smile. This haiku is one of the few surviving ones I wrote when I first started to write poetry. (The others got lost on floppy disks and notebooks my mum threw out.) I used to give them numbers as titles, this was the third I've ever written. I don't really remember why.
By Imola Tóth6 months ago in Poets
