Latest Stories
Most recently published stories in Poets.
Wanderlust
"I made plans for us," he said. Our passion for travel made us push each other to unknown places that seem hard to reach. We never hesitated to take the scenic route, because that was part of the journey. The things we saw are masterpieces handcrafted by the man up above. Sure, we got lost a few times along the way, but that is what it's about.
By Devyn Porter8 years ago in Poets
Pièce De Résistance
He was reading to me. First I heard the words, I could see them flowing from him lips. As I lingered there searching every part of him—I felt calm. Seeing his hair curl around his ear, the way his smile formed. I noticed the way his eyes lit up while he traced every word on the page. He looked so very, truly, genuinely happy.
By Devyn Porter8 years ago in Poets
Kawanas Park
We walked and walked tranquilly until the moon kissed the sky. My father and I were dancing on his fond memories of his youth. Those were the days he spent building towers out of sturdy oak and tangy sap, playing as G.I. Joe, and creating bonfires that roasted the pale marshmallows to a golden brown. These were the memories that transformed my father from a child into a man. With a walk over the gasoline-stained railroad track he was on his way. The place was called Kawanas park, with the golden, fiery, and pumpkin leaves made it seem as if they were in a dream. My father exclaimed about how a young bad boy set fire up into a big oak tree that you could make a house out of, the picnics with his friends, and the nights ere he looked into the starry blue sky. He thought about how this forest was a part of his identity, so the park became mine as well. He went on saying, “The crunch of the fall leaves brought me my independence, this piece of heaven made me who I am today.” We were in awe when we looked up into the lattice work of leaves that made the air seem light. We spotted speckled deer, rabbits, and many ruby cardinal. We knew that we were never alone, and felt at ease knowing that this was ours. The silent deer watched closely while my father was at play in his childhood cub scouts meet, his miraculous adventures he led made him seem that he was like an old, wise Indian leading the way to the face of danger. He would never have imagined, that when he was all grown up. In his body and his mind, that he’d remember what it was like to be a kid again. He arrived with me on a fall day and to my surprise Kawana’s was all that my dad made it out to be. His eyes widened with excitement as if he was opening presents on Christmas day. This placed was all he ever wanted. The moon seemed to grin, the world slowed down. He said, “I couldn’t have imagined being with my daughter on this starry Van Gogh night.” His soul was freed from his adult life, and he never felt as happy in his entire life. The wind sighed as if everything was going to be okay. When I looked upon the midnight sky I wondered why this place was as magical as it is, and how grateful I am of sharing this piece of heaven with my father.
By Kendall Warnkin8 years ago in Poets
