Prose

Prancing Lion. Top Story - January 2025.
Standing outside in the midday, staring back at me through a thin screen door. Simply waiting for the screen to crack and for something else, I don't know.
By Rachael Anraabout a year ago in Poets
say/seɪ/verb it/ɪt/pronoun
use your— he/art your pen, your sword fill the void, the lacuna/ləˈkjuːnə/noun unfilled space, the gap o/pen your mind
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Ekphrastic 1
Behold, mutilation in marble. The Taj Mahal's material, emblematic of Eros's purity, disembodied for prophecy's perversion of storge.
By Wen Xiaoshengabout a year ago in Poets
Commit Your Heart
Commit Your Heart Commit your heart to the open road, To paths untaken, where dreams explode. Leave behind what chains you still, Let freedom shape your iron will.
By COUabout a year ago in Poets
The Merge Conflict
Merge Conflict In the realm of code, where dreams are spun, Where logic battles and wars are won, A silent war brews, unseen at first, Lines of text, in conflict immersed.
By COUabout a year ago in Poets
8 Surprising Facts You Didn’t Know About Forged in Fire
8 Things You Didn’t Know About Forged in Fire In recent years Forged in Fire has emerged as a true must-watch in the competitive reality TV space. Chefs had parasites; blacksmiths had battle scars. Premiered in 2015 on the History Channel, the series follows the ancient craft of bladesmithing, a mix of creativity, skill , and history. As fans watch the flames in the forge and see the detailed handiwork, much more is occurring out of sight. Here are eight things you probably didn’t know about Forged in Fire.
By Kalpesh Vasavaabout a year ago in Poets
Merry-go-round
Round and round up and down as a child - it was enchanting, never knowing which horse you’d be racing. Then you grow up
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
He Who Laughs Last
He Who Laughs Last The Evergreen State, circa 2010. All objective metrics presaged an uphill battle. The Southwestern mesa-sized stage, while perfect for larger-than-life musical productions, would be wasted on a lone, stationary, monologist. Said stage's hypoxic height would preclude making eye contact with the crowd, never mind meaningful connections made through shared eye gaze. The domed ceiling overhead, stratospheric at its apex, ate laughter like Langoliers eat space-time continuum leavings. As mirth making was the trade I plied, I'd be forced to gauge audience response by ear. Under such circumstances, a “killer” can be made to feel like he’s fighting for his life, while a comic on life support can be made to feel like a casualty.
By Chris Zabout a year ago in Poets
Don't Look Up
Don’t look up from transient screens that keep your fire quenched. Don’t look up as manufactured dopamine salts open wounds of the mind while making love to the body. Sugar cubes dissolve into the dark roast as lukewarm thoughts crystallize into prejudice.
By H. J. Levonabout a year ago in Poets
How Would You Rate Your Pain?
"On a scale of 1 to 10. . ." How bad is my pain? I can't tell you that on a measured scale. Words like "achey" and "throbbing" and "burning" don't do it justice. There's no room on your intake sheet for how the pain feels like a rogue squirrel in my hip, or like an elephant pressing on my tailbone. There are no words to describe how I'll feel when the next round of injections fails again, or how one tiny area of my body robs me of joy and pleasure and security and concentration.
By Kane Howardabout a year ago in Poets
Empty Pockets
Waywardly I went down curves and gravel roads It seemed evanescence was used to line my clothes Nothing I tried to carry with me
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Frozen Sentinels
Frozen sentinels, all in a row. ❄️ Bare limbs stretch towards the sky. ❄️❄️ Snow-covered benches sitting lonely and empty.
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets