Prose

The art of jazz-walking
The city of lights is the perfect amphitheater. * We are the new generation, a bridge between roadrunners and stargazers. One step signifies our will to lose control over the unknown. Time travelers, as jaguars we wander the concrete jungles.
By Matt B.about a year ago in Poets
Buried in the Snow
The Tips of my fingers Are black and blue From the earth, or the bite of the frost, I couldn’t tell you. I’ve been digging, and digging,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Prose Poems: A Foray
#1 Seasons Laughably, I find that April is not cruel, except to my roof. No, February is the one does the nasty: thin limbo between white and green, death and life. My damned birthmonth.
By Mark Francisabout a year ago in Poets
The Weight of Nothing, Something
Darkness, impenetrable intangible, casts its unrelenting shadow over me. Reprieve and relief have become obscure ideals, experiential relics of a past the memory of which slowly dissipates into nothing. People tend to misunderstand nothing. In its own cruel way, nothing is something. When it's your only something, you cling to it as I cling to it. I've long forgotten what it felt like to have something—anything worthy of pride and a sense of achievement. “True hope... is swift." "True hope is swift... and flies with swallow's wings. Kings it makes gods and meaner creatures kings." What is hope?
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
Embers of Joy: A Celebration of Heart and Hearth
In the hush of the evening, as twilight descends, The glow of the candles on our table extends. Laughter like music, a soft, swirling tide,
By GoldenSpeechabout a year ago in Poets
Christmas Wreath
An evergreen bough, a circle of cheer, A symbol of Christmas, the merriest time e’er * With baubles and tinsel, formed in a band,
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets
Write What Disturbs You. AI-Generated.
Introduction Writing is an act of courage. It's easy to write about the beautiful and the simple, but the real power lies in exploring what disturbs you. Those uncomfortable truths, hidden fears, and unresolved emotions are the threads of authenticity that make your writing come alive.
By Usama Shahidabout a year ago in Poets
A Quietude That Whispers. Runner-Up in Frosted Verse Challenge.
I wake to the calm of a silver-lit dawn A quietude that whispers, “The past is gone” The trees now glimmer In the first light of morn
By Rudolph Lingensabout a year ago in Poets
Aide Memoire
The dark and deepened hues of the second solstice signal that It's time. A year since, and one could argue that the decision to go now is a late one.
By kpabout a year ago in Poets
A Song of Winter
The song of the Sparrow and the Titmouse harken from above in barren branches. A heralding of what’s in store upon first foot prints outside the door.
By Aissa Martellabout a year ago in Poets
Verses in the FROST
Dear frost, you arrive in the quiet of night, Draping the world in your shimmering white. But it’s not just the cold that you bring to the air, It’s a whisper of beauty, fragile and rare.
By Melanieabout a year ago in Poets
Jack's Happy Cookies
Let me tell you a tale of an evening not that long ago When Jack Frost came over for a winter’s jaunt To party with me under the Beaver moon’s glow
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets