Prose

Angel of the Deep
Angel of the Deep Hidden in plain sight Shifting sands and waves Draw in the fools and the brave in equal measure A creature of beauty and grace
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Bird on a Wire . Top Story - May 2024.
A colorful bird with a yellow head, white body, and blue wings, perched and sat atop a telephone wire. He felt sad because he was short and stout, and his brother and sister had just hurt his feelings.
By DJ Robbins2 years ago in Poets
The Persistence of Memory
The arrow of time keeps pointing forward… or is it? If the gods wanted to for once and for all torment humanity, it would be enough to make them conscious of the trespassing of dimensions. Change. Time.
By Matt B.2 years ago in Poets
A Dream Come True
Yesterday I had a dream come true Yes! It is true I was a strange child Disneyland was never in my plans I had a brain filled with full octane
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Intimate
All I want is to be intimate with you To know all your thoughts and feelings To know the real you To see your scars And remind you of how beautiful you are
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
Pussy Willows
Pussy willow is the name given to many of the smaller species of the genus, Salix (willows and sallows), when their furry catkins (slim, cylindrical flower clusters) are young in early spring. These species include (among many others) the goat willow or sallow (Salix caprea), the grey willow or sallow (Salix cinerea), and the American pussy willow (Salix discolor). Before male catkins come into full flower, they are covered in fine, greyish fur, which led to their fancied likeness to tiny cats also known as pussycats or pussies.
By Patrick M. Ohana2 years ago in Poets
The vice of a pretentiously peaceful abode.
The vice of a pretentiously peaceful abode. Abundance in its beauty, the truth of innocence it holds, Nativetey oozing in every breath of its ounce, the beauty of childhood beholds.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Buttercup Meadow
He lies me softly back on buttercup meadow, The black curls that frame his face Brush my cheek as he softly touches my lips with his.
By Sarah Fiander Harrison2 years ago in Poets
Like a book
Being in love is like allowing yourself to be read like a book To be vulnerable To open your pages Allow someone to look beyond the cover
By Belle2 years ago in Poets
Letting the Moment Go
If I hadn't let the moment go I might have held you in my arms One last time The phone call I didn't make The card I never sent
By KA Stefana 2 years ago in Poets
One Night
In these dreams . . . Stumbling along a broken road piled high with rocks and sand, I run, breathless and sweating, toward the darkness ahead.
By Jean McKinney2 years ago in Poets
In the aftermath
In the aftermath Grimacing through the glimpses of her past self, She passed by her pictures on the old shelf Laughing through her eyes that endowed merriment,
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets