Prose

Tracking Marimba
Autumn is an earth-based Broadway. I enjoy the show: bronze, crimson, golden-trimmed trees- captivating backdrops with many a fine actor, singer, dancer, entertaining me. Apple orchard pickings, red stripes, blush, yellow-green- Fuji, Gala, Honeycrisp, Golden Delicious- I eat it all up. Romping squirrels, spiraling leaves, wind-scattered chestnuts, weather shifts, pumpkin patch surprises-- jackolantern galleries in intermingling oranges- they all meet my heartfelt applause.
By Alpha Man3 months ago in Poets
He Called It A Gift. Content Warning.
They’ll say I wanted it— the promise, the prophecy, the shine of something sacred But it wasn’t a gift. It was a hand too heavy on my jaw,
By Brie Boleyn3 months ago in Poets
The Road to Manifesting Wealth
The Road to Manifesting Wealth I walk a road paved in intention. My pockets empty but my heart full. Each step a seed. Each breath a spark.
By Marie381Uk 3 months ago in Poets
When the Fire forgets My Name
The fire was once my friend. It hummed like an old song, soft, trembling against the cold bones of night. Each spark carried a memory —
By Rai Sohaib 3 months ago in Poets
because why?. Content Warning.
influence, inspiration, authority, or control small talk is lazy and irresponsible unmotivated and difficult making hard work.
By ⸘jason alan‽3 months ago in Poets
The Spirit Who Mistook My Craft for a Shortcut
“The Spirit Who Mistook My Craft for a Shortcut.” You think it is just a video. A flicker. A scroll-past. A thumbnail in the feed.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 months ago in Poets
How Much Space Does a Man Need?
I find it interesting that the richer you are the more goddamn space you take up. Palaces swallow acres, while the rest of us rot in the broom closets and cupboards of America. Yachts drag their fat bellies across the water while men claw for a door or a table— rats fighting for a plank in the shipwreck.
By Sandor Szabo3 months ago in Poets
a simple resignation. Content Warning.
skip the far-fetched i've heard it all before and i feel horrible that you heard it from me first i can see right through
By ⸘jason alan‽3 months ago in Poets
Lay Down Your Earnings
*Lift your dollars High* Raise up your low addictions I sell lies, I sell lies Though you will not see it here I AM Holier than the DOW....
By Kristen Keenon Fisher3 months ago in Poets
Old Pep McGee
Old Pep McGee Was rusted Glass cracked LED shinning brightly As the canvas of the tent Shook violently The campers playing poker
By Ashley Houston3 months ago in Poets
I Hate Lamplight
I hate lamplight. I hate the way it distorts objects I view from a distance, objects that slap me with clarity as I approach. I hate the way it highlights what I don’t want to see, and the way it narrates your thoughts without you uttering a word. I hate that it witnesses my devastation when you whiplash my heart, and how it betrays my grief—every distortion of my facial contours, the ugly droop of my gaping mouth, and how it spotlights the tears rolling down my cheeks. I hate how it illuminates my wail like it was mist
By Teresa Renton3 months ago in Poets
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--- - --- (that's the sound I long to hear) --- - --- (every once in a while, at least) --- - --- (the sound of little to nothing)
By Paul Stewart3 months ago in Poets