Prose

The 12 Days Of Christmas, I'm Truly Jamaican, And Also Perhaps A "Little" Original
1st Day...... Dear Santa, I must let you know that I tried this thing with the "Jamaican" people, I don't know, they seem to think I'm replacing you with something, or someone else - oh well... we should stick to the "Patrrage In A Pear Tree", we should...
By 365poetry - "Holy Trinity":::: I Know The Cross, It's The Spirit Of Kharôn Latin Spelling (Charon) Translation "Fierce Brightness"26 days ago in Poets
Simplicity and Change
When I grow old, I hope I look back on my life and remember all that was. Everything. I don't want to glorify it. I don't want to focus on the bright sunny days.
By T.L. Amber26 days ago in Poets
something other...
"confusing the self with the other," reads the prompt. "your five minutes to write begin now." a button is pressed. time ticks.
By kp27 days ago in Poets
Solstice
During the ritual there was a reading of 35,000 syllables, taking seven hours to pass. Over its course, the vacant, high-wire star grew achingly thin, until at last the lynching thread snapped and the orb sank like a chore into the ocean. The sky above looked as if we stood in the heart of an heirloom, and thinking it would collapse in on itself at any moment, the man in the moon turned to bury his eyes into what bent elbow of space he could find, as he refused to witness our ruin. The eclipse fell on the circumcision of two local boys. What could we do but wince at their cries and press our bodies together with the weight of wet clay? The two of us were left not even enough light to trace our footsteps back in the nocturne of equatorial jungle. Along the way we followed the sound of each other’s breath until we fell over two forgotten corpses, a Sumatran tiger and his tigress. We were honored as it happened, to have met such sought creatures, even in their deaths, and stood over them like candles of ice waiting for the rot.
By Sean27 days ago in Poets
A Poets Introduction
Hello Vocal Media, it’s nice to be here—all the stories and the challenges are cool. I read and write poetry and there is plenty to read here. I’ve been writing poetry for about five maybe six years now. I will share many poems here—also share some of my favorite books and authors of poetry.
By Gerry Thibeault27 days ago in Poets
The Man Who Lived Inside His Words
In the oldest part of the city, where broken streetlights flickered like tired stars and silence felt heavier than noise, there lived a young poet named Ayaan. His world was small—one narrow room with peeling paint, a wooden table, and a window that looked down at a restless street. But inside that small room existed entire universes, created by ink, pain, and unspoken emotions.
By Anas Khan27 days ago in Poets
you used to call me blaze
i wish you'd use me as a match, strike me against all the rough surfaces, sandpaper, the sidewalk, your own edges. you used to call me blaze,
By Daniel K28 days ago in Poets
Zooming Out on Life
Life is a collection of imperfect movements… A series of squiggly lines, Zig zags, And blobs of color. From up close we can see all the cracks and crevices
By T.L. Amber28 days ago in Poets
The Celtic Cross That Carried the Roses
Every flame begins with a rupture. Every rose blooms from a fracture. This is not a ritual of control, but a ceremony of creation.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 28 days ago in Poets
Tender Reverie
Light gathers on the wall as if the day itself is whispering a secret. A small girl stands barefoot on the wooden floor, her dress breathing around her like a soft cloud, and above her rises a silhouette too tall to belong to her world. The shadow-woman, carved in gold and dusk, leans toward her with hair that moves like time caught in mid-shiver.
By Aarsh Malik28 days ago in Poets
Ashes of My Courage
That summer night, I was no longer shy. I no longer wished to hide—from your gaze, from the eyes of the world. Drop by drop, the courage that had been dripping for years
By Nicole Moore29 days ago in Poets
The Fledgling's Flight (A Poem)
Fledgling’s Flight Our fledgling flew the coop early one January So young and fresh from school His offer not giving us time to grieve
By Alexandra Grant29 days ago in Poets