Solar Flare

A dark blot on a molten giant begins this tale,

A story of struggle, conflict, and uprise I shall unveil,

These incandescent giants have bodies and workings which are beautifully unique,

Comprehending them in full is a truth we ought all to seek.

Nikolas ReedGuest UserMarch 23, 2023perception, poetry, poem

Cloud Boy

When the cloud boy fades to night, you won’t even notice.

He won’t go out in a thunderstorm, or a blizzard, but instead in the drizzle

of his mother’s tears; a puddle drowning the only post-it note he left

behind; his ink-heart words bleeding thick plumes of smoke.

Elijah Cacicedo-HoughGuest UserApril 19, 2022stars, wishes, burden, heavy, death, goodbye, poem

Genesis of a poem

To be the poem and not

To write – a portrait

Scene of milky words

And pen-tips of honey.

Chloe EnglandGuest UserNovember 8, 2021creation, poem, poetry, inspiration, perspective

Spaces

It's so easy to talk, much harder to think

Without my mind falling out the neat windows,

But I'm not even sure anyone else noticed

I’ve been speaking and standing in circles.

Stina BurdorfGuest UserMarch 9, 2021nature, poem, poetry, trapped

A room with an aftertaste

Feel my chest sink into me

Rise against them

Gasp through the thick air

Steadied by brick

Crimson claws and walls

Stina BurdorfGuest UserFebruary 27, 2021poem, poetry, room, judgement, protest

Heracles’ Twin

Heracles! They cry, they sing,

But he hasn’t done a single thing

Since his dad did him a favour,

Giving him some tasks under which to labour.

I mean, what did he really do?

Just killed some things (and not just a few).

Vincent PlantGuest UserFebruary 25, 2021mythology, Heracles, Iphicles, poetry, poem, greek gods

Wild Rabbits

In early September, I think of

All things staring into headlights.

Sylvie LewisGuest UserSeptember 13, 2020poem, poetry, childhood, memory

Blood and Water

I left a space on blotted page

where pen had not yet wandered

Abiah WyattGuest UserSeptember 6, 2020poetry, writing, poem

The Lonely Automaton

Memories flicker behind my eye—

a clock’s constant ticking—

Abiah WyattGuest UserAugust 30, 2020poetry, poem, automaton, life

Quarter Past 4

The clock on the wall is broken. It chokes backwards, its voice cracking. He sits in the armchair. I don’t know where I am.

Zebulun O'ReganGuest UserMarch 14, 2020prose poetry, time, family, poem, poetry

Mute

On my chest of drawers,

the record player is mute,

its needle still in the groove

after it stopped turning…

Zebulun O'ReganGuest UserMarch 4, 2020poetry, poem, time, music, silence

Schachspielers

In the square outside Freiheit street number sixteen,

in the world above U-Bahn commuters, there meet

the Schachspielers.

Rachael BrownGuest UserFebruary 28, 2020poem, poetry, chess, germany

POETRY