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Hi, My Name Is Joe
A poem about an all too often an occurance in the streets of the city these days.
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- 365 reads
The Lodger
THE LODGER by Don Flockhart Victor was sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his light bulbs like a nurse cleaning wounds. For each bulb, he opened...
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- 359 reads
After the first night
Speed poem. In Terza Rima but without the metre.
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- 1439 reads
D: April 2004
THURSDAY 1ST Spent the whole day throwing up. Andy may not be able to become a driving instructor - yet. He only renewed his license two years ago,...
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- 385 reads
Only Time Would Tell
A snapshot look at domestic violence and it's consequences.
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- 408 reads
Just Getting Over Me
Getting over you is really getting over me. It's facing things I haven't wanted to see. It's letting go and moving on, settling up and getting strong...
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- 335 reads
Almost Sonnet #1
Woke up this morning, the sky was blue. Maybe my debt of solitude is no longer due. The skies were clearer, the fall air fresher. Today my hurt heart...
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- 388 reads
The World May Have Treated Her Unkind
Alone since she was little she knew the rule, A wise person must be kind to be cruel. The world will eat you up and spit you out, she knew first hand...
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- 380 reads
Little Clown
It rains with no relent, leaving the little clown wet in her circus tent. Fear not, little clown when the rain is through the sun will come around...
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- 371 reads
Everyday...You
Everyday I wait for you. Everyday I want for you. Everyday I need for you. Everyday I'm closer to you. I go through the normalties of life, the joys...
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- 353 reads
The Effects of Song on the Single Girl
An embarassing honest look into the mind of a single twenty year old.
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- 315 reads
Commercially Manufactured Singledom
Finially! Someone speaks the truth about what it is NOT to be single.
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- 317 reads
Mobile phone
This is just to say your comparison between the moon and myself is accurate, as you knew it must be, but because you are my sun, all so much brighter...
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- 353 reads
Fridge
Daughter, This is just to say Black is unbecoming, dear, you're not going to a funeral Mum, this is just to say I'm in mourning for what I used to be.
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- 412 reads
Quiet
Cry softly into cushions, piano keys all rusted. Fail. Embryo smiles in my empty womb. Parched. Cannot write. Mustn't. Sorry.
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- 751 reads
I should
wear a watch recycle myself learn to think first get to sleep perfect my laugh listen remember to cry hug trees stop talking start singing (silently...
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- 767 reads
Collins
Dream Day 2 - story (escorting a radio personality to radio station)
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- 529 reads