grievancesI found the sun,grievances by IgnitionInStars
beneath my feet-
here, I am,
a single, thoughtful smile
this heart is extinguished-
every girl is fair gain
burrowing my soul
in such shame,
blinding these eyes
no longer a seeker;
repentencesadness--repentence by IgnitionInStars
I no longer wish to remain
where your melancholy whispers,
how you have
within a voice
blindI am afraid of sincerity,blind by IgnitionInStars
a child lost in endless dark.
a promise of yesterday's dream
lingers without thought
you leave an indifference
upon the wake
of every dawn,
while remnants--voiceless fire
sing of a burning yet to be profound.
Girl as ColorColor the girl shell pinkGirl as Color by Scarlettletters
or magnolia -
some rare vintage of wine
or a bright Italian circus,
and I shall call her mine.
Color her starling grey
or a sudden shade
daylight glistening like a puzzle
and I will claim her mouth.
Paint us both some new corner
a fresh tone of orchestra
and ripened lemons,
and I swear I will be true.
Only The DeadOnly the dead have seen the end of the war.Only The Dead by DefinitiveContent
And still less can know the cause of it.
Staring down the barrel iron pointed toward the enemy.
A solider who sees the white in eyes;
Or its absence in other extremities,
Might assume he's right for killing.
But likely, he just don't fancy dieing.
For all the supposed depth of it ;
A trench looks just like any other grave -
When the earth gives way.
The weight that fills up space when mourners say, farewell.
Can pull us all past any notion of parting.
And so we look onward and drift backwards.
The End of the War is but a dream -
For any body yet breathing.
Online Magazines Accepting Submissions!Here is a short list of online literary magazines looking for submissions. Be sure to read their rules and procedures carefully.Online Magazines Accepting Submissions! by Word-Smiths
Commonline Journal: http://www.commonlinejournal.com/p/submit.html
The South Mountain Review http://www.thesouthmountainreview.org/#!contact
The Death Cross Monk: http://thedeathcrossmonk.com/?page_id=177
Downer Magazine: http://www.downermagazine.com/submissions/
Ascent Magazine: http://www.writethebestreading.com/
Write This: http://www.writethis.com/boingolingosplat4.html
Written River: http://writtenriver.submittable.com/submit
Word Riot: http://wordriot.submittable.com/submit/807/submission
Two Hawks Quarterly: http://twohawksquarterly.submittable.com/submit/11029/subm
|'Cause I dig... <3|
|A hero, if ever I had one.|
MovementThere’s enough anger in the airMovement by FuzzyHoser
to strangle anyone. Anyone can
say they’d do this or that. That
isn’t the point here. Here and now
makes our tomorrow. Tomorrow
is the focus. Focus on that – that
we need tomorrow. Tomorrow
will be our truth. Truth is noted
after the fact. Fact isn’t respected
in the now. Now is when we react
to what happened then. Then was
the foundation of it all. All must
recognize what is needed. Needed
now is ground to stand on. On this,
plant yourself – yourself, and not
someone else’s voice. Voice instead
your hope, your rage. Rage against
the wrongs, with your rights. Rights
ought to be as free as breath. Breath
should never be taken by hatred.
Dear Parents:Strike the soft skin of your children; leave marks.Dear Parents: by FuzzyHoser
Go on: show them how hard they must become
to be like you.
Mold them to be mindless: coach them to react
with fists; make them believe that words have
Shape them into an almighty monster: modern man.
Destroy their purity and imagination by damning them
with absurd words of a god who previous men
Teach children to follow a leader, and to not ever
break the circle they belong to, so society never
Above all: train them to question love, even your own.
WindowsHere am I, repeated,
and beyond waits everything
but everything is more
than I can bear.
I am not built for altitude
nor looking far afield;
groves and granite-sided mountains
stop my gaze
like rest for every tired wing;
a cover in the coldest time
snugged up beneath my chin.
Windows nothing more,
but safe lies there behind them
as the chambered hours pass;
safe sleeps there behind them
on the soft side of the glass.
The Town WitchEvery town has its witch. At least I think they do. I know ours does. She isn't scary like stories say she should be. She has a face like my older sister's, the one who isn't married yet, with an eager smile and bright eyes. Her hands though are like my Momma's, calloused and stretched with small roots under the skin.
Her cottage is just outside of town with a small path that runs down to the sea. Her garden is full of overgrown plants that Momma would always "tut" at when we walked by, but it's full of herbs and flowers that she tends with care. She always smells like the honeysuckle that grows around her door and like baking. She bakes often, with her windows thrown open, her singing drifting through her garden all way to the road, the thick sills stacked with rows of cooling pastries. She always leaves batches of small, sweet buns on the outer edge where us children could easily reach. Not that she ever let on that she knew we were taking them. It was the great game amongst us, pret
|I'm around if anyone needs to talk about anything. I miss being active with you guys and a part of your lives, so any time anyone needs an ear - I'm around. And if I don't know you, you're still welcome to give me a shout. Everyone needs someone to talk to sometimes, and I never mind listening (or reading) anything.|
|I can't always keep up with proper thanks, but know that I do thank anyone who reads anything of mine. |
Also, you're already welcome. So no need to thank me for a thing. (: