Free Verse
October Breakwater
October is a breakwater you step onto, slick stone and salt breath rising from the Atlantic’s throat. The air tastes like cold pine and the ghosts of summer bonfires. The tide pulls back, revealing the long ribs of the sandbar— a road the ocean only allows for part of the day.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Poets
Foggy Dreams. Top Story - September 2026.
I'm dreaming of something out of reach. Silver like the rhinestone smile of the stars. It's blue around the edges, bruised by intent. Black in the middle, an obsidian ink stain. It presses against my eyelids at midnight. Lingering there like a houseguest low on luck. I'll never be able to capture it like this. There's a crack in my foundation. Someone cut a corner in my construction. They knocked out a beam and laughed. Ah, but I can't forget the silver spit dangling From the lips some fox on the silver screen Waiting in the sliver of silver moonlight For her prey to wander just a little closer. The dream flutters away and I am hollow. I bask in the vacancy blooming in my chest. All signs point to ' full up. move out.' There's never anywhere to go when you dream. It's like navigating the fabric of a sweater. Such an impossible task it turns seductive. You see how the dream draws me away? It pulls me from the silver-toothed devils. Still, the soul wants what it wants, doesn't it? I suppose I must not want to dream, but live.
By Silver Daux2 months ago in Poets
10 Miles to October. Top Story - September 2026.
I went to October by way of the mountain, taking the road I used to take as a boy, though the road had changed since those days and I had changed enough to notice. The pasture had gone brown after the summer, and the apples were dropping beneath the trees.
By Tim Carmichael2 months ago in Poets
Looming October
The air becomes threadbare. Colors thin, almost translucent. Sound frays and breaks the deafening silence. October moves through the unraveling of time, its limbs plucking strands of reality like harp strings. Each pluck summons a ghost woven from memory’s loose ends.
By Syl De'Vil2 months ago in Poets
