Prose

Caravans Beyond the Stars
*Beyond the stars, where there are others,* *There are still more tests of love* *These atmospheres are not from life itself.*
By hassan khan6 months ago in Poets
Ojiishizi
The scars on my skin are my badges. Badges from burns, Medallions from fights. Trophies of my mental wars. Each badge has a memory,
By Jennisea Standing Rock6 months ago in Poets
"sundowning in the club". Honorable Mention in After It’s Gone Challenge. Top Story - April 2026.
at a tender age, i fell off the monkey bars and hurt myself. i was barely able to walk, so my mother took me to the chiropractor, who manipulated my fractured spine without an x-ray. "young and healthy, you'll bounce back," he said. he sent me home.
By kp6 months ago in Poets
Poets.
*I agree that I am not worthy of your sight* *So see my passion, see my waiting * *Raise your self so high that before every destiny*
By hassan khan6 months ago in Poets
The Golden Silence
The mountains were blue, wrapped in a blanket of silver mist. The air tasted of pine, and secrets kept by the ancient earth.
By Hazrat Umer7 months ago in Poets
“Chronicle of Silence”
The Habit of Waiting My mother didn’t leave all at once. She left the way people leave when we don’t know how to stop them:
By Lorena Alonso7 months ago in Poets
Vaccines to Hypo-sprays
A new disease ran roughshod globally. A novel norovirus. Similar to Covid, they called it Noro 29. It was only seven months before a vaccine was created. But it didn’t work well. So a new technology was developed.
By Gabriel B. Shames7 months ago in Poets
The Green Light
The forest was a quiet cathedral, tall pines standing like stone pillars, the air tasting of clean rain and ancient earth.
By Hazrat Umer7 months ago in Poets
Campfire Tales
When the fire was at its brightest, and when night at its darkest, in the coldness of the desert, we gathered around to hear a story told.
By Dean Traylor7 months ago in Poets
Worst Tournament Coverage Ever
The tournament commentary this year is the worst in history. Although they’re off camera the majority of the time, I see the puffed up chests as they talk over the sounds of the course, trying to out-Augusta each other, pontificating over the true poetry of the tournament—the sounds of the birds of Raes Creek, Raes herself, wind through the magnolias and pines, the sounds of the golfers’ footsteps on the greens, the handling of the clubs, the silence of the gallery, the music of man and nature inside this bubble.
By Harper Lewis 7 months ago in Poets
Neutrality.
I want the world to stop tugging at my ribs, these elastic ribs that snap open like lids, doors for my loved ones spree and any stranger’s whims.
By Marvelous Michael7 months ago in Poets
The Heavy Pocket
I reached into my pocket, expecting to find a coin, a small piece of copper to buy my bread. In the cold wind of 2026, the city was a gray machine.
By Hazrat Umer7 months ago in Poets