Stream of Consciousness

Rhyming on the Eighth
Group rhyme - by Denise Lindquist, Carol Verant Arola, JoAnn Boorman, Jennifer Sawatzky Story Rhyme Along There was a guy that lived south of town. He had red curly hair and was known as the town clown. He had an amazing gift of telling stories of his adventures.
By Denise E Lindquist24 days ago in Poets
The Actions of Others
wondering if performative is the word used to describe me? it isn’t, not exactly— performative means there’s an audience and somewhere backstage, a self
By Chel Writes24 days ago in Poets
the tower
when pleasure becomes pain, a smile as he turns away. i wish he would stop coming back, but i always hope he stays. there is only emptiness,
By ⸘jason alan‽24 days ago in Poets
Welcome To October, Sit Back And Stay Awhile
when the journey leaves you weary and you need to catch your breath there is a stop along life's journey where you can pause to get some rest
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden25 days ago in Poets
When I Look Out My Window
🌅🌊🏄🏽‍♀️⛵🚤 When I look out my window, it's special, the sea The colours, for one thing, just fascinate me One day it's green, sometimes it's grey
By Calvin London25 days ago in Poets
The Two of You
Desire, and Reality‐ To get you two to dance together... even if only for a moment, might just cost me everything‐ as I cannot even get the two of you in a room together.
By JM25 days ago in Poets
Cut Flowers And Promises
nothing trickles down that isn't bleeding cut flowers in a vase, refuse to grow broken promises and hearts un-beating while my better angel's grace is going rogue
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden25 days ago in Poets
I felt you in August
I felt you in August. Something around August first, your subtle entrance moves past me and it’s almost like I can see it. Like I can grab your balloon string for a quick second before it floats off. Most people think I’m delusional because it’s 97 degrees out. I blame the Mallen streak.
By Natasha Collazo26 days ago in Poets
𝕎𝕙𝕖𝕟 𝕎𝕒𝕤,
The light shines through the sweeping rain-laden branches dappling the barn floor so many memories there come back like a flood
By Colleen Walters26 days ago in Poets
This Isn’t AI, It’s a Pulse
This Isn’t AI, It’s a Pulse The Clique That Mistook Life for AI Disclaimer: These stories come from my own hands, my own notes, and my own lived years. I write them, shape them, and polish them myself the same way I edit my videos and create my music. This is my voice, my blues, my work.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 26 days ago in Poets
Grace
The sun is risen with red and orange bleeding high above the vast horizon. Now it is morning, you are forgiven; the sun is risen. - There will be justice when hands relinquish their need for vengeance. Blood red and orange trace where white light crept across His canvas: it belongs to Him. - The moon has risen; the eyes have opened where heaven begins. Not one tear you shed has gone unnoticed; the stars do not rest when the night here ends. - The edge of the depths erase footprints left of any sin tread into sifting sand, and darkness flees west from the promise kept where the sun is met. - It has been witnessed. The sun is risen with red and orange bleeding high above the vast horizon. You are forgiven; the sun is risen. - - -
By Sara Wynn26 days ago in Poets
I Don’t Write for Cold People
“I Don’t Write for Cold People” (my voice, my frequency, my California fire) SELFIE I TOOK THIS EDITED IN ADOBE PHOTOSHOP EXPRESS
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 26 days ago in Poets