Stream of Consciousness

Night Chills
Leaves of gold, then brown, then gone. Air feels light but appears darker. Heat slowly acquiesces. Night chills first. Plants become dormant or whither.
By Julie Lacksonen12 months ago in Poets
The stubborn little lantern that lights up my bloodstream
I have this little lantern inside me That rocks and sways in the wind I never expected its light Its persistence Its weight
By Sarah O'Grady12 months ago in Poets
‘the crash out is valid’
—- 111, like a cold coca-cola to the back of the neck. and the armageddon of fall. these scorching feelings always crawling their way back up the throat. not enough time in the day, and too many hours to portray that I’m ‘fine’. and what is a glitch but a person who says no too often? another daily isolation. a general distrust towards the population. like something too sweet in the mouth, another cavity too deep down within the dentin, or a reason for turning your mouth into a ghost.
By h.a.laine12 months ago in Poets
Fall Magic
fresh, crisp and tart pressed, transforming to a precious golden elixir the first day of fall captured in a bottle released to the cauldron
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
Pickin' Memories. Top Story - October 2025.
It started in Oregon in my 7th year. Talking walks with Grammie on the outskirts of Portland. Little baskets, hand in hand, smiles plastered,
By Hope Martinabout a year ago in Poets
The Depths of Identity
My roots began in a far-away sun drenched Continent - across lands where I was first planted - then I became unceremoniously ripped, dragged from the bowels of my beloved African heritage - whipped - replanted, bloodied - murdered.
By Novel Allenabout a year ago in Poets
Another Day
A splendorous day Not a cloud in the blue sky Another day to be.
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
Some Crazy Lust
Beep beep! Goes my phone, Another text, Another reply, I think of you every night, My hands are magnetised, My eyes, Hypnotised,
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Poets
Zip Tied Together
Strong overhead lights, my eyes blink as we pass surgical teams ready for work Friday afternoon, the brief elevator ride ends, as we arrive in an operating room. More overhead lights, men and women in scrubs at the perimeter, anesthesiologist at my head
By Andrea Corwin about a year ago in Poets
A Simple Candle
Sweet scent of Love Acceptance Selflessness Understanding heady intoxication fabrication of Hope thought lost in the hovering chaos
By Colleen Waltersabout a year ago in Poets
Rose in Harlem
In my darkest days, love calls out to me, whispering sacred holy incantations till my soul rises from the ashes reborn anew.
By Anne R.about a year ago in Poets
Don’t Call Me Muse . Content Warning.
You’re the reason why we are like this. 🖤 Yes we will love, but we will never give back as much as you want us to. _ You want our womb, so that we can raise your child.
By Caitlin Charltonabout a year ago in Poets