Top Stories
New stories you’ll love, handpicked for you by our team and updated daily.
Rara Avis
That emerald you excavated under the backyard magnolia- Did it merit well? Enshrined Lilywhite Sessions CD in a dirty bin on Third St.-
Modest NomadPublished about a year ago in PoetsPorcelain Elephants
The ashes arrived in a beautiful hand-carved wooden box. When I saw it, it was displayed next to a little porcelain figurine of a mother and son elephant. "You can have the figurine," mom said. I picked it up and turned it over in my hands. It was cute. It looked old. Vintage. I wanted to take a bat at it, scream that it was not enough. Fling it from a rooftop with a string of curses. Out loud I said, "You'd better keep it, mom. The kids will drop it."
D.S. FisichellaPublished about a year ago in ConfessionsHere Are The Things I Look For As A Beta Reader
So, you want to be a Beta-Reader too? Nice! "Alright, CyCy. I know you explained what a Beta-Reader is yesterday but what now?"
Five Guides to a Happy Place
Unpacking, in its basic form, is like chatting with a friend to share something dreadful that’s happened to you. There are times our friends can offer the best solutions and there are times… not so much. Either way, we must do something with the stuff that comes from unloading our emotions and connecting them to the relating situations. Recently, I recalled not knowing how to manage my stuff after unpacking. My initial experience with talk therapy filled me with alternating reactions of anger and disgust. When I continued speaking of the circumstances that got me there, I hid in any space that was left. After a few sessions, I coiled into a ball of anxiety. I went down a rabbit hole of depression. Then I planted myself on top of a mound of self-sabotage. Soon after, I stopped going to therapy.
Oredolapo A RobertsPublished about a year ago in LongevityThe Shoah
If walls could talk: We would have screamed for mercy. Begged, cried and pleaded for release. Provided help and aid. We would have sent out warnings, to stand up and fight, or run. We would have guarded, as a refuge of protection. Crumbled in protest.
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished about a year ago in Poets- First Place in Quadru-haiku Challenge
Smoke Signal Rising
My wounds gather stones and blindly build walls. Alone, can’t chisel their hold. // Flame of my spirit dimmed, closed in by my trowel-
Kristen BalyeatPublished about a year ago in Poets - Second Place in Quadru-haiku Challenge
American Northwest Summer (on Mountainside)
Rain pounds roses from the earth; wind-swept flames wear them as a scorched perfume.
T.R. TadhgPublished about a year ago in Poets Vocal + Assist
My name is Rick Henry Christopher. For the longest time most of you have known me simply as Rick Henry. Recently, I added Christopher to my name as a way of paying tribute to my fantastic brother Chris who unexpectedly passed away in 2021 at the young age of 58. I miss him greatly and think of him daily.
Rick Henry ChristopherPublished about a year ago in GeeksQuadru-haiku Challenge Winners
Every day, we walk into our offices thinking how we can make Vocal better. It's a never ending task that we love trying to accomplish. But what's most fun about this daily challenge is that we often look to our Creators to guide us.
Vocal Curation TeamPublished about a year ago in ResourcesThank You, Willie O'Ree
Funny story; a fear I had when watching hockey as a kid was that I wouldn't be able to find the puck, hence why I was grateful to the NHL on FOX for giving us the glow puck. I never thought I'd be into hockey as much as I am now. And no, it wasn't because I'm Black. Mainly, it was because I didn't have cable as a kid. Basketball, baseball, and football were available daily without cable, but hockey really wasn't. I followed everything via the sports section and only watched the All-Star Game because it was on a non-cable channel. When I got cable in 1997, I watched more hockey...way more.
Clyde E. DawkinsPublished about a year ago in UnbalancedIf Walls Could Talk, Could We Hear Them?
If The Wall(s) could talk, could we hear them, even if they were on The Dark Side of The Moon? How would we know? Would they ring a Division Bell that called Animals
Cathy holmesPublished about a year ago in PoetsBlack History When You're "Not Quite" Black
Being mixed race is a funny place to be during Black History Month. And I don’t mean funny in the “ha ha” sort of way. I mean funny in the sense that it’s a strange place to be.
Rarities
Living centurions. 4 leaf clovers. Lifetime love. Fresh leftovers. Shooting stars. Volcanic eruptions. Solar eclipses.
Kristen BalyeatPublished about a year ago in PoetsEmotional Vampire
Thoughts are racing Emotions are void Here we go One more exploit Living on the edge Way past extreme You're scared as hell
The Mystery of Woolley Dam
When the Dobsons moved into their new home, Colin was delighted to discover an overgrown lake at the end of his lane – an otherwise no-through road.
Diane WordsworthPublished about a year ago in FictionThe Craft of Cinematic Prose
One Arabian summer, a notorious street rat cons his way into courtship with the local princess. Between swaths of Robin Williams one-liners and cultural stereotypes, he offers the princess a world tour via magic carpet. As they take to the skies, the suitor serenades his love with a now-iconic ballad, beginning with these words:
Addison HornerPublished about a year ago in MotivationBlack History Month: The Murder Of Emmett Till
If anyone were to ever ask the question of when exactly did the American Civil Rights movement begin, they would probably receive multiple responses. Perhaps the best response that one could give would be August 28th, 1955. It was on this day that one of the most senseless and brutal murders in American history took place, the murder of Emmett Louis Till. This was also the day that darkness was brought to the light in a way that would change the world forever.
Joe PattersonPublished about a year ago in JournalThe Reader
Detective Harrigan swept together the photos of the the dead girl and tucked them back into the folder. She had no more answers for him today than she did yesterday. He closed the folder and called it a day.
Shane DobbiePublished about a year ago in FictionDEVIL'S CIGAR
Mushrooms can be poisonous or edible you see. However, the Devil's Cigar was a surprise to me. It looks like a fuzzy brown cigar growing from the ground.
Babs IversonPublished about a year ago in PoetsWrite Here, Write Now: The Not-Deer by Chelsea Catherine
A remote destination to call your own...but what if you aren't really alone? Idyllic woods can quickly become the stuff of nightmares when fear takes over. Chelsea Catherine's "The Not-Deer" ushers us into a world that may be closer than you think.
Write Here, Write Now: A Vocal PodcastPublished about a year ago in Resources