Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Flowers outside the schoolroom grew bigger and brighter of their own volition. " Alice, Alice !" the teacher called.  All she saw was a saucer eyed girl sitting,  staring out the window. Sober as a Deacon she sat there with her mind blow-stitched to the earth.  Fireworks burst in the sky as a big purple blubber bounced out "Alice, Alice" ssssssssss was the sound it made as it  cupped out O with a sticky jelly mouth.  
he was from outer space
unlike her own race
he was soooo, gooey gooey!!!
A slight change in atmosphere and suddenly Alice fell topsy-turvy into a dark hole.  Exotic energy clung to her as she spun out of control and dropped into an inter-stellar tunnel filled with brilliant stars. Faster than the speed of light she travelled into a non existent wormhole.  A sweet little paper plate with eyes, nose and mouth greeted her on the other side. He spoke the infographics of his knowledge to her, sending shock waves of pleasure to her extra-sensory perception with telepathic communication;    
Lost in gravity waves  
time dilation ...  
She arrived safely.
Oh the flowers, the flowers were everywhere! Each specific tessitura sang to her in baritone, soprano, mezzo soprano and tenor.  It was an elevation of the highest senses.  Through vertical angles the sound was outsourced, so she listened with continuum " Alice, Alice " is what they sang in chorus.  She tried to determine where the melody was coming from but deep down she knew that this heavenly music was an extension of her and them.  Oh what a sweet tonality it was, both subdued and energetic at the same time. As the galaxies split, the tidal forces merged together and suddenly it made no difference where she was or how she got there. All she knew was she was finally home !
 15h
renseksderf
"right here, right now"

all we have is right now—
that morning you dropped your umbrella
and puddles burst into applause

looking for the right person—
then seeking the right time—
chasing seconds like fireflies

pinpointing the right place:
location, location, location—
our compasses spinning free

so here’s the thesis: home lives in joined footsteps—
come wander with me
when all we’ve got is right here... right now



.
 16h
Imran Islam
To fall in love— is it right or wrong?
When it compels me to feel so young.

Memories of love aren’t light to bear,
They often make me laugh and tear!

I held someone’s hand to walk so long,
She pushed me away and left me alone!

I cannot forget her company and care;
I long for the days we once did share!
I'll be the flower in your garden
Golden mustard yellow ones
So rich. warm and soft
Like the sun with a blanket on

Nature is a gift.
I saw a pretty picture
This sound,
like a friendly wind,
walking through
my lost memories
from irreversibility,
from the cold reality
of indifference
returning to fulfilling promises
as an answer to my invocation

A unique, sweet sound
is calling me now,
after twenty-five years.
I bought that ticket,
sitting in my narrow seat,
holding in my hand
a piece of uncertainty
that deforms
every time I get on board.

I used to take so many trains:
traces, luggage, running passengers,
waiting, wasting minutes.
They brought me,
step by step,
station by station,
to this voice,
to this tone of being,
in tune with silver threads.

The windows are yet closed.
I carry in my cells
the code of Alef,
a crystalline illusion.

The lens caves in
and swells outward,
seeing the elusive past
still living in me,
playing under a different sun,
through elusive existences.

We came as twenty-one souls.
Twenty I found.
One was lost—
the one closest
to my breathing truth.

The final deal:
Am I losing
or will I rest
in deeper words?

Yes.
I did it for you,
changing alternative worlds,
pulsing around me,
invitations not accepted.

I open the gate
to a new home:
to warmth,
to creativity,
made by sweet recognition
of blooming Fall to come
waiting patiently
for your move
for your not-yet-published story.
 1d
badwords
If you get it, you lost it.


I am here
(On this platform it is evident for your reading now)
I express myself
(Heads scratching, wondering what and how?)


I share pieces of me
(A defragmented glimpse of an experience deemed ‘worthwhile')
Callous, sensuality?
(Or a traitor in sheep cosplay?)


A dead-end hi-way?
Or this pawn from yesterday?
Here, your final say


This family we never asked
Amontillado without it's cask
Dry and cheery
Heart’s are bleary
We own this laborious task

My sins are scrollable, thumbed in haste,
Wrapped in ribbons of curated taste.
A gallery of masks, all timed just right,
My shadow dances in the ring light.
What of shame when shame gets likes?
What of thought when thought’s in spikes?
I weep in drafts, but post a grin—
The world won’t wait for the shape I’m in.
So brand the bruise, then sell the hue:
A wellness tip in sponsored blue.
This self I host in feedback’s cage—
A pet, a post, a digital page.
I bare my soul (or just its shell).
You’ll never know. I sell it well.

I logged on seeking something undefined,
A tether, maybe—some reciprocal ache.
But all I found were mirrors misaligned,
Each smile too wide, each word opaque.

The comments pile like leaves, not read.
Applause from ghosts, replies from ghosts.
I feed the feed, it feeds instead—
A hunger that consumes its hosts.

I draft a truth. I dress it twice.
Add polish. Then delete.
I write in blood, convert to nice,
Make trauma fit a beat.

No lesson left. No higher shelf.
Just one more version of myself.
 1d
Maddy
I can find you in the dark
By touch
The blue eyes shine and glow
The music is soft rock
Cotton
Satin
Silk
With all the laughter
The Joy
The tears
Hoping for many more loving and lovely years
For your eyes only
Sputters in the thick of night
setting the pathway ablaze!  
Flavors of foretimes return
bittersweet as my spirit;
A street lamp pours out sweetly,  
upon my shoulders of bare.
Recalling honey-dew words
I weep, ...bitter tears for you.
Crystal gusts whistle—
fox paws print icy gravel
by evergreen pines
Because I get fixated on haiku sometimes.
Time, like dry sand,
Trickles between the fingers.
Substance-less it flows
As if the yesterdays
Had no more importance
Than the tomorrows?
As if the complexity
Of just, being,
Quantified the
Resultant meaningfulness,
Of the ebb and the flow?

For twixt the expanse
Of birth and death
Lies the pulsing vacuum
Of time, of being.

Indulgently,
It is ladled, consumed
With the importance
Of self.
In actuality
It emulates a flatulence,
A triviality,
A nothingness
Of ego,
A vanity!

For where
In these four-score,
Years of Life,
Or so,
Lies substance?
An actual achievement
Beyond that
Of self-indulgence?

Search the avenue
Of your
Halls of Conscience.....
Candidly,
With certitude
And with deep,
UTTER TRUTH!

And in all
Honesty,
Can you deny
This Great Void
As being, actually
Comprised,
Otherwise?

M@Foxglove.Taranaki.NZ
27 July 2025
Tic-toc sings the clock
Where's the meaning,
Does it stop?
Is it black or is it white
Filled with promise or of fright?
Why this quest of four score years
As indulgence perseveres?
Why compulsions grasp for more
Reveals why we slam the door?
Tic-toc sings the clock
Laughing now, to sadly mock!

Uncomfortable about this?
I'm not asking you to reveal anything but I am demanding that you search your soul with integrity.
This write is not about sunsets and daffodils, this is about your grit and the fire poetry instills in your heart!
M.
Next page