Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
Jonathan Groff ignites the stage on Broadway
Our craft ignites a page
The flow
The feeling
The correct word
A memorable performance and a standing ovation
A great review from readers
Maybe buy our book
Bravo no matter how you creatively ignite
Brave birds bop 
On bare branches outside;
Grandpa’s dominating morning —
Grey and makes everyone flee.
Logic larks: get up and walk, see!
But bed, with an abundance of blankets
And rain, lots of rain, drips don't be insane,
Get warm!
Despite this, cold sausages and coffee call:
“Eat me!”
And I do oblige.
Bullets, bombs, and broken glass
Shards, shells, left strewn
Across the floor
As thin as ice

A life built on lies
A past buried deep inside
A house of cards
You'll never know why

So, forget
That I'm hanging from the edge
Forget that I am
Finding courage through the pain

Through the tears
And the weakened nerves
Tell me
How to learn to live
Loose curls —
found scattered throughout 
my house
DNA traces —
Declaring existence
Beyond these poems;
Manifestations.
And fleeting interactions
In tight and wide-open 
Spaces.
The King's Birthday long weekend is proving to be a good muse.
We move through the night,
though the streets seem empty,
we look left and right,
electric vehicles are stealthy.

As we exercise stepwise, sunrise happens.
and black night fades its cover.
Like phoresy, painted, pieces of heaven,
the day opens with primary colors—
reds that delight, oranges that tease
and peacocking yellows that leaven.

As the counterfeit rainbow enchants and rouses,
streetlights waver and douse,
lights flicker on in houses,
and the earth blossoms active in borrowed hues.

Morning twinkles with its particular, angular light,
as we enter the still still lobby.
They’ve already set out the coffee!
With a sip, I feel the morning's started right.
.
.
Songs for this:
Day Tripper by MonaLisa Twins
Our Day Will Come by Amy Winehouse
You know that smile that reaches your eyes,                                                            ­                                                                                                              ­                                                        one  saved for love, the one for  surprise                                                    ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­               the one that's reserved, for no one but me                                                               ­                                                                 ­                                                                 ­            like my favorite dessert, made especially
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com
Dispatches for the Colonial Office

                                           Blueberry Portal


               “In dreams the fool is free from scorning voices”

                                         -C. S. Lewis, “Dymer”


In the drowsy, bee-sy afternoon
Picking blueberries in the white-sun heat
Voices. Conversation. But it’s only the bees
While the blueberries dance and spin and whirl

What do bees talk about? They don’t tell me
And I don’t need to know – but we’re all friends
And the dancing blueberries – they’re having fun
They welcome me into another world

The leaves write me little love-letters that say
How happy to have you home for an hour today!
born in the artic snow
she chromed
her heart
in steel

flames could
not
touch that heart

always a half a step ahead
sure
a few stumbles
but never a fall

and moonlight is just
a heartache in disquise

till one day
leaning out a car window
a scar upon his cheek
and the luck of the draw

was the jack of hearts

and the queen of diamonds
had
never met
anyone
quite like

the jack

of hearts,

black-haired blue-eyed
her beauty inspired
stupid men
to commit foolish acts

and as he smiled
the queen of diamonds
thought she had

the jack of hearts,

blue sky shimmering
in her eyes

jack became
the brightness
of her day

and the jack of hearts
saw a flame
flickering in her eyes
that he had never seen
in any women's eyes
before ...
                
               act. 2

... a strange destiny
was unraveling
and one long poker hand
was over
and the snowflakes came
down like ashes
under the street light

and then
the jack of hearts
walked away

a pale spirit fleeing
a graveyard
into the wall of night

and the queen of diamonds
cried

the sea into sky

with eyes
like twilight
waiting

to eat away the day
Next page