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 1 
 on: Today at 07:05:38 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by aerispaha
Wow, you wrote a whole song (or poem).  I like the references to singing in the piece.

 2 
 on: Today at 07:01:56 AM 
Started by aerispaha - Last post by aerispaha
A tiny splash.  Circles rippling from a corner of the black still water.  A pair of dragonflies strafe the sun streaked poolís edge. I imagine crickets dancing the tarantella to the sound of their castanets. A distant buzz above.  I shield my eyes from the sun as I look up to spy a lonely distant single prop airplane moving so slowly it seems to hover above me.  Another splash, and this time I see some minuscule amphibian appendage slip into the stagnant pool at the edge of the path through the woods.  A tadpole?  The dirty chocolate smell of wet leaves along the old canalís edge fill my senses.  I move on, my feet crunching on the hard gravel path.     

 3 
 on: Today at 05:09:43 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Frogs sing of tadpoles filling the night
Singing of the water life
Tadpoles and pollywogs swimming near the mud
And egg masses stretched between the reeds.

And the tadpoles donít hear the call, the call of the frog song
That song is sung out to the air
The tadpole has a water life and sleeps in the night
The frog song is only sung for them.

The frog is slimy to catch in your hand
The tadpole is really just wet
The pollywog with bulging eyes seems ready for the slime
The armour against dryness of the air.

Amphibian, amphibian, ambivalent of where
Life is lived yet breathing of the air
Salamanders breathe through their skin in the water rush
The tadpole wriggles everywhere.

Frogs sing of tadpoles, frogs sing of flies
Sing in the night on banks of ponds
Sing for the morning freshening the sky
For the birds to wake and take up the song.

 4 
 on: October 21, 2017, 06:33:59 AM 
Started by andrewpayne55 - Last post by andrewpayne55
Stay up all night revising
For this years next exams.
In order to progress in life
You must follow by our plans.
Slave away all evening,
Donít waste your time with friends.
You will thank us in the future
Its a tough means to an end.

Once you have been graded
You can move to the next class,
Then repeat it all again
With another set of tasks.
Donít think it finishes there,
There is college after school.
Then straight to university
Unless you want to be a fool.

Before you know it youíre twenty two
In debt and unemployed.
Finding solace in a beer can
To try and fill the void.
You were told that they would welcome you
Once you had paid your dues
Live life by the set formula
But you were sucked into a ruse.

Because after years of education.
Exams and little sleep.
You are back at the beginning
And the climb is far too steep.
No work without experience
No experience without work
You are back to cleaning tables
And your boss is still a jerk.

It is time to break the cycle
Gain independence and be free
You have to follow your hearts desires
In order to be happy.

 5 
 on: October 21, 2017, 05:31:56 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
Sheepskin blanket of security
Accomplishment of the years
No matter what else happens
Canít take this one away
Itís earned, itís over, itís real.

Theyíre mounted on the wall
In some offices
Diplomas from prestigious schools
But a published thesis is the true measure
The measure of knowledge thatís new.

Thereís regalia, patches on the arm
Like a sergeant showing his stripes
Thereís the end of privation
Turning each penny thrice
Thereís regret for whatís missed or lost.

Itís a piece of parchment, or just cardstock
Some still printed in latin
Not everybody gets one
Thereís no skin of a sheep
But you know that you know what you know.

 6 
 on: October 21, 2017, 05:20:43 AM 
Started by Chris Dudley - Last post by Chris Dudley
In France a man can wear a purse
At the hip, not a book bag
A sideways briefcase on a strap
A thing to hold his papers.

Itís normal there, like old soldiers
With cross straps on their shoulders
To carry provisions and musket shot
Bandages and a drawing.

The satchel is a woman's thing
For most I know around here
It has tissues and old breath mints
And a mystery of contents.

I pull a satchel up my back
If I am in a hurry
The bang and swing at the hip
Slows me with its worry.

But musket men who stand and die
As they reload in their lines
Theyíre standing still, feet planted
Their satchels do them service.

 7 
 on: October 20, 2017, 03:25:56 AM 
Started by andrewpayne55 - Last post by andrewpayne55
Its been well over a year
Since I last saw your face.
Since we said our last goodbyes
And I walked away in plain disgrace.
I have cried a thousand tears
Yet moved onwards with my life.
There is no turning back
No returning to the strife.
But deep within my mind
The pain is always there,
I have dug my own grave
And I have my cross to bare.
With every waking day
The question still remains;
Do you look on the past with fondness
Or have you pushed away the pain?
Have you kept all the mementos
All the gifts and souvenirs?
Did you throw them in the garbage
To wipe clean all of those years?

Last week I saw a photo
Of you smiling in the street,
You were carrying the satchel
That I had bought you as a treat.
Like a much needed awakening
I knew that you still cared.
You may have moved on as well as me
But the memories are still there.
These mementos are what make us,
What help us to stay sane.
They bring a ray of happiness
To cast aside the pain.

 8 
 on: October 19, 2017, 12:57:23 PM 
Started by Higgs88 - Last post by Higgs88
I wander the aisles, eyes scanning the shelves of plastic-packaged everything, tile floor, florescent lights it's like being in an operating room. Intercom voices drone down from the wall, I see every freckle on my skin come to life... Nose perks up at the smell of coffee and fast food a siren call from golden arches. Price tags with smiley faces contrast crabby customers my feet hurt and I'm thirsty as sin. The blue vests walk around, one restocking, one pushing a broom around wearing headphones, oblivious, I dodge out of the way. I forgot why I came in here now. My mouth waters at sugary snacks better pick up the pace, sighing, keeping temptation at bay... I can't wait until the holidays are over

 9 
 on: October 19, 2017, 12:32:43 PM 
Started by dccavi - Last post by dccavi
Dusty ground covered with bits of plastic and bread crumbs that stick into the bottoms of my soft, bare feet as I pop open the magnetic cupboard door for a glass to for bitter grapefruit juice. The air smells of coffee and I'm more aware of the heartbeat of the house. The AC's low hum grabs my attention as I make my way to the table where I idly flip through the paper, scanning the headlines and cartoons. Fifteen minutes until I'll need to shower for school. The clock ticks, second hand snapping with each movement. Hot, soapy water being slurped up by the drain, bubbles being sucked down with it. Dirt stains the walls of the tub, a stray hair or two stick to the ledge. Wet hands checking the time on a phone that lies face-down on clean clothes so it doesn't get too wet from the condensation that sticks to the mirror and creates a thin film on the walls. Everything shines and a fog hangs in the middle of the room, shaped by the air hissing from the fan. Gym floor with socks on, changing into tennis shoes, playing catch. Ping of aluminum from the makeshift cage. Caged lights, cloth balls aimed at the logo on the wall. Mown grass, sweet Gatorade and raisin bagels. Tents a home for the day. Pop of the starting gun

 10 
 on: October 19, 2017, 12:24:10 PM 
Started by oohl90 - Last post by oohl90
10/19/2017 - Broom

Frustration bubbles up inside my chest like a poisonous potion in a witchís cauldron. Anger spews from my lips in the form of a harsh chirps. Shaky hands reach for the broom in the closet. Old rough bristles squeal across the wood floor as my hands grip tighter than necessary to the cavernous wooden shaft. The repetitive back and forth motion of sweeping knocks me off my horse of ridicule and into a reluctant trance. Rotten spoils of food cover the floor littering the air with rank bitterness. My tongue traces my stale teeth in sync with the brooms flow. The mess is clearing easier than I had anticipated; I release a long sigh of relief thinking to myself, ďyou had a long day, maybe this was just what you needed to blow off some steam.Ē I return the broom to itís hiding place. The dark hallway closet with a creaking door welcomes it back with open arms. I wonder if the broom is lonely tucked away in the dark?; before swiftly closing the door. I call upstairs in a calm tone, ďKids? Where are you?Ē With no reply, my stomach sinks a bit until I spot a yellow sticky on the refrigerator door.

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