Featured Writing

Nightfall

by George Freek The sparrow builds her nest,but the wren sleeps in it.The world’s a nasty place,even for the human race.Stars fade on a bleak night,Stars fade on a bleak night,and December windsnose through the streetslike hungry swine,searching for scraps to eat.The moon climbs the sky,like a curtain on a…

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SNHU Student Posts

Victory Farming

by Leslie Chehade Rise misty dawning A full raspberry bush drops green cereal bowl. And noontime combusts Dampened petals, sprinkler prayssodden bandana Evenfall gloaming Awhile tomato pie bakes Gone the garden spade

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Wisdom on the Sidewalk

by Becky Earle I wanted to carry him everywhere, but His words wore a hole in my pocket,And before I knew it, the scrap of A notecard, rumpled and worn from Fondling, fell to the street at the Corner of Clark and Pine. The shadow that saw it fall Tapped…

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Me

by Amy Covel It’s always just been meMyselfAnd INever youOr someone else I’ve lived life on my ownOn the edgeAll by myself‘Cause no oneCould ever keep upOr copeWith who I am I’ve started runningAnd I won’t stopUntil I dieBut no one can understandThis is my futureMy five-step plan But youdaredTo challenge…

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A Gunshot

by Khristy L. Knudtson I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful      since I was a child and since I was your “Muffin.”I focused and realized your face has not looked this beautiful      since it was illuminated in the middle of these crosshairs.The smooth, crescent moon of the trigger      carressed…

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If I’m Being Honest

By: Julie Worsham If I’m being honest I wake up each day filled with apprehension Am I the right one to do this job Am I capable of delivering this lesson? If I’m being honest I wonder if a day will ever come when I actually reach youYou staring back…

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Father

By: Kristal Peace More and more Often now, The oak tree in the center of Our yard inexplicably Begins to weep. Every day, for two weeks, Its branches sag, and its leaves cascade To the ground, like the stream Of a waterfall, drenching the entire lawn. But It is Summer,…

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Book of poems open on a table with a teacup and flowers.

The Translator

by Kristal Peace Poetry is the sound of the soul Crying. It is the way the heart speaks when there is no one Who will listen. It is the voice of those who have been compelled to be Silent For so long. Poetry is Pain: Distilled.

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Reading Mary Oliver

by The Poet Darkling I gaze upon the poet;her words – ponderless, profound;deep and dark and blue –and think,what such have I to offerfrom my humble beginningsor my sordid pastto justify the title of poet? To answer the unanswerable? To defend my consumptionof fish, of fowl, of air, of love?…

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Time’s Up

by Chantae Eaton “Beep beep, beep beep.” His alarm sounded promptly at six a.m., the same as it had every Monday since his eighteenth birthday. Today it did not fulfill its duty in rousing him. Rufus was already awake and had been for some time. He’d spent the last three…

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Journey’s End

by Kristal Peace My confidant… How did we get here againTo knives thrownHoles madeVows shatteredFeelings swayed. My ally… When did we find our way backTo moments beforeCivilized discourseTo rage and fearAnd throats screamed hoarse. My sympathizer… Why do we prefer the roadAdorned with bramblesThistles and thornsLittered with grudgesAnd studded with…

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