by Amy Covel I’m not here To be a hero Just a world-shaker Here to erupt As a volcano A ticking time bomb Whose time is up Remembered only For that one sudden Explosion.
Posts Tagged creative writing
Boomerang and Sadie
by Cynthia Roby Boomerang was Sadie’s man, and he got his name by definition: Every time she threw the lying cheater out, she’d cry, howl, and moan, all before that need-to-satisfy ache in her groin pried her thighs apart and let her Boomer back in—until the dag-gone fool never returned….
Sea Glass
by Gil Hoy When you’re a bottle 29 years go by fast, Not necessarily so for a little girl. Through Hurricane Hugo The whipping winds The crashing rain The stones that missed You, you survived intact to tell the tale of an 8 year old girl who walked along the…
This Land is Your Land
by Aila Alvina Boyd The temperature was hot and the sun was unforgiving. It was a horrible day to have a graveside service, but nevertheless, events such as that aren’t typically scheduled based on the weather or convenience. It was the first time in nearly 50 years that all of…
A Man Walks into a Bar
by Robert Barhite I hate cops. I grew up in Postville, Iowa, way up in the northeast corner of the state and not too far from the Mississippi River. Nothing much ever changed in my hometown. I went to the same red brick two story grade school built in 1908…
Making Her Way
by Elliott Laurence She’s closer to ninety there she is though this sunny morning making her way Hitch in her stride cane in hand. years of osteo’ I’d bargain have left her hunched over. Past the used car lot. Pushing her way past the H&R Block. Never seen her turn…
Kiss Of The Cantaloupe
by James Jackson Sweet-suckled Slovenian lips– Cleveland where I found you, Columbus were you lost. Some days a black blanket we would lay under to seek stars seeking something cold & how our temperatures dropped over the years. We’d burn nights matchstick young, whiskey and coke, peel clothes to cool–…
Red, She Goes
by Emily Graham Nestled in the countryside of a sleepy, north-eastern town, Sat a simple- little house on a hill. The long, stone driveway was framed by uncut grass and pine trees. Rundown buildings dotted the empty field. The sun had begun his weary decent to the horizon When the…
I Wrote A Poem For My Best Friend’s Wedding
by Mike Cohen First of all, I have to thank Mrs. Popkin. I mean, Alice. I know, I know. I’ll try not to do that again, Alice. But it’s hard to call someone Alice who drove you to Hebrew class, not to mention dancing lessons, when you were a little…
Wall
by Amaree Semrau It was yellow. “How about lemon-pie?” “I prefer butter-biscuit.” “Isn’t that a bit… dull?” Barry huffed. “If I have to live with it everyday, I’d rather it not be shouting at me every time I go in the room.” “But it should be cheery, Babe,” Martha whined….