A Mother

Submitted by Paula J on Sat, 03/29/2008 - 14:52

A mother is someone
who'll love you
when you act like
a jerk.
A mother is someone
who'll never give up hope
that you can do better.
A mother will listen to
you and offer advice.
A mother forgives and longs
to also be forgiven.
A mother hurts along
with you.
A mother is a true
friend,
somebody you can count on
when the going gets
rough.
A loving, godly mother
is certianly God's gift
to a child.

True Love

Submitted by Paula J on Sat, 03/29/2008 - 14:50

True love is
what I long for.
Something I don't miss
for I've never had.
True love is
something I look
forward too.
True love never forces,
pushes.
True love respects
each wish.
True love won't lie,
cheat or run around.

The Gardener's Confession

Submitted by Taylor on Sat, 03/29/2008 - 04:24
yes i did it
i confess to my crime
here are the particulars:

i came to steal a bit of earth
one early day in spring
no more than two, three trowels full
still right and left i looked
knowing well the thing i did was wrong
before i set to filling up my pail

i only need a little,
i said in my defense
what would the owner say?
tossed back my second thoughts
no more than two, three trowels full
it's nothing but a drop from the ocean
a little blue from
the skyscape of a starving

Conscious (Part One of Kelth)

Submitted by narcissisticmee on Fri, 03/28/2008 - 21:42
Confusion was the only thing that made sense the moment she opened her eyes. The back of her head ached with such a sharp pain, she knew it had to be the worst feeling she's ever had, even though she really didn't know if she had ever felt anything before. For one very long moment, she lay still, only the pain in her skull and the bewilderment in her mind accompanying her. Everything was black, and she wasn't quite sure why. She knew she wasn't closing her eyes; they felt like they were open, but for some reason, she figured she should have been able to see something.

Chapter Three

Submitted by Amy on Thu, 03/27/2008 - 18:58
Chapter Three

I watched my teacher’s pudgy hands hop on the piano keys, pounding out scales for warm-ups. Chrissy played some pretty emphatic warm-ups. I sang some pretty emphatic warm-ups. I let my voice fill the entire room, pushing against the walls, as if it longed for a larger, more acoustic space.

“Don’t force it, Miriam...come up on top...there we have it.” Chrissy critiqued. “Now for the Handel. Let’s work on the Delirio.”

Unrequited Love

Submitted by Kyleigh on Thu, 03/27/2008 - 12:40

Unrequited Love
Unrequited love,
Nailed upon a tree.
Broken hands,
Holding me.

Unrequited love,
A traitor to His law,
Deserving death for disobedience,
His forgiving what He saw.

Unrequited love,
Nailed upon a tree.
Fading lungs,
Giving breath to me.

Unrequited love,
Wrapped up in a sheet.
Arms drawing me,
To dance to a different beat.

Unrequited love,
Sealed into a grave.
Eyes boring into mine,
Daring me to be brave.

Come Home

Submitted by Tamerah on Thu, 03/27/2008 - 05:23

Weary child
Come home
Rest your tired wings
That have soared so high
And fallen so far
Do you remember
I am always here
To catch you
I love you
Even when you fall
Battered and bruised
I will comfort you
You know I long to
If you will only come home.
You have cried alone
But you do not know
That I hold all yours tears
In my hand
I was there when you wept
I was there when you ran
But you would not see
You cover your eyes
And you hid from me.

Of Bones

Submitted by Ezra on Wed, 03/26/2008 - 12:44

A valley:
Dark and deep
And hidden in the vestiges of time;
Reserved in shadows for when time is done
Forbidden, dry and bleak and white,
Beyond the hallows of the ancient sun;
Rest place of the reaper’s blade
Of bones

Jacob’s death
Lies old and silent there
Beneath the ceaseless, sunless light of doom
And cries:
Blood-red and dry and dusty tears
For hope cut off, and perished
Beneath a pogrom’s
Snowy moon

Sonnet 116

Submitted by luke on Wed, 03/26/2008 - 04:16

Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O no! it is an ever-fixed mark
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom.

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