Poets-N-Prose

Waste not a word.

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Politics

I hate how everything you say is so calculated. Your manipulative, painstakingly precise speech- Is turning heads, making waves. You sound like a man outside himself, Like a recording played over a loop. To accompany a wax figure, So real and lifelike. They fall like putty in your hands, Succumbing to your words. Your moderate analogies, Your lyrical inaccuracies, Have got me feeling so absurd. You sweat, like vegetables in a frying pan, The guilty, under a high voltage lamp. So convenient for you, to have the moral high ground. Relying on the support of the lowbrow. Your grandiose statements and feigned cheer, Are moving them closer, A

Poems- Philosophy Social Political Spiritual

When Love Dies

Your words, once kind and sweet Turned bitter and mean. My thoughts, once so careless and free Turned clouded and blue. The smile ever present on your face, is nowhere to be seen. My laugh, once constant now a distant memory. Not sudden- it’s gradual. Like the trickle of sand in an hourglass. It turned on its head Leaving us both torn The dread. The inevitable silence. It ends.

Poems- Romantic

F33-405 (The Battle Angel)

[Loading Scripture…] „The goat shall carry on itself all their sins to a solitary place…“ – Leviticus 16:22 [Synchronizing…] [Phase 1: Heaven Hath No Fury] Endless wastelands rule the ground, The judgement day has passed. To the scrapyard we are bound, Where humans die and cyborgs last. Hunters fight in every street, We kill and slice and maim. All is iron, blood and heat, A battlefield no man can tame. A city floats above the earth, Its shadows drown the sand. To decadence this town gave birth, Raptured from the dust-filled land. Dreaming in this endless night, We’re waiting to arise. Morning

Poems- Sci-fi and Fantasy

Unique

Poems- Visual

Diary Entry No. 4

My feelings have never been like this before. Now that's a lie and I know it true Something's missing. It's not that obvious My home, family, love and work are all fine. Fine I stop longing for friendships. I keep myself busy It's Christmas soon. That puts me in a melancholy mood It's a time that I am standing here. But floating a million miles away Disconnected From my feelings, from the world. I no longer believe in "one true love(s)" I believe that relationships are hard and take a lot of work. It doesn't mean that I'm unhappy. Well, not exactly. I simply just want more. I don't want to settle, and this doesn't feel like that,

Poems- General

Spirals

My spirals are intertwined. The circles, the cycles, The all-consuming nightmares. My thoughts do not evade me, As much as my hope fails me. I’m told that it’s ok, to feel this way, It’s “normal”. But if it were up to me. I’d count to three. And skip, fast forward.

Prosetry- General

Chosen

There was a lone tree atop a hill, old and gnarled, bearing the wounds of a lengthy life. We saw it standing out in the distance against a cloudless sapphire sky when we took the path beyond the village on a lazy summer afternoon. Its wood was dark, and its leaves shone brilliantly in the sunlight like delicate emerald flames. "It's as if it was calling out to us," you said as we ran along the narrow path, heading for the lake where we planned to meet the other kids and play and swim until late evening. You were right; I also felt some force pulling me magnetically towards the tree as the branches swayed in the warm breeze, waving arms invit

Prose- Children's

Prose- Emotional

Prose -Erotica

Star light, star bright

"Where did I go wrong? You were such a lively and loving boy," she said, as she threw her hands in the air, clearly giving up. Her words were cut and stuttered here and there through tears and sobs; Eyes bloodshot and spilling water like bloated clouds. "You didn't even have imaginary friends as a kid, you used to name the stars and talk to them every night. You'd chronicle your days of helping wounded birds, putting my change in the red kettles during Christmas, volunteering at community events and dragging me along, all to your twinkling friends in the sky you named KeeKee and CooKoo." My grandma spit words at me like daggers. Meaning to

Prose- Family Life

The Library on the Bayou - Part 1

It was only thirty minutes into Dr. Thurston’s Cultural Analysis of Ancient Languages lecture and the urge to sleep was already clawing at the edges of my mind. I’d been his Teaching Assistant for three semesters and grading during class had ceased to be interesting long ago. As I scanned through yet another paper of uninspired dross, my mind began to wander. The work that these students were asked to analyze fascinated me when I first read it five years ago, and the thought that I was using these ancient words to learn about a society that disappeared thousands of years ago was thrilling to the point of near-eroticism. Even

Prose- Horror

Enlightenment

The credits scrolled, and Damon returned to reality. He stretched his arms. "You missed a good movie!" he called out to no one there. 11:00. Too soon for bed, and besides, he was hungry. He rose from the recliner and ambled across the apartment. Kyle's door was closed of course, so he knocked. "Yeah?" "I'm thinking of going out. You interested?" Just as Damon was about to walk away, Kyle provided the first of several surprises. "Sure, why not." "Whoa, really? Awesome! You wanna transform? I can bring along the Frisbee." "Yeah, but don't bother with the Frisbee." "Cool, I'll get ready!" Damon slipped off his socks and smiled as his f

Prose- Humor

Foxy Criminal

Charge Detective Ace was a man of many talents. A past cop syndicate never caught, turned over a new leaf, and is now a brilliant head of a detective agency. New leaf and all, there was still one vice Charge Ace could never let go of, his love of women. He practically had as many crime case files as he had files on past, present, and future partners. He had plenty of crime case files, mind you. That aside, Ace keeps a secret so dark, so deep, that it still haunts this dashing detective's mind, and now here it is, creeping out before him in the form of a case file on his desk this unusually chilly April morning. Her name was Helena, and she

Prose- Mystery

Chocolate

It was the middle of the night. High in chocolate's sugar rush, eyes wide with worry, mind buzzing with regret. Is this all there is? Nights spent awake, days spent tired and irate, all because somewhere at some point two people decided to give you life… Look, everything isn’t so bad. Sometimes sleep comes, and despite it all you get a break. But then the morning comes. The morning comes, it’s bright and crisp air fills you with promise, hope and aspirations that appear to be just out of your reach. Maybe if you stretched just a little bit further, worked that little bit harder, smiled that little bit wider. Maybe, maybe you could... But no, as great a promise as the sunshine had made for you- the night came and took it away. Night, oh ruthless night. Let me sleep, and let me dream, dream of a brighter tomorrow.

Prose- Narrative

Daily observation part one

Arian smokings Drinking coffee Oblivious to the stranger Pacing pavement Logging spaces From one end To another.

Prose- Nonfiction and Creative Nonfiction

Deny Yourself

Deny Yourself And Be Saved It is easier to stop now than it is to stop later. for once you've tasted the sweetness of the fruit; you can't help but seek it out over and over again.

Prose- Philosophy Social Political Spiritual

Prose- Romantic

Walking With Sharks

Somewhere in the universe of time, there's a place where the streets and homes and people and animals are just like ours. Where men and women go to jobs in skyscrapers and farms, where they patrol the streets and safeguard homes, where they fight fires and heal wounds, where they go to school and play or read like children do. Where coffee shops and bakeries wake the sleeping, and bars and restaurants close the night out. Where the moon sings sweet lullabies, and the sun and rain play chess. And somewhere in the universe, a man walks to work in a black business suit and tie, with shiny black shoes and trimmed black hair. With the world at his

Prose- Sci-fi and Fantasy

Lost Thoughts - Volume One: The Vessel

“Did you hear what Churchill said on the radio Leopold?” Eleonora asked for what seemed like the millionth time. “He said that we can have a brief period of rejoicing now that Germany has surrendered!” As much as I would have liked to rejoice, I was still far too tired to feel anything other than precisely being tired. Eleonora had also neglected to mention the fact that Churchill also said that there was still a long and hard road ahead. The Japanese continued to fight and the journey across the Pacific would be a long one. “Honestly I don’t know how we can rejoice when there’s nothing left of the

Prose- General

Insanity

my heart is glittered with revulsion. I feel your devotion deep, deep, deep under my skin. Your sour lips are tranquil to my skin. your touch like a cold fish. your mouth like a dagger. my heart is golden grains of sand. all alone. forever empty golden skillet. Golden Pan. Broken Broken. Hole. help for i am here. help fore i am lost help for you have nothing help me or get lost. i need love. i need love i need love shoot me. Sign my gun. kiss my lips. and undergo. the final surrender. of your soul. Surrender. Pretender. Surrender. Sleep until you wake. Kiss until you bake. Sleep. Sleep. Sleep. Do not torture. Do not tame. Do not move.

Found Word

Prompts

This folder is for all prose that is suspenseful, or could be considered a thiller.

Foxy Criminal by Sammur-amat, literature

Literature

Foxy Criminal

Charge Detective Ace was a man of many talents. A past cop syndicate never caught, turned over a new leaf, and is now a brilliant head of a detective agency. New leaf and all, there was still one vice Charge Ace could never let go of, his love of women. He practically had as many crime case files as he had files on past, present, and future partners. He had plenty of crime case files, mind you. That aside, Ace keeps a secret so dark, so deep, that it still haunts this dashing detective's mind, and now here it is, creeping out before him in the form of a case file on his desk this unusually chilly April morning. Her name was Helena, and she

The Murderer by capricordestin, literature

Literature

The Murderer

To be able to kill, once more, would've felt like heaven. He imagined himself being on the streets again, in a big yet quiet town. He imagined himself walking behind a middle-aged woman, maybe arm in arm with her grumpy husband. He would pass her, slowly, while observing the wrinkled face, some locks of grey hair unconcealed. The extravagant Gucci, which was meant to show how different she was— obviously, she was just as different as every woman of her age. The clamping high-heeled shoes, blue veins meandering through her skin. He could smell her perfume, a strong scent of dated nail polish and petrol. He would probably give her a pol

The Prisoner by capricordestin, literature

Literature

The Prisoner

He forced a smile upon his face and gazed through the grey, steel bars in his small room. The square outside, three levels lower, was plain and without any sign of vegetation whatsoever. He wasn't allowed to go outside, but couldn't care less about some asphalt-covered plaza. He had always loved nature. The smell of freshly sown grass, the sight of the trees dancing at the rhythm of wild winds and the absolute feeling of insignificance that used to overwhelm him. Nothing would matter, he wouldn't matter. He missed that feeling like hell. Shades of green covered most of his dreams, and it soothed him somewhat that his unconsciousness hadn't fo

The Stargazer by capricordestin, literature

Literature

The Stargazer

The boy was trembling in fear, eighteen feet above the ground. After a quick glance down, he knew his fears had been fulfilled. They were here. He had been sitting there for hours, grateful for every second he could spend away from them. This spot, hidden between the branches of the highest tree in a three mile radius, was perfect for such purposes, although he knew they'd come looking for him, eventually. But he'd always been so certain that they would never actually find him. In his childish naivety he'd always hoped for the best, he'd always hoped for a place he could finally call home. Pressed against the thick stem, mud all over his fac

Tonight by soggycabbage, literature

Literature

Tonight

Atop a flickering streetlight sat a small bird, emblazoned with a fiery red chest. A fine, misty rain cascaded through the pulsing light; almost like a nervous, timid heartbeat which faltered and went out. It was the only light of the twelve or so other lights in range that had gone out, so to those people walking past, this absence was hardly a huge inconvenience. Most scurried past quickly due to the light rain, but in their hearts they paced faster to reach to glow of the next streetlight. There is something uncomfortable about a darkness where there is supposed to be light. It draws the eye but the eye wants to escape it. And now the spot