Once there was a king who built a castle of emptiness up in the stars. He could watch the whole world through his telescope, The lives of each and every mortal soul unfolding like a book. Only, the emptiness he kept in his treasure chamber grew day by day, Like a black viscous ooze that…
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The plain honest truth is, We all live afraid Afraid of not being loved, Afraid that being in love will hurt, Afraid we aren’t enough. I used to lock my fears like monsters, Away behind layers of iron doors The slow steady scrape of their claws against steel shivered my bones And when they escaped,…
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There is a peace in the hills I sometimes hear Far away, a silence louder than sound, A wind that touches every hillside with the gentleness of a finger on a beloved face, When I was a child I wandered in that wind, Rejoicing in the far away and lonely places, The silver ripples the…
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Blue petals rain from a sky of flowers, If I can walk all the way up to the sky, Perhaps I can find the sun. They tell me the sun is an all-consuming ball of fire, But I am not ready to be consumed. So I think the sun will appear to me as a…
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It’s been a long time since I wrote. I wonder if the words will come. And yet, in a deep shivery corner of my self, I feel the words are waiting for me, They are standing in the long blue halls of my imagination, wrapped up in cloaks, and ready to spring awake at the…
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I live in the ghetto, and even though many people ask “how can you live there?” I really enjoy living there. This poem is about that experience I love you West Oakland.I love this abandoned little park I am sitting in now with the wrappers tossed and grass overgrown everywhereI love how the activists put…
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I’ve been writing literally since I was three years old, when I would dictate stories for my mother to write down & illustrate them with crayon. My most prolific period was 8th grade when I wrote a novel about a girl who was friends with a dragon. I continued to write throughout all of high…
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The commuters walk like arrows shot from a bow,Wearing their stylish hip-length coats, perfectly groomedThey seem to be staring straight ahead, but really their eyes are lockedOn some internal scene concerning the worries of the day.
It’s the skeptic who needs to doubt himself, It’s the loser who always wins. The rich don’t know the meaning of wealth, And the fish can’t find their fins.
I read this today. Richard Cole, 1929-2013 Grandma told me not to write anything too sad, So let’s start with a laugh.