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    WD Poetic Form Challenge: Sijo

    Categories: Robert Lee Brewer's Poetic Asides Blog, WD Poetic Form Challenge, What's New.

    You knew it was coming–the next WD Poetic Form Challenge!

    This time around, we’re trying out the sijo, a three-line Korean poetic form. It’s more lyrical than a haiku, and there are more syllables. Click here to read how to write a sijo.

    Once you down the rules of sijo, start writing them and sharing here on the blog for a chance to be published in Writer’s Digest magazine–as part of the Poetic Asides column.

    Here’s how the challenge works:

    • Challenge is free. No entry fee.
    • The winner (and sometimes a runner-up or two) will be featured in a future edition of Writer’s Digest magazine as part of the Poetic Asides column.
    • Deadline 11:59 p.m. (Atlanta, GA time) on February 23, 2014.
    • Poets can enter as many sijo (sijos?) as they wish. The more “work” you make for me the better.
    • All poems should be previously unpublished. If you have a specific question about your specific situation, just send me an e-mail at robert.brewer@fwmedia.com. Or just write a new sijo.
    • I will only consider sijo shared in the comments below. It gets too confusing for me to check other posts, go to other blogs, etc.
    • Speaking of posting, if this is your first time, your comment may not appear immediately. However, it should appear within a day (or 3–if shared on the weekend). So just hang tight, and it should appear eventually. If not, send me an e-mail at the address above.
    • Please include your name as you would like it to appear in print. If you don’t, I’ll be forced to use your screen name, which might be something like HaikuPrincess007 or MrLineBreaker. WD has a healthy circulation, so make it easy for me to get your byline correct.
    • Finally–and most importantly–be sure to have fun!


    Get started in writing!

    Click here to learn more.


    Robert Lee Brewer

    Robert Lee Brewer

    Robert Lee Brewer is Senior Content Editor of the Writer’s Digest Writing Community and already a fan of the sijo, because of its lyrical nature. He’s the author of Solving the World’s Problems (click here to check out a special offer on the book) and a former Poet Laureate of the Blogosphere. He’s currently set to read poetry in Seattle, Hickory (NC), and Austin–but he’s always open to adding to his schedule. Follow him on Twitter @robertleebrewer.


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    About Robert Lee Brewer

    Senior Content Editor, Writer's Digest Community.

    606 Responses to WD Poetic Form Challenge: Sijo

    1. lionetravail says:

      “Come on over”, my mother said, “and we’ll bake things together”.
      A quiet Sunday afternoon; butter, eggs, flour, sugar.
      Oven at three-fifty, yielding fresh-baked memories for two.

    2. cholder says:

      I write, fight for the life breathing inside, though I pay a price
      Passion powers my hand, verse my cryptonite, poesy my vice
      Providing nourishment to my soul, illuminating my mind

      Chi Holder

    3. RUTH R. B. says:

      Why isn’t my Sijo posting??

      • If you’re new to the site, your first couple of posts go through an approval process (to make sure the account isn’t a spammer account). When it happens on a weekend it takes me a couple of days to catch up as I go through them personally.

        Thanks for your patience and it should be up now.
        Online Editor

    4. cholder says:

      Intricate webs of duplicitous wonder—why do you bother?
      Intersecting threads spun to fool, but I am no one’s fool
      Exhausted yarns woven into the fabric of your truth

      Chi Holder

    5. cholder says:

      A resurrection is coming; the phoenix rises in the east
      Sets fire to his only home as crimson paints the western sky
      On a nest of cinnamon he burns; hope is a flame eternal

      Chi Holder

    6. RUTH R. B. says:


      The world is full of broken glass, lying shattered on the ground.
      The glistening sun points out the pieces: broken hearts and shattered dreams.
      Though the world is broken, it’s in the broken beauty’s born.

    7. PressOn says:

      THE OLD MINSTRELS (sijo)

      Us old folks recall the songs folks singers sang in olden times;
      all are gone, folks and singers, gone to far lands beyond all time
      but their songs had their own sweet rhymes. So, let’s sing them one more time.

      William Preston

    8. The Singer Tells Me

      The singer tells me that, since menopause, she’s lost the voice she had.
      She likes to sing with others now, who are giving all they have.
      ‘I too,’ she says, ’Give all I have. I must let that be enough.’

    9. cholder says:

      She brushes the girl’s matted hair, a tangled mess of neglect
      A simple act of compassion, gently soothing tortured tresses
      Now she brings her teacher ribbons, bound by satin strands of love

    10. DanielR says:

      Awakened, I watch a scary shadow claw my window screen
      Superman blankets offer little protection from monsters
      Mama hugs me tight; I will never climb that tree again

      Daniel Roessler

    11. DanielR says:

      You cuckoo to me, announcing my procrastination
      Banded in ornamental splendor, my traveling companion
      Taken for granted, when you should be cherished and treasured

      Daniel Roessler

    12. Jane Shlensky says:

      I’m on a Sijo roll for the last few days. Love this form’s ability to limit my meandering…


      Dawn’s light will spark ice diamonds astounding dozing ground
      under new blue-capped day, gray mist burned off like remembered loss.
      Trees will puff with green promise, tales of bloom, blue birds winging. Just wait.

    13. Jane Shlensky says:


      When problems come in rags and empty-eyed, she opens wide her door.
      They take her home, explore, make her a slave to being kind.
      No longer can she fight what should be right; she moves away.

      • PressOn says:

        I love this. The sounds and sense are both profound. It also reminds me of an expression my father used to use about helpful folks: “They are like a willing team of horses. One horse is willing to do it all; the other is willing she should.”

    14. Jane Shlensky says:

      Easy Things

      I’m getting old, in love with easy things, like laughter and losing
      weight, waking fluent in languages and instruments, energy
      settling over me like a cotton gown, lilting like praise and grace.

    15. Jane Shlensky says:

      School Lunch

      He meets the bus, huge hungry grinding mustard spill on wheels.
      Its maul twists open, he steps in, with other doleful faces.
      Maybe he’ll come to like being chewed and spit out at each day’s end.

    16. The Dead Year

      It’s as if a whole year has been negated since you died.
      Though I’m well aware of all its happenings and stages, they dim.
      It seems reality stopped with you, events since pale and lifeless.

    17. Rain Call

      Big splashy raindrops, I call you to fall on this thirsty earth!
      And to keep falling as long as the plants need to keep drinking!
      In one week autumn will begin — mote we go into it refreshed!

    18. Margie Fuston says:


      The sun dips into the clouds with Midas’s touch, spilling lust.
      We watch from the sand, your fingers tracing the trail of my veins,
      your own magic, passing from skin to skin, turning me to treasure.

    19. Margie Fuston says:

      All That Glitters

      Ladybugs cluster to form the brightness of your freckled cheeks.
      Dandelions weave strands of gold to form your flowing hair.
      But ladybugs turn brown in death, and dandelions are just weeds.

    20. RebekahJ says:

      Handheld Prayer

      Teacup child’s back toothbrush comb; husband’s arm doorknob subway strap phone
      Squeeze stroke tap type scroll wave pull; thin quick cold chapped helping full
      On this tender day, dear God, please bless the work of my hands.

      Kimberly Gladman Jackson

    21. cholder says:

      Build a bower for my mate, create an optical illusion
      Around the tallest spire, dance about, cockery on display
      Trill tantalizing tunes for Mary; I hope that she will stay

      Chi Holder

    22. Jane Shlensky says:


      Under an angry sky, they hunkered cellar deep, waiting
      as winds picked up, watching for tendrils dropping, swirling fickle straws.
      Hope’s light slices banks of gray, nods to twisting forms of fate.

    23. newbie44 says:

      Seasonal Strife
      by Renee Meador

      Evergreens undulate like hula dancers on sunny beach
      As the north wind surges south in pulsing gasps lest spring prevail.
      Pineapple Express victor drapes hula dancers in white leis.

    24. In Wilting Heat

      I believe there will be rain tonight, at last. Yes! I walk out
      and find very fine drops already falling invisibly.
      But will they be enough for this thirsty land? Bring on the storms!

    25. cholder says:

      I warned them it was coming; still they danced under the dark sky
      The ominous clouds alarmed me, but they laughed at my distress
      Oh virtue! Even after it thundered, they did not believe

      Chi Holder

    26. bjzeimer says:

      Earth Sijo

      How lovely, this planet, its surface shadowed, with forest green
      and blue surround, the big harvest moon, the red glow of a setting sun.
      For of this kind, who would think, that Earth came, from a big bang?

    27. bjzeimer says:

      Earth Day

      Earth’s climate, is changing, to harsh winters, with hot summers,
      tornadoes on the East Coast, blizzards as far as the deep south.
      But let us hold a summit, of the world, some say we are to blame.

    28. Jane Shlensky says:


      If we eroded down to dirt, becoming over time
      wild ground, amazed with random flowers, nothing nature did not found,
      would you be happy then, raising your petaled face to sky?

    29. Jane Shlensky says:


      My sister collects instruments to hang upon the wall.
      So beautiful, the workmanship, mother-of pearl, rich wood, and strings.
      She does not wish them played; they stand like wax tenors, choked with song.

    30. Jane Shlensky says:

      Pearls before Swine

      Tell us a story, complicated, sad, she says. I start,
      “In Denmark, Prince Hamlet…” when she turns to shake his arm.
      “Wib, listen, how sweet, a royal ham. Don’t you just love pig stories?”

    31. Jane Shlensky says:

      Bill, I just want to tell you that you are the laureate of laureates. Seeing your responses to every single entry posted, and every one so heartfelt and insightful, just blows my mind. I’m such a fan of your work and your kindness.

    32. Jane Shlensky says:


      A steady rain melts mounds of snow, sky water sculpting that
      frozen face left frowning on the ground; its icy stare responds,
      Time to be a pond, reflect, swell streams, feed springs, thaw hearts. Reform!

    33. Jane Shlensky says:

      What Lies Beneath

      Beneath the snow lies possibility tucked into earth,
      rebirth of seed or bulb awaiting sun to stun pods housing hope.
      Nature unfolds as we do, infinite layers rising to light.

    34. DanielR says:

      Artistic acrobats against a backdrop of endless blue
      Swallows, diving and swooping, fully extending pointed wings
      After dinner, the show ends, gliding safely toward home

      Daniel Roessler

    35. JRSimmang says:


      Down-trodden, teeth rotten. Clothes stained red thread-bare and unfed.
      He’s dead. Immune to the tune of the wind. His sign, in letters, read,
      “Spare Conversation: anything helps.” I roll my windows down instead.

      -JR Simmang

    36. RebekahJ says:

      Brushing My Daughter’s Hair

      Recessive genes surprised us with her flaxen helixed curls;
      Fifty microns leaves a world of room to tangle. When she’s forty,
      Will she still know I finger-combed to gentle out the knots?

      Kimberly Gladman Jackson

    37. Domino says:

      He asks her, “What is it like holding my heart in your two hands the way you do?”
      A veiled gaze; is he joking? Realizing no repartee
      she answers after a moment, and with a smile, “You should know.”

      Diana Terrill Clark

    38. lionetravail says:

      has just about the syllables, and meter’s not atrocious.
      But why’ve I gone and sijo’ed it? It’s probably neurosis!

    39. PressOn says:


      When I checked, the comment count was getting close to five hundred;
      I pity the editor who has to count sijo syllables:
      as he counts, these mounds of sijo will come and go, ebb and flow.

    40. Jane Shlensky says:

      Summer Plans

      Come summer, I shall take to swimming pools, outside, where young ones sun.
      I’ll bring my winter weight to show them where their futures lie. Nearby,
      after my swim, I’ll replay when I was bikinied, thin, and them.

    41. Jane Shlensky says:


      The feeder’s full, the word goes out from chickadee and cardinal,
      and soon the air is full of wings, excited chirps, and happy things.
      My morning coffee, grinning cat, helps me to breathe and savor that.

    42. Jane Shlensky says:

      False Light

      The sun shines window-warm for cats and plants inside a house,
      but outside my blood freezes in bright promises of light—
      like you, life of the party, dazzling star, who leaves me cold.

    43. Jane Shlensky says:

      Eye of the Beholder

      Beauty can glide along a muddy pond, causing the sky
      to drop, be mirrored there, lamb clouds to settle warm as bloomed cotton,
      or peek through snow, a crocus, necessary as your eyes sweet gaze.

    44. Jane Shlensky says:

      He Walked Away

      The trail along the creek crackles, the water’s edge laced with ice.
      Our boots leave wet prints on frost, evidence of a long search
      for something small and quiet as a fawn, frightened as a child.

    45. Jane Shlensky says:

      Soft Dark

      My heart’s mineshaft, pitch-dark, is jagged with fears of is, is not,
      but darkness can be velvet soft, a toasty quilt, so comforting,
      a warm hearth on lonely nights, when I dream your bright eyes.

    46. Jane Shlensky says:


      Old snow still lies at forest’s edge, drifted against trees’ northern sides,
      staying for more to join it, locals swear, scanning blank skies.
      We wait for you, gone so long, residue of hope melting away.

    47. Jane Shlensky says:


      Hibernation counts on spring, floes turned to flows, alive with yes;
      and so I weather snow and ice and grow attached to barren bark,
      while you, down under on a beach, brave scorching sun, and I am warmed.

    48. Jane Shlensky says:

      Shadow Lessons

      He trails his brother every step, watches and mimics little things—
      to walk with shoulders back and spit, make friends and fight a million wrongs,
      but never look behind to see who patterns himself after you.

    49. Jane Shlensky says:

      Darkness Grins

      The Jews have known it all along, the comedy in tragedy,
      how just beneath the worst, there looms a chuckle, darkest irony,
      that we believed in ledges, nets, to break our wailing fall.

    50. Jane Shlensky says:


      I loved him—I can say that now and weep—too late for him
      to tutor me in sundry loving ways, to see me petal-
      open to his light, to watch me watch him go and blow a kiss.

    51. DanielR says:

      What was it about your cover that piqued my interest?
      Selecting you from among your peers, you promised me suspense
      With each turned page, you become a friend I long to spend more time with

      Daniel Roessler

      • PressOn says:

        I feel a bit of a fraud here, because I rarely read novels. I have heard others speak of novels as friends, though. I have another view of the world, thanks to your poem.

    52. DanielR says:

      Sweeping brush strokes of mad geniuses, displayed in ornate frames
      Cold, neutral walls given warmth by vibrant colors on canvas
      Mesmerized admirers, staring, privy to another’s soul

      Daniel Roessler

    53. Dumped

      She left your kisses on the counter sometime before the maid cleaned
      up. Swept to the trash with one bare arm, then took them curbside, gave
      them away to a place where she can never get them back.

      -Linda G Hatton

    54. Control Alt Delete

      You looked for love inside a box holding cookies and memory,
      forgetting to install new memories, share your cookies, love,
      cherish the one who stayed beside you when you had none.

      -Linda G Hatton

    55. I don’t want the same old age my mother had, sad and lonely.
      Her world kept narrowing in, her companion was the TV.
      Let me be vigorously aged, go out and play, make whoopee!

    56. Azma says:


      Oh! What do I wear? Dilemna demons decided to dare.
      Plaids, purples or polka dots? Alas! My mind is left in knots.
      At last! Relived to work with the blues. Oh wait! There’s still shoes to choose.

      -Azma Sheikh

    57. PressOn says:


      Pianos, left to themselves, go out of tune and start to fade,
      and the songs we used to sing limn the parlor like a soft shade;
      my soul knows few sights so haunting as pianos left unplayed.

      William Preston

    58. DanielR says:

      Iron arches, exposed and weathered by the glare of many suns
      Spanning deep, swift, muddy waters with some far away birthplace
      Connecting strangers lives, shocked, I watch her jumping off point

      Daniel Roessler

    59. DanielR says:

      Grains of shifting sand settle in around my damp feet and toes
      Waves caress the shoreline, whispering endless possibilities
      With anticipation, I gaze toward the place where blue meets blue

      Daniel Roessler

    60. Seven-Year (Gl)itch

      The hibernating winter brought drought to the kingdom, created
      cracks where tears once lived, teased me with a hint of himself, made
      me question whether love survives without the change of seasons.

      -Linda G Hatton (who seems to be hooked on parentheses) :-)

    61. Waking up, I stretch my limbs, lifting my legs high in the air
      so I see the slim ankles, the shapely calves of a young girl
      once a day — before weight and age, and Gravity, thicken them.

    62. Brandi Beck says:

      His rough hand upon her cheek is hot and heats her to a burn
      Revealing the rapid pulse that beats beneath her reddened throat.
      Turning from his warm caresses, she hides her heart in a blush.

    63. I walk about my little house, liking the comforts I’ve made here —
      this home of mine that was once ours, from which you are dead and gone,
      where in each room I encounter warm traces of your presence.

    64. lionetravail says:

      Wintry Trails

      She lay before me, pristine. Queen of all I surveyed.
      I shivered. Virginal, she, free to be ravished. I swayed,
      transfixed by her snowy beauty. Duty called, and tracks I laid.

    65. (Not) One Direction

      The turn signal screams over teen-club beats, turn left, turn right, any
      direction, but straight ahead where the street dead ends, sobered,
      disrobed of my love for you, the seat next to me empty.

      -Linda G Hatton

    66. Without (Fri)ends

      This poem doesn’t know where to go, like a seventh-grader
      with no one to turn to, stopping and starting, word-searching
      for love in I’s and U’s, hiding between the lines on the playground . . .

      -Linda G Hatton

    67. As Promised

      ‘We’ll get through this,’ you told me, your arms around me as I sobbed
      and would not give my reason: that I saw you dying day by day.
      Alone now, and still here, day by day i’m getting through it.

    68. Margie Fuston says:

      Counting Pennies

      Men and women dressed in Burberry, or maybe Armani,
      drop pennies like paper on sidewalks, in crevices, unmissed.
      Across the forgotten world, or maybe just next door, people starve.

    69. Linda.H says:

      The wind tugs at the edges of winter’s lacey White gown,
      creating white waves of snow that roll across the hidden earth.
      Inside, you trace my body, each curve a snowdrift ready to melt.

      Linda Hofke

    70. Morning Sounds

      Intermittent calls of local birds, from shrilling to warbling.
      My neighbour’s wake-up cough; noises of saucepan and kettle.
      I am quiet here in my yard, with my cat curled up beside me.

    71. Charlene Prahasky says:

      By Charlene Prahasky

      Covered in darkness body beaten to the core, encased in fear, in time no more.

      Dreams take shape through mended escape, fear subsides, in time much more.

      Radiant light surrounds a beautiful being abounds, love pervades, in time amazingly more.

    72. Charlene Prahasky says:

      By Charlene Prahasky

      Covered in darkness body beaten to the core, encased in fear, in time no more.

      Dreams take shape through mended escape, fear subsides, in time much more.

      Radiant light surrounds as a beautiful being abounds, love pervades, in time amazingly more.

    73. Azma says:

      The lost friend

      We ran together, across the playground I remember
      So sanguinely they said- our friendship would never fade
      But now you are lost in the mist, just a name in my Friendlist

      -Azma Sheikh

    74. DanielR says:

      Scattered fragments of years left behind, recalled and then forgotten
      Glimpses of childhood happiness at far too great a distance
      Epitaphs on weathered headstones cannot be forgiven

      Daniel Roessler

    75. Is it wrong to start my day, every day, at the computer?
      Bad for my health and my housework both — so I am often told.
      Ah, but this they don’t know: I start all my days with poetry.

    76. lionetravail says:

      The sijo form is yrical. Cadence? Metaphysical.
      Its messages may typical-ly be quite prototypical-
      political, critical, egotistical, or, to beat a dead horse, with last line meter disjointedly atypical.

    77. Missing

      My black cat is moping tonight, and wandering the whole house
      uttering strident miaows; I know he wants me to fix it all
      but I can’t bring back our dead man, I can only cuddle the cat.

    78. The Bloom is Lost

      You have fallen by the wayside; I go on without you —
      as if you were just a weed, plant that I used to tend and cherish.
      Perhaps I’ll give up gardening, or find something hardier.

    79. lionetravail says:

      My hard drive is nearly full; I’m not sure how to de-frag.
      To save more information, old bytes must be recycled.
      Survival of the fittest: the paragon of memories.

    80. SOUL LABOR

      What sound is resonating? sonata for wind in oak trees.
      He gives up striving with mattock and muscle. Hardpan wins.
      But that arcane music from thin air – even earth stops to listen.

    81. PressOn says:


      Rusted rails, twisted and split, stretch from here to eternity;
      at sundown, when purple comes, they straighten out and ghosts return:
      striding back, robust and profane, come God’s men who worked the rails.

      William Preston

    82. Bully

      Unbridled pest grips smaller boy’s backpack like reins of a horse,
      hoofing over the floods of middle school, trampling unsaddled
      until mere horse turns steed, bucking, fleeing to high(er) (school) pastures.

      -Linda G Hatton

    83. BezBawni says:

      Dream State

      When little girls start to fly among invisible feathers,
      and gold is reflected in the tears of silver and bronze –
      forty-four miss only two. It’s hot, it’s cool, it’s jittery.

    84. PressOn says:


      My poems sometimes slumber many a night, many a day,
      but sooner, often later, they and paper manage to play.
      When cornered, creativity seeks its release, come what may.

      William Preston

    85. BezBawni says:


      You think there’s some hidden rage I lodge, but I don’t care.
      I dodge yet another rebuke you fling, and it explodes
      into the wall behind me. I get away with mild contusion.

    86. BezBawni says:

      Moving Train

      Our compartment is full of smoke and dusty arguments,
      I listen to the click-clack of my pulse, and turn away
      to wacht my snowbound life sweep past. Then – blast! Our love derails.

    87. cholder says:

      He trudged to work each day; slaved for a lifetime, his wage unpaid
      Found that love shattered, brought a man low, on his knees toiling
      Faith in a tiny seed sown; too weary to tend the garden

      Chi Holder

    88. DanielR says:

      With each strike of the ivory keys, your melody calls out to me
      No crowds, grand stage, or spotlight, you still play on in to the night
      A few dollars in your jar, long ago dreams of being a star

      Daniel Roessler

    89. DanielR says:

      Tilt-A-Whirls and Ferris wheels, screams of fear and delight pierce the night
      Pink and fluffy cotton candy clouds float by, gobbled up and gone
      Barking voices offer three throws for a dollar, win if you can

      Daniel Roessler

    90. DanielR says:

      Your name escapes my lips, echoing in limestone canyons
      I am lost and wandering, not on my hike, but in life
      A hawk’s intense eyes follow me, sensing I am easy prey

      Daniel Roessler


      Sunflowers on a rainy winter day – when are they more intriguing?
      Powerful golden ray – shedding light on thoughts kept in the darkening.
      Sunflower summer rain – sending warm regards and bright ideas to friends of dreaming.

      Claudia Columna

    92. PressOn says:


      Daisies dance in pantomime along the crest of yonder hill;
      lilacs, standing in a line, perfume cool air that leaps the rill.
      Green returns; spring explodes again; life busts out for good or ill.

      William Preston

    93. There you go, Sijo:
      The land of poets and thinkers, Hermann Hesse and Hermann of the Cheruscans
      Goethe’s Storm and Stress as fruit of Barbarian German forests
      Fertile soil meets hungry soul – ARTist in love of nature as a whole
      Claudia Columna

      Sunflowers on a rainy winter day – when are they more intriguing?
      Powerful golden ray – shedding light on thoughts kept in the dark.
      Flower Power at its best – warm regards and bright ideas to friends without rest.
      Claudia Columna

    95. You’ve Been Naughty

      Too bad you can’t untangle the knots left in my heart your stunt
      chained together, strung around my neck, like your fingers
      squeezing the fairy tale right out of our wronged relationship.

      -Linda G Hatton


      This man was meant to toil in the sun to earn his pay,
      my muscles strain and ache and in time, my back will break,
      but make no mistake: This hard working man likes it that way!

    97. PressOn says:


      Love holds hope in humble hands and proffers a home to the heart;
      hate, ensconced in iron bands, demands that love must soon depart.
      Love and hate, two sides of the same, fight for my soul and birth art.

      William Preston

    98. JRSimmang says:


      I’m a freedom fighter, ignitor, caught in between midnight or
      morning. I ain’t boring; temptor, seductor, helpless protector.
      Down the barrel of my gun you’ll find peace, a bittersweet release.

      -JR Simmang

    99. lionetravail says:

      Dancing around the subject, with infinity of care-
      Whoops! Where is it? Where’d it go? How’d it get clear over there?
      Kittens with the innocent look, I never believe that pair!

    100. newbie44 says:

      Trying to post sijos. Hope this works.

      by Renee Meador

      Cabbage soup diet assures ten pound weight loss in seven days.
      Holiday weight gain vanquished in a burst of post feast restraint.
      Chocolate chip cookie respite in my sweet dreams while dieting.

      by Renee Meador

      Such bitter winter weather, dark sub-zero days in sequence.
      Horses paw for cured grasses under snow drifts, ice on water.
      Bitter melancholy deepens icy grip on weary soul.

    101. JRSimmang says:


      Off the sill and onto the floor, the flower less pot shatters.
      Her name inscribed on the soft underside, like it even matters.
      The potter made us to break, I say, shattered pieces break no more.

      -JR Simmang

    102. priyajane says:


      Welkin left overs, shine nervously, as charcoal clouds gang up
      Flapping fearful bells of discontented deadlines and half baked reds
      For that mighty Hades, who will blast off some cold spiral spears–

    103. Full of Air

      With no knack for wordiness, I struggle to write each line.
      And too many vacant wordy spaces expose my untrained mind
      at penning poems of long-windedness. Oh haiku, where are you?

      -Linda G Hatton

      • PressOn says:

        I was smiling broadly as I read and re-read this piece. The sijo is short anyway; it is funny to think of “long-windedness” in that context. I don;t know if you intgended the humor, but that’s what I got, and I enjoyed it. Thanks.

    104. cholder says:

      When midnight strikes, the owl takes flight, his sinister call incites
      And I, in my haste to escape certain death, stumbled, lay waste
      To the pitiless earth, and crept, on beseeching knees I wept

      • cholder says:

        Forgot my name :)

        When midnight strikes, the owl takes flight, his sinister call incites
        And I, in my haste to escape certain death, stumbled, lay waste
        To the pitiless earth, and crept, on beseeching knees I wept

        Chi Holder

    105. DanielR says:

      The multi-colored Maple shivered in chilly autumn winds
      Its leaves fought falling, clinging with absolute desperation
      Surrendering to their calling, they released and floated free

      Daniel Roessler

    106. PressOn says:


      The midnight constellations, wheeling about the winter sky,
      foster dreams, aberrations that I discern with blinded eye.
      Here and there, flashing meteors cast no wisdom, though they try.

      William Preston

    107. ChristineA says:


      I would call you to tell you that I love you, that I’m sorry.
      I would call you to tell you that I’ll miss you, but it’s too late.
      The yellow telephone is silent and I walk away.

      Christine Ahmed

    108. Azma says:

      Taming down

      Every crease and every fold, can be smoothed by just a stroke.
      Just some heat will suffice, to make clothes look neat and nice.
      Something to say, might i dare – can to clothes, kids compare?

      -Azma Sheikh

    109. Tiffany198300 says:

      I loved you, You loved me, Then we fell apart, I cried day and night, Wishing I could hold you tight, Why did you have to leave me, Why did you have to go, When I still loved you so, So will you please, please take me back, Cause I’ll always love you day and night.

      Tiffany Wehunt

    110. priyajane says:

      When you are gone, I wrap myself in your old gray sweater
      and twirl my fingers through its song that holds me with some cozy strings
      Into a silent world, beyond these rings , when you are gone

    111. lionetravail says:

      The Big Game

      If running and sports don’t do it, but watching and drinking sure do,
      and your claim to fame’s on the couch instead of in quarterback’s crouch,
      ignore the absent reporters- you ARE an ‘athletic supporter’!

    112. PressOn says:


      Cold and snow are with me now as my tears flow and winds blow blue.
      You are gone; I falter now; can’t sing our song while winds blow blue
      and dusk brings its plunging purple, shadowing the snow and cold.

      William Preston

    113. Azma says:

      She sashayed down the alley, so proud and so nonchalant
      My sight swayed with her pendulum like struts, yearning to pick her up
      If in my arms, I would brush her fur and keep her as my pet kitty
      -Azma Sheikh

    114. Die-a-beating me

      She tells me sugar mama is ruining my fairy tale.
      Runs in my family, I utter. A race she is winning.
      No bedside manner. Cold fingers write yet another script.

    115. JRSimmang says:


      Do you remember how you laughed? Because I can’t forget
      that tender, splintered puzzle. I’ve thought about it often, but
      I fear I’ve lost my last piece. Will you return to me?

      -JR Simmang

    116. DanielR says:


      A lonely dancer pirouettes on life’s enormous stage
      Rhythmic with the melody, gracefully shifting pointed toes
      Awkwardly stumbling, elegance lost, bouncing up with poise

      Daniel Roessler

    117. DanielR says:

      Water rolls across bulky rocks in ripples of frothy white
      The urgent, rushing swells frantically racing toward mellow ends
      Melting into calm in greater depths, unrecognizable

      Daniel Roessler

    118. DanielR says:


      Amongst dancing trees, a breeze blows gentle across my troubled soul
      Sweeping away my concerns, restoring youthful memories
      A sturdy oak branch strangled by a rope, anchors the swinging tire

      Daniel Roessler

    119. JRSimmang says:


      Soon, the trees will beg for sunlight, their wilted branches warmed into
      birthing sublime breezes. It is here I will sit patiently.
      Though, some things stay dead, frozen in perpetual winter.

      -JR Simmang

    120. DanielR says:


      At the end of everything I’m in the middle of nothing
      Still running from something that I don’t understand and can’t explain
      Asking questions with no clear answers, weary but journeying on

      Daniel Roessler

    121. JRSimmang says:


      I’ve chosen to carry your world, so don’t ask if you can help.
      I have your second – guesses balanced with your almost misses.
      My world? I left it somewhere else. Can we just share this one?

      -JR Simmang

    122. PressOn says:


      Mosquitoes metamorphose from bitty bugs to needle thugs;
      summertime’s mosquito time, and that is why I smile and shrug
      at complaints about cold and snow: in winter, no mosquitoes.

      William Preston

    123. Margin of Twilight

      Swollen by rain, river pulled wind down-valley. Shiver of air
      and faint quaver of instrument unseen, a harmonica
      wavering through archives of wail and jubilation, of song.

    124. RebekahJ says:

      Freckles in Starbucks

      They cover her pale arms neck face hands calves in speckled gold
      I say I’d love to have them and she laughs: I never hear that
      Shoulders the door open; shimmers as she walks into the sun

      Kimberly Gladman Jackson

    125. lionetravail says:

      The Unkind Word

      I know the way to hurt: curt, callous, blase, uncaring!
      Preparing cruelly what to blurt, quirts which strike unerring
      at vulnerable places; faces mirrors of despairing.

    126. priyajane says:

      Memories drift in the rear view mirror, down the winding road
      Don’t lose focus causing bottlenecks, keep your eyes on the road
      One can reminisce, with the radio burning bright golden songs –

      Priti Agrawal

    127. priyajane says:

      A lone star
      A drop of light, an early bird, a gleaming thought, a whisper heard
      Love’s first felt blink, the tipping point, so crystal clear, a distant sign
      I walk with it, beyond my world, and watch it merge, into the swirl

    128. South Hadley

      The sky fell like porcelain, shattered and still in the darkness.
      Afterwards, we lit candles in the kitchen. She kissed my lips
      and I dropped a plate in surprise, then another, to make sure.

      Andrew Kreider

    129. DanielR says:

      Creeping in and spreading, like grass seeping through a sidewalk’s cracks
      Questioning each word choice, agonizing over my chances
      Hope eroded by the vicious, strong-armed tactics of self-doubt

      Daniel Roessler

    130. PressOn says:


      Millipedes have many feet and many ways to walk about;
      while walking on curving streets they simply curve like swimming trout.
      But what if ever we should meet? Can one shake hands with millipedes?

      William Preston

    131. bclay says:

      Above Treasures

      Far greater than rubies, I ran my fingers through your gem heart.
      Virtues shine in her inlaid with jewels, there too my desires
      are found in a noble wife – our holding hands are an organ.

      inspired by my confusing two verses earlier today lol,

    132. bmorrison9 says:

      Snowlight blue under a cold moon, silence more profound than sleep,
      and dreams that lie suspended, quiescent, buried more deeply
      than even the hidden voles, curled in frozen slumber, waiting.

    133. cholder says:

      I apologize for the reprint but decided it should be a 6-line

      When you wished for me to be prettier,
      smarter—a bit taller
      Like her instead—though you were sniggering
      and juddering your head
      It’s not the way you said it, dearest darling—
      It’s what you said

      Chi Holder

    134. cholder says:

      When you wished for me to be prettier, smarter—a bit taller
      Like her instead—though you were sniggering and juddering your head
      It’s not the way you said it, dearest darling—It’s what you said

      Chi Holder

    135. cholder says:

      It’s finally time— close the curtain—move on—pass the baton
      Someone will take it when I’m gone; shake the coals, start a fire
      Burning within, and without a doubt, fill the void leaving left

      Chi Holder

    136. cholder says:

      The Eagle’s Quest

      Out of the mist, the majestic soars, a sentinel in pursuit
      Incisive eyes seeking, the warrior raptor stalks his quarry
      Carnassial claws plunder; the river’s roar a requiem

      Chi Holder

    137. JRSimmang says:


      Accept my hand with your fingers. Sweetly step onto this boat.
      Let not my keen gaze throw you, for this boat won’t float when filled.
      Your soul’s unsure without your body; still with fever, left for dead.

      -JR Simmang

    138. WINTER

      Winter unleashes her fury, raging blizzards and flurries
      fly, frigid wind chills kill the spirit. A blanket of white
      holding in silent slumber, dreams of Spring’s new promise.

    139. rhodalew says:

      After going to an Edward Hopper exhibit and seeing his “House by the Railroad”

      Lonely house

      I stood across the railroad tracks from that shadowed mournful house-
      Shades half-drawn – façade solemn – I imagined ghosts gazing downward.
      “I miss you,” I whispered softly, “I should never have gone away.”

    140. missjoyce says:

      Coffee aroma was sweeping me off my feet that morning.
      Mr. Sun joined us as the hope of crisp autumn filled my home.
      I sit across my dad who smiled and asked me, “Do I know you?”

      +Joyce Guerrero

    141. PressOn says:


      Though life voids the dark and cold and trees bud new and sun grows bold,
      and new green replaces the old with a substance akin to gold,
      on the cusp of the spring season I remember: fear treason.

      William Preston

    142. priyajane says:

      A Desert Feel

      Between split mountains, brown bare defies death, with dusty vapor
      harvesting desolate rain shadows, with grainy prickly flesh
      de-robing ache, with limbs of palms, that fan and stretch, shadows

    143. Matchmaker

      “Hey, mister… see my sister? I swear. She’s no trouble.
      She is reading about you every day in her novels.”
      Please tune in tomorrow and see how it all unravels.

    144. Solution Unknown

      Pencil sharp, I tackle them – crossword puzzles, devilish grids,
      squares to fill with many words, intersecting. Yet you remain
      an enigma. I write, then erase. No words I know can solve you.

    145. DanielR says:

      The innocent morning wakes, wet from the passionate night’s kisses
      Covered in a blanket of cloudless, infinite azure
      Adorned with the splendid, echoing melodies of songbirds

      Daniel Roessler

    146. PowerUnit says:


      Words fail him, the written sort, the page of code he cannot sort
      Sympathize the jobless man who cannot read or understand
      Say the sound b looks like a bird, read the letters learn the word

    147. bclay says:

      trouble sleeping, and not so comfortable with this draft either….

      The Last Petal

      Summer went love wilted bloom, our fragrances of red are gone.
      Tore “loves me not” with the last petal – just pistil and stamen -
      and fell with nothing to catch us – we picked roses for their thorns.

    148. JRSimmang says:


      The baby’s breath bloomed white outside; the kitchen soundlessly paced.
      There would be no pillow forts or muddy hands, but the house proudly
      brandished its gilded golden handle, once rusted and swollen shut.

      -JR Simmang

    149. no news

      she glances at her cell phone when she doesn’t think I’m watching
      I tell her about wood glue, anything to fill up the cracks
      until ten, when we see the lights and stop breathing, because we know

    150. jaynesgirl says:

      “Some day we will look back on all this and laugh,” you tell me.
      “When things are better and our ship finally comes in to port.”
      But I know better than to trust your words, sentiment hiding lies.

    151. jaynesgirl says:


      Oh New England with your colorful leaves and sandy shores.
      How do you lure people in, to spend their entire gray lives
      Waiting for the warm of a Spring day, wanting only to bask.

      • PressOn says:

        Wonderful! I’m not sure I buy the “gray lives,” but this captures much of what the winter that follows the “colorful leaves and sandy shores” in New England is all about, as I recall it.

    152. jaynesgirl says:

      Winter Bites

      How is it that the cold wind blows, unrelenting, wild,
      And the snow swirls around me, biting at my neck
      A frigid vampire attacking–should have moved down south.

    153. Clae says:

      Dragonfly Goodbye

      Amethyst wings fold in to slumber poised for compound dreams
      Slender silver knees perch lightly on lily surface silken smooth
      Carp slips past sapphire raindrops to taste prismed compound eyes

    154. Clae says:

      Ocean’s Roar

      Sea-tigress swims among the weeds Beneath the waves she hunts
      Fish flee Crabs scurry in retreat Pursuit proceeds on clawed webbed feet
      Strong tentacles coil round sea-tiger’s tail Squid ends another hunt.

    155. PressOn says:


      All is still: the morning sun slides orange rays over the sea
      as bare trees, the sentinels of the silence, guard the white heath.
      Then, snow moves; a snowy owl rises by a slowly flowing rill.

      William Preston

    156. Clae says:

      Music Remains Unchanged

      Old fashioned ballads Power ballads All still play the same
      Songs of longing, loss, love and all other flaws of humanity
      Each destroys our lives so it is no surprise we sing truth as lies

      T.S. Gray

    157. PowerUnit says:

      Between Jobs

      Skeptical, wary after a hard day’s work bringing home bread
      Relaxing, feet on table fingers on glass, moments alone
      They return and disturb my peace, smiling faces, hearts alive

    158. PressOn says:


      In a glade off the highway, under brilliant and flowing stars,
      you and I watch with wonder while the universe welcomes ours;
      I am one with infinity, encompassed whole in your eyes.

      William Preston

    159. Blessing in Disguise

      Third snowstorm: we’re tired of TV weather hysteria.
      We’re sick of shovels and salt, but those snow days; ah, those snow days.
      Beautiful, we say, drinking tea by the window, not driving.

    160. PressOn says:


      As we dance and the music thrills our bodies and our souls,
      and we gaze at each other as we never did before,
      we are whole in our universe; we are legion; we are one.

      William Preston

    161. DanielR says:

      A freckle-faced girl in summertime, holding a cardboard sign
      Waving and smiling as the cars pass, twenty-five cents a glass
      A half-empty pitcher, plastic cups, and her stack of quarters

      Daniel Roessler

    162. JRSimmang says:


      A chair, left to its own devices, will stay in the center
      of a room, resting its arms, wishing for warmth and an embrace.
      It’s promise is never ceasing its support for the tired.

      -JR Simmang

    163. JRSimmang says:


      It must have been hard, for Atlas that is, to hoist the world
      to his shoulders. A burden it was, pulling him down to his knees.
      Perhaps, though, it wasn’t that bad, always touching the ocean’s breeze.

      -JR Simmang

    164. PressOn says:


      This deep night, never ending, proffers a sight so unbending
      in the seep of faraway constellations never seen in the day;
      yet for me they seem ever close at hand, chanting, “Return home.”

      William Preston


      December, a hundred miles with no other headlights on the road,
      the desert midnight dark but for its stars and harking angels.
      The radio played music I’ve never heard that way again.

    166. DanielR says:

      Murky waters of the swollen creek move swiftly toward merging
      The willow’s branches droop downward, already weeping for him
      Panic and desperation surface; sinking, then swallowed

      Daniel Roessler

    167. jaynesgirl says:

      MY LOVE

      When you turn to look at me each night with your bedroom eyes
      And reach for me with longing, your arms warm and ready for me,
      I wish I could be a migratory bird, flying far away from you.

    168. David says:


      By David De Jong

      Leaves are chanting, gathering, drawing their sabers with sharpened edge
      Charging forward, in clustered columns, with battle cries of revolt
      Angry winds shake their timbered fist, their members refusing retreat

    169. wannabauthoresse says:


      Sitting in the chapel pew, she felt a premonition of doom
      Weeks later, her faith tested, as she awaits her daughter’s fate
      Heart-broken, a Mother faces a parent’s worst nightmare, departure.

    170. cholder says:

      The Robin

      Under the eaves, by light of day, a robin builds her nest
      Each twig and stick skillfully chosen; a mother’s devotion
      ‘Till her nestlings abandon, and the robin begins anew

    171. cholder says:

      Legend of the Whippoorwill

      On the eve of morn’, in the cusp of dawn, a harbinger warns
      And I hesitate to tarry there, in wooded deep, too long
      Beware ye departing souls, for the whippoorwill chants his song

    172. MayamotoWaya says:

      I can see the change in your eyes, as you gaze towards the skies
      In parallel the universe you see – won’t be itself again
      Thus when revolution is nature, how could I resent your stare?

    173. “Excuse me, my leg has gone to sleep. Do you mind if I join it?” ~ Alexander Humphreys Woollcott


      Why would I (how could I?) pass up the use of this humorous quote
      From deceased American commentator for The New Yorker,
      Perfectly prepackaged in sijo sixteen-syllable line form?

      (Marie Elena Good)

    174. PressOn says:


      It is hot, and I am not in the mood for shenanigans;
      you are hot, and in the mood for one hell of a brannigan;
      if that bat that you threw comes down, you are out of the game.

      William Preston

    175. lionetravail says:

      “As Irrelevant Tears Soundlessly Fall”

      The desert boasts of music through long ages of the world…
      A requiem its melody, merciless its threnody,
      its bleak opus plays Golgotha as its careless dirge is skirled.

    176. DanielR says:

      The rage of the midnight moon shatters the January darkness
      Bouncing through barren branches, penetrating the cold, damp air
      Exposing small footprints in white powder, aimlessly wandering

      Daniel Roessler

    177. PressOn says:


      With feathers silencing wings, she stealthily courses the land
      throughout the coolness of night, steadily, with nary a pause;
      harvesting the heaths and hedgerows, grazing the moon with her claws.

      William Preston

    178. College Logic

      I asked him, Do you expect to graduate in just four years?
      His answer: Graduating in five years would be like leaving
      a party on Saturday night at eleven o’clock, Mom.

    179. Relative

      My mother on her birthday looks younger than ever to me.
      When I look in my mirror I sometimes see her looking back;
      But today my granddaughter touched smile lines on my daughter’s face.

    180. JRSimmang says:


      Part 1

      When I was young, I could hear the ocean in the shell I held
      to my ear. Round, coiled, cacophonous sound made seasick my
      head. What I heard then is not too different now; I hear your voice.

      Part 2

      Where is the shadow of the sun? I’ve spent my life waiting
      to see the brilliance of it slip, like a bride’s pure white veil,
      and collect with the dirty laundry on our bedroom floor.

      Part 3

      The kids still play, and lover still kiss, under this nowhere bridge.
      It creaks. It moans on splintered wood. And as often as I drive
      across it, you will always be standing on the other side.

      Part 4

      It’s the suspension of disbelief, this means by which we convince
      ourselves that what we see and feel are real while the play plays on!
      So… tell me. When will this red, red curtain finally fall?

      Part 5

      I had walked once, as Wordsworth prescribed, under the ancient oaks.
      Oddly, as I counted steps, I could feel my mind unravel the
      universe. Absent, I looked up, and all I was… was… lost.

      -JR Simmang

    181. Domino says:

      I lie here; grass is my bed. I’ve chosen this place to stargaze.
      Moon dark sky, stars brightly blaze; undimmed by much save these few tears.
      I will stay, perhaps, for the night. I can’t leave your grave unmourned.

      Diana Terrill Clark

    182. Damn Cold Right Outside My Door

      Outside, it turned colder,
      colder still because of the coming night.
      The nights here, like the days, were full of snow
      and darker ice.
      But, somewhere, elsewhere, my wife,
      and life, are waiting, not patiently.


    183. Dana L. says:

      August Nights

      Dusk tries to swallow the sky, but rebel streaks of pink and crimson
      fight their fate, searing the clouds with brilliant acrylic abstracts.
      Summer wind sighs with surrender, and the colors drown in the stars.

    184. DanielAri says:

      I tremble finger first—so much depends on the word send.
      With a click, I set you free. Stage fright dissolves into taut waiting.
      I ask myself to let go—and leap into your reply.

    185. Beyond Trailhead

      The way’s cut in rock deep-layered, years of leaf-fall, roots, and bones.
      Wind’s leverage, uncanny song nostalgic as fluted barren trees.
      Pre-history grooved in granite; let’s unravel its riffs and chords.

    186. DanielR says:

      Momentary frames of green fields, barb wired fences, and sprawling oaks
      Miles of repetition, the rearview mirror reflecting my past
      Driving toward the possibilities of my asphalt future

      Daniel Roessler

    187. Knock on the Door

      He stood bedraggled on the doorstep, pale as day’s-milk spilled:
      peddler with a box of matches. But who buys matches anymore?
      He gimped away no poorer. One struck match could flame like praise.

    188. janflora says:

      I recently remembered you died, two years ago last week.
      You cannot watch our child grow, becoming the man that he will be.
      For me, it’s a daily reminder, as he becomes more like you.

      Janet Flora Corso

    189. janflora says:

      I woke up after midnight to watch glitter falling from the sky.
      A serene moment of silence as Janus ices us in,
      Before morning brings the squeals and shouts of a snow day at home.

      ~Janet Flora Corso

    190. Dana L. says:


      I let you grow big: till you filled up my world with sweet words
      and musky aftershave, not knowing how a shattered dream scars,
      cutting like a surgeon’s knife, twisting in the soft spires of my heart.

    191. DanielR says:

      Silent Night

      A familiar, deafening silence rushes to welcome me home
      Both a well-known foe and comfortable friend kindly visiting
      The midnight sun arrives to illuminate my loneliness

      Daniel Roessler

    192. DanielAri says:

      Berkeley growls, an ogre of young guevaras and the homeless.
      My daughter and her friend haven’t pedaled home. It’s near dark.
      Freedom turned fearsome that day she found her balance on a bike.

    193. DanielAri says:

      He dressed up for the party, but his dumb hat was not a hit.
      They could see under the brim he was faking, which is to say
      I didn’t fit. I blamed my hat. It flopped like a fish on sand.

    194. Quietly Going

      Mesmerized by snow slowly dancing, twirling, putting on a show
      lost to me, my memories fading to grey, my hands are withered
      ash to ash, the cardinal bleeds into view singing a greeting.

    195. Party

      Laughter and smiles, the mingling, gay murmur of conversation
      the golden color of ambiance in clinking glasses
      the blood red flash of the ambulance lights, the world oblivious.

    196. lionetravail says:

      Kittens seem, to me, to be a form of meditation.
      Hours pass in soft repose as gentle purrs massage like “oms”,
      And random, sleepy thoughts crystallize into “chakra” and “awwww”.

    197. Amy says:

      Dreaming of Sleep

      Your breath breaks on the cotton pillowcase, as gentle waves.
      I long for the peace that wraps you in dreams, contentedly,
      but settle, instead, between inked pages, where dreams content me.

      Amy Glamos

    198. Amy says:


      If I could hold the moon upon my face, let the light trace
      exposed planes and hidden hollows, would your hand follow in its
      quest? You whisper your assent, or perhaps it’s just the breeze.

      Amy Glamos

    199. Amy says:

      The One That Got Away

      I hear pieces of you in all the music I listen to.
      You cry out to me in poetry; you whisper in the words
      that never left our lips, hitched in heavy afternoon heat.

      Amy Glamos

    200. PressOn says:


      Songs of spring are spreading wide from dawn of day till eventide:
      choruses of warm-day birds greet insects’ chatter and creatures’ words,
      bringing me to the cusp of joys I once knew when but a boy.

      William Preston

    201. missjoyce says:

      In this dark, full but empty, silent chaos and harmony,
      I stand still. I wait and shine within without the hands of time.
      I start to live in my lightyears. In a twinkle, I disappear.

      +Joyce Guerrero

    202. curious elly says:


      What am I to do? The dolphins are cruelly culled at Taiji.
      There’s more trapping in Canada because the price for furs is up
      (the use of snares for killing is regulated)…I still eat meat.

    203. missjoyce says:

      My Angel
      It was sunset when momma said, ‘be careful, dear.’ She closed her eyes.
      A tear fell as gravity pulled it quickly from her grey eyes.
      Sadly, they no longer glistened — only my name on the tomb.

      +Joyce Guerrero

    204. VArakawa says:

      Letter to William

      I look into the mirror. It reflects the scars on my skin.
      I slowly touch them with my fingers, feeling the pain again.
      I send you all my love, for I happily bear them for you.

    205. Af10ski says:


      Tell a Lie, but tell it Flat
      Truth in Degrees is Hell bent
      It’s all the Same to Lie

    206. Tracy Davidson says:


      For our twins sixteenth birthday, we serve non-alcoholic cocktails,
      complete with pink umbrellas, and novelty shaped ice cubes.
      My daughter finds a penis in her virgin ‘Sex on the Beach’.

    207. poet since birth says:


      Sitting on the side of the road
      Looking for a place to unload
      All the troubles on my mind
      Making my dreams harder to find.
      Sitting down resting my back,
      Oh, how many more miles do I lack?

    208. poet since birth says:

      Two bodies together, sharing one space
      Their hearts entwined, their souls embraced
      A beautiful sight, together, nsync,
      A blissful moment in time, I believe.

      Gentle touch, the heart skips a beat, emotional,
      Souls begin to scream,
      Rush of the climax, bodies entwined
      All your feelings begin to unwind

    209. poet since birth says:


      I miss your whispers in my ear
      There is nothing I should fear
      The way you kids my lips, touch me with your finger tips
      Sending shivers down my spine
      Making me totally lose my mind.

    210. prabhateinstein says:

      That moon in sky, you can see..
      On one side of it is you..
      On other side, me..

    211. anurag7788 says:

      Whom do I fear , Whom do I fear? I often ask;
      In my downfall as i stand, I just see shining stars.
      Death alone now creaps me out for now even the mud is my new bark.

    212. PressOn says:


      A soft scent in the soft breeze entrances all the cottonwood trees
      and they wave, serene and slow, their regrets to the grasses below
      as the wind begins to turn and fire appears at the rim.

      William Preston

    213. annell says:

      In the beginning, you might be overwhelmed
      By the whiteness of the paper, and the first marks, you make
      Hidden in the final image will be all thoughts, part of me, part of you

    214. poet since birth says:


      Dreams don’t seem to come true
      I found this out because of you
      Life seems so much harder when I’m awake

    215. bclay says:

      It might actually snow here in Myrtle Beach !! a few flakes at least. Hope everyone up North stays warm, couldnt imagine below zero!

      Melting the Ice

      I would land, like snowflakes on your skin and lips – turn to water;
      small and soft crystalline kisses, made weak by your warming cheek;
      this blizzard, our flurries in eyes – if I could just talk to you.

    216. Snowed In

      Google how to get a job after a mental breakdown. Don’t.
      “turn broken into break-through with thirteen ways to look your best”
      I avoid mirrors for blackbirds and mountains. It’s been evening three afternoons.

    217. cholder says:

      The Nightingale’s Song

      In the moonlit hour of wooded knolls, the nightingale sings
      Mournful trills, across misty hills, vibrations of love in bloom
      Till the dawn breaks his heart, and the nightingale ceases to croon

    218. cholder says:

      I chose the 6-line English version

      “Murder at Chain of Rocks Bridge”

      Chain of Rocks your secrets keep

      what remains beneath buried deep

      My heart bleeds forsaken one;

      justice serves no retribution.

      The mighty Mississippi weeps

      over her watery grave.

    219. PressOn says:


      Every day the old coyote visits the hedge by the old boat
      and stands there, sniffing the air, first to the east, then to the west,
      then sits, still. So do I. We wait, till we can smell Earth again.

      William Preston

    220. DETACHED (sijo)

      Member of Mensa Foundation. Former business owner,
      Now mindful only that this actual moment in time
      Is dreadfully not as real as yesterday’s tomorrows.

      (Marie Elena Good)

    221. PressOn says:


      Grounded leaves embrace new frost, their scarlet splashes bleeding gold
      till purple overtakes the light. In cold breezes the colors freeze,
      entombed in penultimate flight; awaiting the ice of night.

      William Preston

    222. PressOn says:


      He was just a point on the line of life, but when he looked at me,
      all care and woe and even strife repaired to infinity,
      and these days, though it seems so strange, the thought of him heals me still.

      William Preston

    223. anon

      She is not a woman of a certain age, doesn’t like to
      tell lies to stupid people, is tired of being careful.
      She is who all of us will be after the last food is gone.

      Andrew Kreider

    224. Bootleg

      Let’s record the gig tonight I said to her, we’ll rock the world.
      She moaned, I screamed, you couldn’t hear the crowd. Listening back,
      it was like a homemade sex tape. I destroyed it when she left.

      Andrew Kreider

    225. Thursday Morning

      Frost on the windshield, it’s still dark. Bach canon for the commute.
      Traffic speeds by our pasture – in the swale, a doe and buck.
      Too dim to count his prongs. First-light strikes antlers a golden crown.

    226. November Sidewalk

      Where she used to walk last summer, brittle leaves litter the way.
      She’s bundled against winter – a pumpkin’s smashed on the street.
      Must children revel in autumn even as her year shivers down?

    227. A Stately House

      Ivy and periwinkle grow lush over the mossy stones,
      the carefully keystoned arch and the name carved in bas-relief.
      We climb the tall, proud stairway to a balcony long gone.

    228. To the Trailhead

      The way’s cut in rock deep-layered, years of leaf-fall, roots, and bones.
      Wind’s leverage, uncanny sound nostalgic as ‘30s German jazz.
      Pre-history grooved in granite; let’s unravel its riffs and chords.

    229. RJ Clarken says:

      The Words of the Prophets

      Graffiti artist left his mark on the walls of the underpass.
      On the concrete canvas, he stenciled the outline of small bunnies.
      An old song played in my head, but then the light changed. I drove away.

    230. RJ Clarken says:

      Evening Commute

      Silhouette: vermillion sky, India-inked wintery limbs…
      An unknown artist must have magic in his ancient pen nibs
      Sitting in the twilight traffic: through my windshield, I trace the strokes.

    231. RJ Clarken says:

      Mirror Image

      Recently, a photograph showed me something unexpected.
      It was a picture of me when I was much younger. What I
      did not see then that I can see now: unusual beauty.

    232. RJ Clarken says:

      Snow Angel

      Why is it that when I look at a snowflake, I see angels;
      angels of light, air, dance, and of twirling and tinkling wind chimes.
      I wonder if the Snow Queen ever felt like this before ice came.

    233. writinglife16 says:

      Her mother dragged the kindergarten pictures
      out to show. Her date froze as he looked at her
      in a brown onesie with cap. She fell in love when
      he said “I will buy you chocolates daily.”

    234. PressOn says:


      Soft the snow is drifting down along the roads and through the town,
      casting white through all the land; leaving a sight muted and grand;
      bringing peace where anger had roared. My enemy I see no more.

      William Preston

    235. DanielAri says:

      The moon wears its leash loosely, staying up late for the commute
      this morning. Not like the train: despite dramas, it stays on track—
      like the sun. I’ll draw my power from timetables I can trust. 


      Always someone’s someone else, never my own me,
      wondering if I can function on my own, myself.
      I need to see if I can be my one and only, me.


      The classic tale is offered for your approval,
      two faces exposed, choosing laughter and cheers to express,
      manic depression is in session. Let the curtain fall.

    238. LAUGHTER

      A child laughs, feeling happy and healthy and warm.
      The storm of life has not yet raged; not yet upstaged,
      the joy. The promise not yet fulfilled lingers in its soul.


      He stands on the threshold, a future uncertain.
      Wearing despair like a drafty cloak, he is cold.
      Feeling older than years can count, his loneliness mounts.

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