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Your poetry

This is a spot where you can read and submit poems and lyrics. At the moment you get a chance to win an iPod nano if we publish your work. Some conditions apply — see the competition page for more details.

mechanical birds

By Maria Allen

i. she captured the stars in her hands, gliding across the stage
that became her sky, blossoming red and gold into the evening air.
approaching the end, and losing height. the scream ripped
out as she fell, scarlet feathers just out of reach while her
dislocated wings hung limp at her sides.

ii. regrets that spring to her mouth, slide off her tongue,
echoing in her head. the world spins around her. dizzying, rain
fallen faster than she could ever dream of, mockingly keeping
her waiting for the last moment. the wind whispering comfort in
her ears, she is caught on the breeze and holds onto nothing
but herself.

iii. reaching out blindly she closes her eyes and hopes with all
she is, that the world is not as cruel as it seems, and that
somewhere, someone will find her. she gives herself up to the
sky, dissolved by the light of the morning sun, and falls as rain
over the empty minds of the ones she left behind.

July 2010

The Sound of You

By Maria Allen

i. empty buildings, broken glass
littered with newspapers, crying out
words that won't be read again.

ii. muffled voices, behind closed doors
itch like mosquito bites
never shift the headache.

iii. motion, follow you
shifting your vision
unblinking.

iv. take it in, reality
the space under your bed
dust-coated, forgotten.

v. shiver, behind you
nothing there
fingers creep over your shoulders.

vi. first love, recollection
stay in isolation
a bruise that doesn't fade.

vii. winter, snow falls
children playing
ashes fly up beneath their feet.

viii. a scream, stand frozen
never see her again
last moments.

ix. too late, spectators
like vultures, circling
reach for you.

x. slow motion, no more
take it in
silence.

July 2010

Searching, but never finding

By Zed McCloskey

Is beauty really found in the spoken word?
In the foreign language, made up of exotic sounds?
In the tale that invokes memories we thought we'd lost?
In the music that stirs something inside of us?
Is beauty really found between the pages of a book?
In the words written by a long dead man?
In the poetry that we love, but makes no sense?
In the story that lives longer than the words that told it?
Is beauty really found on the walls of an art gallery?
In the face of a stranger, made out of clay?
In the picture thats our window to another world?
In the doodles that show us inside a persons mind?
Is beauty found away from civilization?
In the animals that live such simplistic lives?
In the old trees, so strong, yet so vulnerable?
In the land thats been eaten away by time?
Is beauty just order in the chaos?
Is it the birth of an idea?
The creation of something out of nothing?
The places we can never go?
The things that we can never know?
Is it just another word?
Something to take up space in my dictionary?
Or is it the relief that we feel when something finally makes sense?

July 2010

Cries of Sadness

By Emily Peterson

You see me as I walk out into the morning sunlight,

As I trudge into the barn,

With a heavy heart that weighs me down.

You taste the milk that I've milked,

Done by hard working hands.

The milk of my only prized possession.

You hear my cries of sadness,

Like the wind howling in the distance,

My cries for joy sail away with it.

But soon, you will no longer,

Taste, see nor hear.

For then I will no longer be near,

But far, in the world of the dead.

May 2010

All connected

By Emily Peterson

Thoughts in my head,

Feelings in my heart,

Expressions on my face,

Words in my mouth,

Paper and pen in my hands,

Not achieving much.

 

But as they connect,

Thoughts become feelings,

Feelings turn into expressions,

Expressions transform into words,

And words are written down.

Then the magic is started.

 

Characters are born,

Places are created,

And their message spoken.

 

Thoughts in my head,

Feelings in my heart,

Expressions on my face,

Words in my mouth,

Paper and pen in my hands,

All connected to achieve their purposes.

May 2010