Sneakers, loafers, toes of steel?
Slippers, flip-flops, high-tops, heels?
Choose your footwear
Choose your road
Beauty-wear
Or heavy loads?
This new year, where will you walk?
Fly alone? Join the flock?
It’s your call
You’re in control
Tie your laces
Check your soles
Will you wear new shoes
Or old?
Have a blessed, happy New Year!
Underneath the tall trees.
A cool and soothing summer breeze,
A blanket spread on fresh-cut blades of grass
“Our love is strong and steady
So I suspect you may already
Know exactly what I want to ask?”
Bird songs foreshadow reverie
“My everlasting love, my sweetheart, will you marry me?”
Alexander Key teaches high school whenever the moon and stars are in perfect alignment.
You told me I was nothing, going nowhere
You tried to beat it into my head
How cold and hard life really is
But I refused to think of life that way
You’re no longer here to see it, but…
I’m proving you wrong, earning my revenge by living well.
Alexander Key teaches high school but rarely admits it.
I am an anchor. I keep you moored, while I plumb the depths. You are the thing that matters. I am just the slowly rusting passage of time. You are my love and I am your anchor. I sense a new undercurrent. I want to drag you down with me.
Gary writes poems, short stories, and novels. Some can be found on his Scribophile account, others on his somewhat neglected Tumblr.
Stretched at a fire with crackling log
Brimful saucers of creamy eggnog
Treats under the table
Perhaps a catnip mouse
Joy and laughter fill up the house
Coloured ribbons for me to chase
Beaming smiles on every face
Fur-stroking pats
From hands old and new
Yes, cats love Christmas too
Mia Yow is a writer, artist and animal lover (especially cats). Her present cat was a stray which arrived at her door on Boxing Day (The Feast of St Stephen) many years ago.
Cutting flesh was not as easy as he had thought it would be. It dragged. But there was another hand guiding his, and a voice
whispering; telling him what to do. He listened carefully to that other as the rain dripped from the rafters of the warehouse
onto his sins.
Anya Carpzov read English Literature and Drama at Exeter University. She also has a degree in Law from London University. Her first novel, The Mental Hospital, was published in 2008. She writes for Ether Books and has recently produced a book of short stories entitled Ten Minute Tales. She is a member of the Society of Authors.
You turn away; my lips brush your hair. It’s like reaching for the moon and falling into its watery reflection instead.
You sneer; your songs become grumbles.
See the full moon rising? It’s your face: my fingers touch you, and I am turned upside-down in the water: I’m waiting; drowning.
Rachel Rose Teferet enjoys designing websites, creative writing, and goat herding. Her website is lettersandfeathers.wordpress.com.
Describe HER:
A gentle breeze of pure virtue blowing tenaciously.
An epitome of unconditional and humane love.
A devotee to service of the weakest and meekest.
Unconditional worker without expectations.
An Angel in human form.
A Saint who has totally surrendered to God’s will.
That is our Beloved Mother Teresa.
Vaidya Shankar is an Engineer by profession with an interest in writing.
In Shastonbury children weep
for want of food and lack of sleep.
They drink the rain and talk to sheep
in the ancient town of Shastonbury.
Shastonbury, I’ve heard tell,
is like a wetter form of Hell.
They rue the clouds and curse the smell,
the shepherd boys of Shastonbury.
“No, sir,” said she, sincere as can be, “I never did ignite this fire!”
“Listen well, girl,” answered Inspector Earl, “I half suspect you are a liar!”
“Suspicions of arson?” inquired the parson, obsequious, timid, subdued.
“Indeed,” replied Earl, “though, no, not the girl… The arsonist, sir; it was you!”
This poem was based on the prompt “this fire” at TypeTrigger.