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• Poetry > All Poetry
  Ode to My Rifle

  By Ian C., Wheaton, IL

  My rifle, my gun Spins, flies, dazzles the crowd, Turns in the air, Moves like water through my hands. The slap of the strap as It claps against my palms. Collective gasp as it twirls, Over my head. Coming down Fast, not a sound. Lost in the emotion Second hand muscle memory motions. ...
• Poetry > All Poetry
  land on paper page

  By Ian C., Wheaton, IL

  These words fly from my brain, Like planes land on paper page With wings of ink, the tip touches, Scratches and taps. Taps for the dead of brain, The crazy ones who think they’re sane. Fooling only themselves, Because everyone else can See through their masks, The skin beneath, the re...
• Poetry > Free Verse
  They Retreat They Rage

  By Ian C., Wheaton, IL

  In the choppy waters Of the world, the wars They wage. Against Right and wrong, they Retreat, they rage. Using guns, grenades, growing Greater power by the hour. Watched by wise eyes of Children, chilling story of horror, Witness to the warrior, Run ragged, hungry and hurt, But first, a...