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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    We are going to explode from the sky Like mortars, one day One day we are going to do what will be asked of us And more Heartbreaking and staggering Catching sweat-soaked bodies With our refreshing sweetness Or nursing a desert back to A forestry hue We will do immeasurable, wonderful...
  • Opinion > School / College
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    The morning I was told to write something for the newspaper, Mungo Jerry snuck into my subconscious. Well, not exactly. It would be more accurate to say the song “In the Summertime” played as I tried to wake up. It was successful. For all those unfamiliar with the work of the 1970's British ...
  • Nonfiction > Travel & Culture
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    I’ve lived in New York City all my life. I was born at Mt. Sinai on 100 St. and 5th. I originally lived downtown in a loft in a very classic New York art studio equipped with a daunting Warhol-esq spiriling stair case. Now I live in two stories worth of a brownstone on the upper west side. Oh and ...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    ‘Yo bud, could I get a swipe?’ Standing up straight, A tall, lanky, hopefully Kid was staring down at me I stand, backpack slung across my back, Cool like an AK I’ve been humming the newest beat Praying no one will notice me His proposition takes me back a step, Considering what v...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    Iggy’s favorite show, Futurama, had been playing on marathon for the last few hours or so, but he never once glanced up from his gaping solid gaze of the dully colored hospital floor. He had mangled jet black hair which hid his eyes and he needed to shave badly. He could be very handsome if he jus...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I am irate With my parents They are unaware Of how difficult they have made Poetry For me They seem to have forgotten the number one Tool In a poet's arsenal They seem to have forgotten That hundreds of poets have Established Their craft purely on Their deleterious and Stif...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    I am waltzing down Amsterdam, spring in my step. I take long strides filled with bravado and swagger. It’s frigid, but naturally, I am wearing shorts. The shorts make me manly. Right? Well, anyway. People stare at me. I enjoy the quizzical looks and whispered judgments. They fuel me. The glares ...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    There once was a boy Who lived with his mother in a Rickety, tired old house The house was constantly cold, Even in the summertime It was colored a dull grey and most of the paint had already chipped off The floorboards moaned with contempt The door hinges wined for freedom as they were o...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    The Fire burns in the souls of the defeated And the homes of the unconquerable It torments the minds of the remorseful And initiates revenge But those who side-stepped the fire And lost all dear to them, Are the one’s Who suffer the most I was not smothered by the Fire Of my fathe...

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