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  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Tonight I'm living  on the salt of my tears, drinking the brine: I am empty and burning but my throat is too full to swallow. - I showed you the door and the mocking sky smiled down on me, the stars dancing and whirling the blue,  as if to say Look, we've found each other;...
  • Poetry > Sonnet
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    I slip into the music soft and slow. My fingers fall upon the weighted keys, caress and wander down the iv'ry bones. I place myself inside this shim'ring peace. These fragile melodies ensnare my ears, and music tender played fills up my veins. Bright colors and illusions now appea...
  • Nonfiction > Heroes
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    In English class, my teacher says it needs to happen during the second half of the block. He's afraid they won't dismiss us in time. He's calculated that the two thousand people from our school will fill an entire mile. We wait on edge all class. The announcement doesn't come. Instead it comes as we...
  • College
    Guide > College Essays
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    I have always has a passion for teaching. From the time I was a kid, I would fight to be the teacher when I played school with my friends. I wanted to be the one to write on the chalkboard and give my friends assignments. My love for English, too, has been unwavering: I’m still proud to say I hol...
  • Nonfiction > Memoir
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    Last night - two weeks before I leave to go back - I reread my train letters from everyone. Jokes I hadn't remembered. Moments I'd forgotten. A letter to myself I didn't know I wrote. Reading it, I feel like I failed myself somehow. Or, not failed, exactly, just didn't live up to...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    i. (theme) crystallized moods shatter on ugly green linoleum. an overture to tears. crescendo to pain. mezzo piano to forte. fortissimo. one sharp sfortzando – and a fermata on the rest. ii. (development) aching fingers pull a blanket closer. a tied octave: low measure after meas...
  • Fiction > Historical Fiction
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    Poetry rings in my ears. Walking down the street I see women in skirts and full hats; I see men moving purposefully, their coattails lifting in the breeze. Poetry rings in my ears. I see a woman holding a man’s arm, short brunette curls framing her round face and lilies pinned to her breast. Her s...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    and now, sitting quiet on the windowsill, the windows raised. birds' circular songs seek me out. there is rain in the gutter. two sparrows chase each other across my field of view. their muscles warm, they delight in the still air. the wind is too cold for cotton. I close the window,...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    melancholic melodies wander questioning to me and I inhale their uncertainty. they leave a bitter taste in my mouth. I try to rinse it clean but it casts grey the sky across the landscape. the clouds sheet, stretched across the sky like ripping dough. to fix, add water one teaspo...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Weighty words sink in my stomach. I swallow phrases, pretty words that mean nothing or too much. Cry? Sometimes. Sometimes… Sometimes, questions force themselves up the tepid stream of ugly thoughts that is my throat. They catch sick and die on my lips, poisoned. Pois...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    He will take his one small suitcase, walk slowly to his car he barely remembers where he left it last week and get in, drive solemnly north until he reaches his house. It will be in one of the poorer suburbs (not bad, not good) and will be quietly run-down. Searching for his key, he will...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    bits of broken beer bottles glitter across the path in the night, mirroring the still, the silent, the sky, chock full of poets and angels....
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    In the winter I hide, weak, like a turtle. I poke my head out of my shell, and let the world batter me until I retreat, cowed, afraid. Oh, to be a bear, who knows his weakness and is strong enough to avoid it, who sleeps through the darkest months and emerges alive. - Through the w...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    She sat on the floor of the white room, watching white machines go fast and slow, always alone and islanded by noise, always remembering poems she’d read and but never the authors or where she’d heard them, always feeling scared, watching her clothes go over and over, around and around, drowning...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Morning is quiet. Snow rests upon the lonely ground, diffusing noise almost before it is born. Curt wind brushes past my nose and cheeks, the bare skin of my face protesting the chill. Amid the silence, sounds awaken in my ears, pressing themselves into my naked heart, silvery threads which...
  • Poetry > Free Verse
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    Weighty words sink in my stomach. I swallow phrases, pretty words that mean nothing or too much. Cry? Sometimes. Sometimes, Sometimes, questions force themselves up the tepid stream of ugly thoughts that is my throat. They catch sick and die on my lips, poisoned. Poison...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    She stared at the ceiling. You watched her do it and you remembered the way her face had looked when you flew halfway across the country. You had watched her stare out the pillbox windows; you had noticed how the neighborhoods looked like spinal cords; you had fallen asleep with her head on ...
  • Fiction > Realistic Fiction
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    He sat under a willow at the Public Gardens, letting words pass over him and through him without ever really hearing them. He could see the lagoon and a swan boat slowly drifting, propelling kids and elderly tourists through the water. He had a pen and paper, the steel nib lightly resting, immobile,...
  • Poetry > All Poetry
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    Somewhere in this world there is music playing. Somewhere, a pianist is enraptured by what he is creating, his piano alive, music swirling in the air, tangible swirls of mauve and teal and lavender. And buttercup. Yes – lots of buttercup. Somewhere in this world there are people dancin...
  • Art /
    Photo > Photographs
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    Photo > Photographs
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    Photo > Photographs
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    Photo > Photographs
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    Photo > Photographs
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    Photo > Photographs
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