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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Time
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My window is a time machineAs different seasons move byI see the past as it was thenI watch the past again and again.I see a young lad kicking a ballInto a sky of brilliant blueI see him laughing at a bruiseOf black and brown, and other hues.Young ones never feel the painOf cuts and scrapes, and bleeding woundsThey stride thr... More..

Creative Writing > Humor Humor: Food
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As I rounded the corner of the aisle, I saw her. She had to be either a thief or paranoid schizophrenic. She was bent over, and looking side to side as she held the can of Yummy Vittles cat food to her chest. I backed up out of her sight. I looked around and no one else acted as though they saw her. My Mountain Of Chocks coo... More..

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: A lasting love
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Shady trees down shady lanesSpring breezes and Summer rainsWalk with mePlease walk with me.Shoreline walks mid soaring gullsNeaptide waves and ebbtide lullsWalk with mePlease walk with me.In mountains, shadows block the sunPine trees grow together as oneWalk with mePlease walk with me.No matter where, no matter whenWe'll go t... More..

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Dark stories
354 of 662

Edgar Jones walked like a man on a mission. He was going to get fired today.He got this information from a friend of a friend on the phone last night. Edgar walked with a purpose. It was just before dawn in the city, and there weren't many people on the streets. Edgar had gotten off the first bus at Post and Angle. It was st... More..

Creative Writing > Short Stories Short stories: Children's stories
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The CleppermaniacThey said that Mary was the last to see the brooch, but she denied stealing it."They never believe me." Mary kicked at the ground as she paced in back of her house. She continued to mumble to herself as she walked."I'm only thirteen, anyway. What would I want with a durned old woman's pin?"When her older sist... More..

Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Remembering
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Oh, how old I feelHow the years fly byHe mused as he walkedAnd to himself, he talked.A look at the child A boy in a park swingHe was once a child so youngWho swung so wild till the school bell rung.He felt his age as he strolled on byTwo young girls filling hands with jacksHe'd never played that game so long agoBut, there wer... More..

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