Articles written by Dylan Mitchell

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About me - Dylan Mitchell

I think of myself as an Outsider poet. Although I have been to college (and majored in Creative Writing), I tend to prefer prose poems-much more than poetry written in strict form. Also, like Emily Dickinson-I am rather fond of dashes. In addition, much of

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Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Fear: 7 of 283

Beware the ones that call you, "Dear," and whisper Shakespeare in your ear. They'll talk about you when your head is turned: "A witch from Salem-to be burned." They'll give you gifts, because you're poor: then steal your time, and beg for more. They'll praise with words not from the heart: Because telling lies is such an art...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Depression: 30 of 630

SUDDEN LIGHT I slept in my clothes again last night. Those stubborn buttons were beyond my dying fingers. No energy to unzip my pants, take off a shoe. The stark sun stabs my exhausted eyes each morning. Shrill street sirens startle my numb mouth open: A long silent scream, in a deaf man's nightmare. Under the heavy covers I...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Tyranny: 1 of 9

WHO KILLED SUPERMAN? The brave man in the sky was supposed to stand for America: Any small town boy could grow up and become a hero just like Superman. Just lose the glasses, turn a bright red table cloth into a cape. Nab a couple of bad guys as they almost get away with some poor old lady's purse, and you'd be up in the big...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Good-bye: 23 of 178

VAN GOGH'S CROWS If I should die as the sun sets and the crows fly will you forget me? If I should die as my blood drips and the saints cry will you remember me? After the paint's dry and the critics lie and the crows die will you forget me? After I die and a new sunrise and the crows fly will you remember me?
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Society: 37 of 253

UNWANTED I found an old book in the gutter today: A battered blue hardcover unwanted by the world. It had been kicked about by a brutal foot-more than a few pages were wrinkled and torn. So I plucked it up and carried it home. After I wiped off some of the dirt I saw a cover as blue as the sea. I wiped some more until a fami...
Creative Writing > Poetry Haiku: Days Pass: 4 of 27

BLUE DAYS I am alone now. And the sky is without clouds: We are very blue.
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Lonely boys: 10 of 32

Ballad Blue I'm in a town I did not build, my room is rather mean. The fleas are leaping 'round and 'round- my body's not that clean. I stopped at Freddy's for the cure, the cost was not too high. I cannot scratch another spot- I'd rather see them die. I'm not an outcast in this town: Typhoid Mary who? I slipped and fell, bu...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Numb: 31 of 74

FALLING DOWN New York City is falling down as I rise from my bed like a stubborn corpse While people are burned and buried alive here I make stiff fingers move shuffle my numb feet toward life Mad planes seek easy targets in the sky Here I put on my hat, let the elevator drop me down to the basement below Maybe a miracle wil...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Home: 81 of 189

COMING HOME He stood at the window most nights. An old man with soft white hair, and a smiling face. His bright blue eyes shone like rare lamps on a dark day. Coming home, not a star in the sky, if I felt a little lost, or battered by the world: I'd often lift my eyes up to the 3rd floor, and hope to find him there. That fam...
Creative Writing > Poetry Poetry: Growing old: 90 of 189

OLD When I first saw you in line at Safeway today you were so very happy about the roses. You held them to your withered face, and breathed in their sweet scent, then placed them on the counter gently- ever so gently, like you were laying them down to sleep. After the young cashier ignored your warm hello, you kept on smilin...