free Archives - Spillwords

Thy Days Are Done

SpillwordsMarch 22, 2020

Thy Days Are Done a poem by: Lord Byron Thy days are done, thy fame begun; Thy country's strains record The triumphs of her chosen Son, The slaught...

EnglishLiterary GreatsPoetry0 min read

A Clear Midnight

SpillwordsFebruary 16, 2020

A Clear Midnight a poem by: Walt Whitman This is thy hour O Soul, thy free flight into the wordless, Away from books, away from art, the day erased, ...

EnglishLiterary GreatsPoetry0 min read

Dancing Free

Sheri M. StewartFebruary 8, 2020

Dancing Free written by: Sheri M. Stewart I'm moving on and dancing free breaking away from this you and me I'm sorry if I made you stumble but you...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Goodnight Denver

BrandSeptember 25, 2019

Goodnight Denver written by: Brand Sometimes I miss home. The mountains, the air, The strong familiar scent of animals conducting their business. ...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

How Could I Not…

Julie PowellSeptember 19, 2019

How Could I Not... written by: Julie Powell @jules_cupcake You know I love you, how could I not Even though you still keep me waiting I keep wo...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Nonchalance

Ipsita BanerjeeSeptember 14, 2019

Nonchalance written by: Ipsita Banerjee @ipsyb I have lain those dogs to rest, The ones snapping at my heels Begging me to train them I have set...

EnglishFeatured PostPoetry0 min read

Mask

Sonali MajumdarJuly 26, 2019

Mask written by: Sonali Majumdar Do we ever wonder What would happen If we tell the truth? Or, if we don’t tell the truth? Sometimes, we know th...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

My Forgotten Life

CamilleJuly 15, 2019

My Forgotten Life written by: Camille @gowerrichelle75 I am a part of what humans call “ industrial farming” My future wrapped in cellophane.. my ...

EnglishPoetry2 min read

If I Die Tomorrow

Tylia FloresJuly 1, 2019

If I Die Tomorrow written by: Tylia Flores @stompingoncp1 If I die tomorrow Please don’t cry for me, Cause I’ll be running free, finally ...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Father’s Veil

Corey BrockingtonJune 19, 2019

Father's Veil written by: Corey Brockington Unworldly? Shirley oblivious in lighthouse Her venture is without coma, oh, sleepless Shirley fishing ha...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Battlefield

Kateri M. WalshMay 20, 2019

Battlefield written by: Kateri M. Walsh @walshkateri You tear at my brain aching me to go insane. You preach the darkness to me, let it swallow my ...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Revisiting History

Garima MahajanMay 11, 2019

Revisiting History written by: Garima Mahajan @GarimaM1204 'Et tu... It was my ego Not the dagger, Caesar!' 'Save it for later When I die, you wil...

EnglishPoetrySpilled History0 min read

Heroine of Our Time

Chloe GilholyApril 29, 2019

Heroine of Our Time written by: Chloe Gilholy @Chloboshoka She smiles in the corner Pen behind her ear Book by her chin She’ll grow up Cool and c...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

With The Soul Face To Face

NilavroNill ShoovroApril 29, 2019

With The Soul Face To Face written by: Nilavro Nill Now I’m gliding through Like the dead Phoenix Nothing to be worried about No more anxiety or pl...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Gerardine White (mostly called Ger) grew up in wild open country of West Limerick, Ireland. Her country life is represented in her poems and has a strong bearing on her core values and education. She inherited the skill of poetic rhyme from both of her parents and her Grandad – who were all fine poets and storytellers. Her education took place mostly in South West Ireland and the rest of it is gleaned from travel, from life, and from being an avid reader of all kinds of books. In recent years she has returned to poetry writing. This past year seeing her published in four Anthologies from Clarendon House Publications. She sees herself as a Spiritual person, very connected with life in all forms. She is happily married for past 20 years and currently lives in Sussex, UK. She enjoys healthy pursuits of country walks with a nice cuppa tea and chat at the end.

Resurrection by Suzanne Craig-Whytock

On the day that Budgie died, I was young and very sad. He was a pretty bird, always singing in his cage. Sometimes we let him out to fly around, and on that day, the curtains were wide open and he slammed into the glass hard. Momma put him into a shoe box and I cried as we buried him in the back garden among the lilies. The next morning, very early, I snuck out of the house and dug him up with a garden trowel because I wanted to see him one more time. When I took the lid off the shoe box, his eyes were open and his wings fluttered ...