prose poetry Archives

The Benefits of Playing Chess with Tyler

Marla Lacherza BraccoSeptember 13, 2019

The Benefits of Playing Chess with Tyler written by: Marla Lacherza Bracco @mangopickles On a tethered fuchsia carpet, I had gotten into it with th...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

The Measure Of Good

Ximena EscobarAugust 21, 2019

The Measure Of Good written by: Ximena Escobar @laximenin My heavy heart dripped down her arms. The scale already knew it; they all knew it would t...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

El Manto

Jose A GomezAugust 13, 2019

El Manto written by: José A Gómez El manto de la vida, que arropa la esperanza, esta lleno de sueños, de ilusiones y añoranzas, respiran las palabras,...

Featured PostJose A GomezPoetrySpanish1 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

ADIEU

Luzviminda G. RiveraJuly 10, 2019

ADIEU written by: LUZVIMINDA G. RIVERA sun slowly goes below the horizon cold wind breeze touches the skin waves kiss the seashore slowly coming ba...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Unwrench

Kateri M. WalshJuly 8, 2019

Unwrench written by: Kateri M. Walsh @walshkateri My heart screams unwrench me from these wires around the gashes, the holes, the tears, the unbare...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Letters To Coffee and Caffeine, My Pillars

Susanne ThomasJuly 5, 2019

Letters To Coffee and Caffeine, My Pillars written by: Susanne Thomas @Susannewith5 6:15 AM I didn’t set you up last night. You big shiny lug. Now...

EnglishPoetry3 min read

Crazy

Susie FoughtJune 22, 2019

Crazy written by: Susie Fought She’s standing up there. Stiff. One leg throbbing. Holding the microphone like a baby bird. Backlit. Blue Neon. Large a...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

What We Have Left

Henna JohansdotterJune 17, 2019

What We Have Left written by: Henna Johansdotter @HjdPoetry No one seemed to notice the severed hand lying in the sink. Everyone walked by polishing ...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Decent

IchiniiMay 31, 2019

Decent written by: Ichinii I’ve always been convinced I’m a god Twisting and writhing and screaming Clawing at the flesh walls, all my anger bottl...

EnglishPoetry2 min read

Hope

Neera Singhi ChorariaMay 29, 2019

Hope written by: Neera Singhi Choraria She looked Beautiful. Her eyes twinkled in search of something unknown. Her soul was restless. Life for ...

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

Wounded Soldier

Willie E. Davis Jr.April 10, 2019

Wounded Soldier written by: Willie E. Davis Jr. aka Willskillz The Poet I was working in the field! And caught one in the hip! Down I went, it t...

EnglishPoetry0 min read

Selling Hope

Beth TremaglioApril 1, 2019

Selling Hope written by: Beth Tremaglio @TremaglioBeth "What is more dangerous than hopelessness? The sale and lie of hope." - Beth Unt...

EnglishPoetry1 min read

Phyllis P. Colucci is a freelance/indie author from Brooklyn, New York. She is currently retired from a Supervisory Administrative position with a Federal law enforcement agency in New York City, and is now pursuing her passion for writing fiction and poetry. She has always had a love for writing over the years, whether it be poetry, short stories or novels; and mystery and suspense is something she has recently gravitated towards with a touch of romance and that "New York edge". Phyllis has three novels, one novella and an Anthology of original poems currently on the Amazon market, and continues to be part of the Spillwords writing community by sharing/contributing her fiction and poetry on a monthly basis. She also has a writing blog under the name of "FictionTarot" where she hopes to entertain readers, take them on journeys page by page - and perhaps make a difference with a blog.

Bodies In The Basement by M. Taggart

It was a crisp, damp, October night.
“When we get to the Church I’ll go down first.” Colin was thinking of the moment when both he and Aaron would be standing at the top of the basement stairs peering down into the darkness.
The old stone Church was perched at the top of the largest hill on the prep school’s campus. Colin’s parents were professors at the school and their house was on campus grounds. They’d been waiting for Colin’s parents to fall asleep upstairs. Both boys were comfortable in their sleeping bags on the screened in porch. The lights had been turned out an hour ago and Colin felt it was time to slip into the night ...