Sunday, October 28, 2007

By Sara, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers

I was at K.M. Ryan's site and saw a post about a poem that is trying to travel through the blogosphere.

The sound shook his bones,
like a cymbal
crashing fast against his soul.

A soul detached from mind and body,
shivering in the dark
and fearing the coming light.

He fled to a dingy back alley
and waited. A wind rushed

to meet him at the end-
with that terrible sound wound through it.

And all he could do was wonder if he remembered to lock his front door,
or if his memories would be taken away with his sanity?

He crouched down, curling into his grief,

the last line is mine.

Do you want to add the next line? Here are instructions to take part in this game:

It's a game of poetry tag. Be the first to post TAG in the comments. Then take these lines and add one, in a post on your own blog, along with these instructions. Whoever adds the nineteenth line then takes the poem to Poets Who Blog at and puts the whole poem in the comment section there. Each person who plays need to also mention what site you were at when you found the poem so that other bloggers can follow the breadcrumbs back to this poem. You can play more than once but not twice in a row.

Sunday, October 21, 2007

By Anna, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers

A Crease in the Sheets

A crease in the sheets
Looked just like your feet,
But I knew you had left.
So I straightened the bed.
Half-hoping to find
You were lying inside.

I imagined you'd say
That you'd got off the plane
You'd decided to stay.
Or that maybe, you'd say
That you'd had to return,
Or that someone had learned
That you shouldn't have gone.
But my image was wrong.

It was only the sheets.
It wasn't your feet.

Written by Anna Williams at age 32 Read more of her work at Free Poems

Monday, October 8, 2007

By Sara, member of Brand New Aspiring Writers

there’s no inner strongholds
left for surrender

no bunker I could burrow into
in myself

no hearth
no warmth
no happy home
no lovely soul

there is a vast echoless wasteland
withering within

and that

that is all there is

Read more of her work at The Shores of My Dreams.