Non-Fiction Prose Seeking Friendly Advice
POEMS AND SHORT STORIES
Non-poetic writing including diary extracts, journal entries, letters, essays and art
Friendly feedback has been requested for these poems.
RiAN
Poem Published
Yesterday 3:30pm
Yesterday 3:30pm
the witch child
This is a story about a child. It is not the story of a country nor its people.
For each of these reflects the human race
He is only two years old though in his size he looks like a toddler.an infant
Though you can tell a tale from the eyes, a mirror to the soul, a bridge between the temples of our bodies, the temples of the soul are even older. No one know just how old.
Or how we got there.
For this moment we are the only ones here
He is called Hope and in his culture being accused as a witch happens to many children. When they can not succeed to...
For each of these reflects the human race
He is only two years old though in his size he looks like a toddler.an infant
Though you can tell a tale from the eyes, a mirror to the soul, a bridge between the temples of our bodies, the temples of the soul are even older. No one know just how old.
Or how we got there.
For this moment we are the only ones here
He is called Hope and in his culture being accused as a witch happens to many children. When they can not succeed to...
#dark
#children
#evil #sacrifice
#evil #sacrifice
14 reads
2 Comments
RiAN
Poem Published
3rd Mar 2021 9:31am
3rd Mar 2021 9:31am
A for Alexandr
He was indeed an emperor though had not yet gained his slice of the land he still belonged to. In hazed awareness he would stare his greyish blue eyes turning into metal.
A stare of depth where all rippled out into the vastness from which skies were made.
Ubijstva chesti they called it, honor killing
If gender one is not , f or m do not appeal for gay pride or non binary people.
I guess it is like having several souls connected to your being, or not only to your being but also to your body. For those who are of one whole solid amorphous it is difficult to...
A stare of depth where all rippled out into the vastness from which skies were made.
Ubijstva chesti they called it, honor killing
If gender one is not , f or m do not appeal for gay pride or non binary people.
I guess it is like having several souls connected to your being, or not only to your being but also to your body. For those who are of one whole solid amorphous it is difficult to...
#LGBT
#CallToAction
#morality
10 reads
0 Comments
RiAN
Poem Published
1st Mar 2021 8:12am
1st Mar 2021 8:12am
B for Bushkah
Once these walls were all white though the decay has left its mark.
At the entrance a flag is hung with the word Trindada. It waves slightly ruffled.
We know this place, a camp site loved and hated. A few weeks before we fled from the dirt and the grim walls surrounding the place and here we are again.
We are offered help by one of the men working at the reception when our small tent finally breaks down..
We receive a huge tent big enough to furnace which we do. Nearby the camp site is a place that has put their left over furniture outside. We ask if they...
At the entrance a flag is hung with the word Trindada. It waves slightly ruffled.
We know this place, a camp site loved and hated. A few weeks before we fled from the dirt and the grim walls surrounding the place and here we are again.
We are offered help by one of the men working at the reception when our small tent finally breaks down..
We receive a huge tent big enough to furnace which we do. Nearby the camp site is a place that has put their left over furniture outside. We ask if they...
#animals
#freedom
#escape #hurt
#escape #hurt
21 reads
4 Comments
RiAN
Poem Published
28th Feb 2021 4:00pm
28th Feb 2021 4:00pm
V for Victoria
Some people are mysteries others can be read as chapters of a book
Victoria was one of those people whom you could turn to
and feel you were reading a novelty novel. A blank page ready to be read basking in an effervescent glimmer.
She reminded me of how sun can turn into silver tide. She reminded me of wind
Never knowing when it will begin to blow. She was sold as slave for the price of a calf. Brought up in slavery. Modern slavery .It is a trade to many in which desperate people loose all hopes and are left abandoned and marked for life. A place they call the...
Victoria was one of those people whom you could turn to
and feel you were reading a novelty novel. A blank page ready to be read basking in an effervescent glimmer.
She reminded me of how sun can turn into silver tide. She reminded me of wind
Never knowing when it will begin to blow. She was sold as slave for the price of a calf. Brought up in slavery. Modern slavery .It is a trade to many in which desperate people loose all hopes and are left abandoned and marked for life. A place they call the...
#humankind
#HumanRights
#admiration
16 reads
0 Comments
RiAN
Poem Published
28th Feb 2021 9:44am
28th Feb 2021 9:44am
SOS
Extracts from a world
Sos help line is a service worldwide where individuals who need a talk can call anonymous regardless the topic. As a volunteer you do a minimum of four shifts a month, one shift is four hours, one is a nightshift which is 8 hours
My first nightshift
The phone has not rang yet
I was thrilled to do this
eventually my exciting night turns into an early night. I sleep a few hours then the phone rings. I have not finished yet the sentence, hello, this is......my name......of SOS...
Sos help line is a service worldwide where individuals who need a talk can call anonymous regardless the topic. As a volunteer you do a minimum of four shifts a month, one shift is four hours, one is a nightshift which is 8 hours
My first nightshift
The phone has not rang yet
I was thrilled to do this
eventually my exciting night turns into an early night. I sleep a few hours then the phone rings. I have not finished yet the sentence, hello, this is......my name......of SOS...
#memories
#humankind
#nonfiction
21 reads
7 Comments
VirgiliusMaro
Poem Published
25th Feb 2021 8:17pm
25th Feb 2021 8:17pm
The Sanctity of Art
Art is the stronghold of
freedom of expression
and danger abides when
political correctness is
allowed to undermine it.
Cultural sensitivity is important,
yea, vital to the progress of
mankind and will deepen with
our collective evolution.
The creative process of art,
however, must never subordinate
itself to what may seem more
palatable, whether politically
or socially. “The art that the world
calls immoral, is the art that shows
the world its own shame.” (Oscar Wilde)
Art is the creative force...
freedom of expression
and danger abides when
political correctness is
allowed to undermine it.
Cultural sensitivity is important,
yea, vital to the progress of
mankind and will deepen with
our collective evolution.
The creative process of art,
however, must never subordinate
itself to what may seem more
palatable, whether politically
or socially. “The art that the world
calls immoral, is the art that shows
the world its own shame.” (Oscar Wilde)
Art is the creative force...
#philosophical
28 reads
6 Comments
RiAN
Poem Published
24th Feb 2021 6:39am
24th Feb 2021 6:39am
Storm is an astronaut
At half midnight they awaken
remnants from a rubiks cube start to preform their act
against walls slightly creeping over the ceiling
immaculate sights
I lay awake and wonder excruciating thoughts
existence riddled like a quivering yarn thread
breaking loose in spiraling motive
all seem air as helium is pumped into a balloon
propelled plastic from afar woven by wind
ghost after ghost begins to sigh
scraping fountains turn into metal blades
lancing spears soar sphered dusk
Earth I was bare
Now ...
remnants from a rubiks cube start to preform their act
against walls slightly creeping over the ceiling
immaculate sights
I lay awake and wonder excruciating thoughts
existence riddled like a quivering yarn thread
breaking loose in spiraling motive
all seem air as helium is pumped into a balloon
propelled plastic from afar woven by wind
ghost after ghost begins to sigh
scraping fountains turn into metal blades
lancing spears soar sphered dusk
Earth I was bare
Now ...
#storm
#nature
#sleep
36 reads
8 Comments
ChynaBay311
Poem Published
23rd Feb 2021 4:31am
23rd Feb 2021 4:31am
DARK BLUE EYES
I took one look,
At those dark Blue Eyes,
I fell so deep into them,
I could save myself.
Those Blue Eyes
told me all I wanted to know,
For I saw your love,
gentle, caring heart
That you hind so well.
For I know that it was
God’s plan for us to meet,
For we have had many,
Many bare missing in life,
But we finally got it right.
So, let’s begin life again,
With this new & exciting love.
At those dark Blue Eyes,
I fell so deep into them,
I could save myself.
Those Blue Eyes
told me all I wanted to know,
For I saw your love,
gentle, caring heart
That you hind so well.
For I know that it was
God’s plan for us to meet,
For we have had many,
Many bare missing in life,
But we finally got it right.
So, let’s begin life again,
With this new & exciting love.
#happiness
#love
32 reads
2 Comments
aries-faerie
Poem Published
20th Feb 2021 9:33pm
20th Feb 2021 9:33pm
finally free
I used to sleep on the edge of the bed
Desperately clinging to the side of my mattress
For the very presence of your body beside me in my bed was enough to keep me in a constant state of panic
You always fell asleep so quick,
So easily, so peacefully
Completely unaware of my fear,
Of my unrelenting restlessness
It took me hours to find enough peace in my chaos-ridden mind to begin to drift off
I feel though, as if I never truly slept in that bed next to you,
I just took a quick rest,
Just a little break whenever the night shift was slow...
Desperately clinging to the side of my mattress
For the very presence of your body beside me in my bed was enough to keep me in a constant state of panic
You always fell asleep so quick,
So easily, so peacefully
Completely unaware of my fear,
Of my unrelenting restlessness
It took me hours to find enough peace in my chaos-ridden mind to begin to drift off
I feel though, as if I never truly slept in that bed next to you,
I just took a quick rest,
Just a little break whenever the night shift was slow...
#abuse
#FeelingTrapped
#DomesticViolence
92 reads
16 Comments
JakAlfhild
Poem Published
19th Feb 2021 00:33am
19th Feb 2021 00:33am
Still miss you
Four years now you’ve been gone
Hopefully to a better place
They said you were gone even before
Your heart gave out
But I wonder
Did you hear me?
Did you know I was there?
I’d always protected you growing up
This time
.......I couldn’t
I know you wanted
To stay
But it wasn’t meant to be
When I got the call
That your heart gave out...
..... a piece of mine died, too
I know I’m not alone in this world
In which I still roam
But it feels like it sometimes
Some days the memories...
Hopefully to a better place
They said you were gone even before
Your heart gave out
But I wonder
Did you hear me?
Did you know I was there?
I’d always protected you growing up
This time
.......I couldn’t
I know you wanted
To stay
But it wasn’t meant to be
When I got the call
That your heart gave out...
..... a piece of mine died, too
I know I’m not alone in this world
In which I still roam
But it feels like it sometimes
Some days the memories...
#sadness
#brother
#death #memories
#death #memories
20 reads
0 Comments
Reborn-Asylum
Poem Published
18th Feb 2021 6:44pm
18th Feb 2021 6:44pm
Macabre
Danse Macabre
One soft summer evening, the wind rolls on the breeze, through the trees to a lonely homestead.
Tenderfoot Ranch, was a quaint homestead with a large field, small granary, and a small house, large enough for five bedrooms. Though everything seemed well on the outside, the fields were withering under Arthur Macabre’s ignorant green-thumb. Arthur had spent his life adventuring not tending fields and they were becoming dry and producing less crop each harvest.
Arthur played a handful of dirt in his hands, breaking up the hard chunks then threw the dirt on...
One soft summer evening, the wind rolls on the breeze, through the trees to a lonely homestead.
Tenderfoot Ranch, was a quaint homestead with a large field, small granary, and a small house, large enough for five bedrooms. Though everything seemed well on the outside, the fields were withering under Arthur Macabre’s ignorant green-thumb. Arthur had spent his life adventuring not tending fields and they were becoming dry and producing less crop each harvest.
Arthur played a handful of dirt in his hands, breaking up the hard chunks then threw the dirt on...
#dark
#parent
28 reads
2 Comments
Reborn-Asylum
Poem Published
18th Feb 2021 6:42pm
18th Feb 2021 6:42pm
Clarabel-La Rising
A Rage Seething
The young sith pureblood rubbed the blood from her lip and spit into the ground. She stood up, and in a swift motion threw dirt into her opponents eyes while shifting low for a sweeping leg kick.
She failed to connect, her older brother easily jumping over her slow leg. He then struck her across the face with a defeating kick and laughed walking to their father's side. He scolded her for her shortcomings and insisted if she could not beat her brother in combat then she didn't need food, instead her portions would go to her brother.
The young...
The young sith pureblood rubbed the blood from her lip and spit into the ground. She stood up, and in a swift motion threw dirt into her opponents eyes while shifting low for a sweeping leg kick.
She failed to connect, her older brother easily jumping over her slow leg. He then struck her across the face with a defeating kick and laughed walking to their father's side. He scolded her for her shortcomings and insisted if she could not beat her brother in combat then she didn't need food, instead her portions would go to her brother.
The young...
#anger
#hate
17 reads
0 Comments
DU Poetry : Non-Fiction Prose Seeking Advice: Short Stories, Diary Entries and Letters
