Fallen Star

Submitted by Libby on Sat, 11/03/2018 - 02:32

The first time I saw her, she was throwing her slender arms around a weeping willow tree, a dryad in her forest kingdom. Auburn strands of silky hair coiled about her head. I took a step, and she was gone.

The second time, she saw me, too. We stood, gazing at each other, her dark eyes brimming with curiosity. Her hair was no longer copper, coal-black in its profusion, pouring in torrents down to her waist. A smile began to grow, dimpling the corners of her milk-white lips, warming her face ‘til it felt like spring had defied winter at last.

Essays from an Adventure, Part 4: Reverie

Submitted by Mary on Wed, 04/04/2018 - 01:15

For as long as I can remember, I have been captivated by clouds. No doubt this love was greatly enhanced by the fact that I grew up in the American Midwest, where some of the most spectacular cloud formations in the world are the daily norm. Hours upon hours of my childhood and teen years were devoted to lying on the ground or sitting on a high vantage point, watching everything from cotton puffs to monstrous storm cells move overhead.

A Magic Book

Submitted by Claire J. on Fri, 02/11/2011 - 22:31

 A Magic Book



I wait for them to go to sleep,

Sometimes late past midnight,

I go to my most secret place,

And read by candle light.


There are so many worlds to see,

Like Bear in the Big Blue House,

I close my eyes and pick one out,

This time it's Robin Hood Mouse.


I open up the magic book,

A blast of light comes out,

There I see from way above,

The mice just going about.


I see the dibbuns playing around,

Beside some food a cook,

Magical Ink

Submitted by Heather on Fri, 09/26/2008 - 03:46

The candles are lit to chase away the dusk
As I sit down at my writing desk
With my quill pen and bottle of ink
The task falls to me to record a quest
I dip the pen in the dark liquid ink
And spread a parchment before me
The nib touches parchment, the ink flows
The room fills with a thousand shapes I barely see
As I write, a unicorn prances across the desk
His hoofs wave, with his horn he defies all
Now marching past, a line of kings
Grim and noble before their house's fall
A dragon winging by, iridescent purple

A Child

Submitted by Robin on Sun, 06/15/2008 - 16:13

Being a child is a fabulous way
To honestly say exactly what you want to say
It is a natural process to express
Unless it is annihilated using duress
Children are freest among all humans
Only to be squelched and socially ruined
By grown ups with issues they may or may not see
Trying to superimpose on youngins how to be
Like them, all serious and wearing a mask
Lying to themselves and to proud to ask
For help to release all the pain they incurred
By growing up and thinking childhood is absurd