Shortest Stories

he she

quiet dark, flame

hi, he; no, she



much angry singing

many ?s

1776 us politics? no

oh no xx00


Not really that good;
It hits hard when they tell me
I can’t make this work.

Swiper, no swiping
Is what the girl will say to
The stealing, sly fox.

Listen to him roar,
that nasty brother of mine
without any goals.

Cover falls away;
An array of roads leaving
the dark that remains.


Why should I write couplets, poetry sucks
but when I run out of rhymes, I say “shucks”.

Freestyle poetry


carelessly accessing
school codes
and databases
every day

vitals are vital violets are blue,
a poem doesn’t need a title,
ask her later,
she says she won’t have one vital

Obscurity Wandering in silence,
Standing in a cold cave,
Void of all my violence
but you I cannot save.

Empty of my feeling
but I’m not in my grave,
Childhood was leaving
though I wish I did crave.

Behind me is the past,
Come and gone like a mist,
Oh where was I at last,
alas! I surely missed.

What does the future hold
for torn-up souls like me?
God wills us fit His mold,
He expects that of we?

Certainly I won’t find
that which I am seeking
in the halls of my mind;
elsewhere I’ll be peeking.


I feel cold
in the dark.
Here, now,
time wins.
hours i wait
in insanity blandly.
operational, handy
is the thing
with which
I distract myself
from the cold
that is finishing early.

Ode to a pencil.

Oh, pencil
with which I write,
which expresses my thoughts
and sets them in stone
as words.
Pencil, you are my worst enemy,
yet the use of your fine graphite tip
and the funny little pink eraser
grasp my freedom of speech
and pull out its full extent.
Pencil, you are my best ally,
yet those who try to teach me
make me resent you for what I have to use you for.
Oh, pencil!

Past, Present, Future

I imagine all the dates;
The times I’ve never had,
the things I’ve never done.
Every time I do I get sad,
knowing I’ll never have won.

So I flash back on all the fun;
the games, the sights, the times
when all was lost to the now,
when I’d write like this and it rhymes.
In my head I say this vow:

I’ll make tomorrow great.
Fix the song of my life
I must, and try with skill
to erase future suffering and strife
from me and all I will.

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