1. Coralee b
    May 3, 2017 @ 10:12 am

    I never really enjoyed poetry until I began listening to you read it out loud.

  2. Julie T
    May 3, 2017 @ 9:28 pm

    Whatever else my life is, there are the bees swirling around in the muggy day outside, water steaming off the earth in the surprising 75-degrees (F) and full sun. Just yesterday the rain was coming down steady enough to fill the oatmeal bowl ½-inch with water while I was out with the chickens. The ground is soaked to the core of the earth. And now that water is vaporizing, and floating back up to the atmosphere, soaking me again as it rises, filtering back up through the leaves and branches, gathering in fluffy white clouds. Whatever else my life is, there is the kitty that requires my care, my love, leaving wet footprints on my desk and keyboard after coming in from the hot air and wet ground. She’s searching for a route to her water glass on the windowsill, my desk pulled away to hide from the glare of the sun.

  3. Laura
    May 5, 2017 @ 6:13 pm

    There is only one question: how to love this world? How do we love this world in all its splendour, glory, intensity, pain, sorrow, beauty, joy, monotony…truth? How? Because sometimes I am at a loss. Overthinking, overanalyzing, over-questioning. Maybe sometimes all we need is to slow down and be still. Listen to the sounds of the raindrops as they bounce on the grass, instantly creating vibrancy. Magic blossoming on the trees and from plants. Listening to the hum, ever present, in the air, in a room, in a car, in the middle if nowhere. Hum, in Hindi, means ‘we’. The collective we. We are here. We are breathing. We are living. We are dying. We are leaning. We are questioning. We are loving. We are crying. We are being. We are HERE.

  4. Laura
    May 5, 2017 @ 6:15 pm

    Typos: *middle of nowhere, **we are learning.

  5. Kate
    May 10, 2017 @ 3:44 pm

    There is only one question: What is my purpose? My mother was once told that I would do great things. But all I do is question. Question the meaning of things. Question why and how. Questions that a child has, that I had as a child, I now find myself asking again. But this time there isn’t a parent or parents answering my incessant why’s. This time, there is only me. My experience and my dreams. The answers are inside. It’s my job to find them.

  6. Tia
    May 11, 2017 @ 5:15 pm

    Staring Down The Mountain.

    We’re always staring down the mountain. Aren’t we? Sometimes we stare at it from the bottom. Size it up and gather our might before pressing into it’s over grown and thorny foothills. We climb and we cling. We fight and flounder. We drag ourselves up.

    When we get there, we stare down the mountain. As we crest over, we look back from the peak. Our eyes search the path we carved for the lessons that will carry us forward. We turn our face to the dawn. We stare down the mountain before us wondering if we will coast through the coming forests and meadows in an easy jaunt to the bottom. We deserve that much after all our effort to get here.

    Or will gravity have her way with us, thrusting us downward, gaining momentum until we tumble, end over end, head over heel, until the land planes out. Only then our impetus slows.

    We will find the strength to stand up. We’ll dust ourselves off, only to discover we are, once again, staring down the mountain.

  7. Kat
    May 26, 2017 @ 5:50 pm

    prompt: her tongue like a red fire

    she pulls me down to her and
    soon her lips are everywhere
    awakening electricity that spreads
    with devastating intensity

    I recall other moments of numbness and my breath catches
    now, I am in this body
    this body with its many invisible wounds
    with its unspoken histories
    only now coming to light
    slippery toads emerging from the mud

    I think she doesn’t know what she has awakened
    doesn’t know the many selves
    pressing up against the inner walls of skin
    to meet her touch
    but then again
    I cannot know her histories
    can’t know who is pushing up under her skin
    to meet my touch

  8. Jacky
    June 9, 2017 @ 1:01 am

    Dazzling darkness. Now there’s a thought. Have I ever known darkness to dazzle? I have a vision of a night sky blazing with stars. But its years since I’ve seen such a thing. City-dweller. Troglodite. I spend my evenings dazzled by electronic screens: TVs, PCs, telephones…

    But I have been dazzled in the darkness. By the city at night seen from the Gardiner, seen from a landing airplane, seen from the top of an office tower.

    If I close my eyes really tight I’m dazzled by the lights within: razzle-dazzle wings of colour flitting behind my eyeballs in my personal darkness.

    Dazzled by the darkness.

  9. Suzi
    July 7, 2017 @ 7:45 pm

    There is only one question: “What brought you here?”
    I flip the page over, expecting to see more writing, a clue, or anything, but it’s blank. “What brought me here?” Um, a sketchy Uber driver who didn’t speak to me at all and didn’t have any music playing in his silver generic midsize vehicle? My own determination to complete the things I start? The inability to do anything useful with my time unless someone is telling me how to spend it?
    I turned to look around and somehow everyone else was writing answers, looking peaceful and purposeful like they had known all along this would be the test. In that moment I hated everyone else in this room and I hated myself for not being more like them.

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