The publication’s amazing writers showcase their work, updated constantly. An article to bookmark! — A colorful and creative new year! That’s all I wish for the brilliant writers of Medium, as I tell it here! And if there’s one place where the first days of 2023 are anything but gray and gloomy, it’s on Scribe! Those of you who subscribe to Scribe’s newsletter published…

When day slipped into the hard fist of night — They glide along the pinkened slick, a whispered swish of feathered down, swans awash upon the light, mirrored birds against the sky. Can they feel it? The heaving sigh? The yawning over into night? The dance of molecules within the light? That moment when there is no time? All…

Surrealism in poetic form — What lies behind the doors of infinity rattles upon the windowsills of now In shadows that come with swaying cactus Dreams burn in the desert symphony of great wandering thinkers of tomorrow And through it, I unravel my heart and mind Hands upon the silken twilight strips Bare the wanderer within…

A poem — He watched as his son played in the distance, not noticing the subtle ways children strive for attention. It’s ironic because he struggles with the same longing; he spent his whole life trying to be liked by everyone else; doing and pursuing the things they thought special — a life…

A red light is an opportunity for reflection. — As he slowed down for the red light, he thought of the laundry list of annoyances stressing him. Then, he committed; with the red light as his witness, he swore to the skies that he would change. He will try all life and productivity hacks and confront all his demons…

In this thrilling series on rhyming schemes, we look at one of the most famous forms in the world. But is it all an urban myth? — I have been delaying writing about the haiku for a rather embarrassing reason. I hate the form and its smug simplicity allegedly conveying profound meaning. To me, it’s a bit Emperor’s-New-Clothes-ish — all style and no substance. Like those abstract pictures critics rave about which look like a chimp or…

The sun winks from behind a cloud, the grasses nod, the gods agree — Her opinion of me matters too much. When she looks at me that way, appraising me, my lungs stop, the world flattens, the sun halts and stares down. How deep inside myself must I go to find an opinion of my own that I can rest on? Her skin is…