Based in Boise, Idaho, The word No Has Escaped is a blog by Regan Meade. Her posts explore her life and the world around her through poetry; and to explore the creative mind by encouraging other writers to challenge themselves with writing prompts.




What is Summer?

This Foreign concept that has escaped the year

in a cloud of fabric and dust bunnies,

With time being the way it is one could assume that summer was three months?




It was time to lose those books that tied me to the humdrum of school,

To enjoy that freedom on a sinuous river gliding over the surface on a doughnut of plastic and air

Enjoying warm Air who freed the withering souls, that freed me, from their wintery reformatories,

To experience such autonomy would be considered a dream, would it not?




For each moment of sovereignty that was experienced there was another that conformity ripped away without reason,

Duty to lead weighed down the enjoyment that was to be reaped from beating friends at Mario cart for the 5th time;

The world was disintegrating upon itself into the black hole these souls carried in their pockets

Was this the time to hide beneath the warmth and comfort of a Sherpa throw?




The concealed monster that lived in modern phones took control of its wiring and roared to life at the oddest hours and life would be at a standstill captivated by the horror,

Was this all that life had to offer? The livid parents barking in my ear and suffering with the aching of my body?

The world was moving on and a single soul was left by the wayside to watch the on goings though jaded grey pigmented glasses.


I was too young and now the word “no” has escaped me.


The few bright spots that shined dimmed to a faded memory

Being with the Mother and feeling her tears shifted to the cackling Father with chains enclosed over pale wrists.

Those smidgens of light were only a dream

The chill of water on my skin was something that I was looking forward to experiencing,

Alas it will have to postponed till next year; Who knows what time will beget upon my weary soul next year.


Summer is—What?



Prompt #1

Prompt #1