Figured I'd post a few in my own thread, bear with me :)
 

And in my mind I see:
A sick delusion, prophecy, astonishment, poetry
Lunacy, development, hypocrisy, divinity
Arrogance and esteem, so much in pain and beauty
So far from where I started
Fearful of who I might be
A forgotten disgrace
lost in the maze
Riding the crests of the waves
Alone I am more
Burning is hidden beneath complacency
Slumping at the wheel I am aware of the tide
pulling me inescapably into life

I stand up the road that winds up from the town and the beach, staring down at the travelers congregating. Alone at my perch I drink Italian wine from the bottle, nursing depression and feelings of loneliness. Down on the beach below me are a group of people, friends it would seem, new or old, I can’t tell. I can see them and they cannot see me. Traces of music are carried from a bar in the distance through the night air. I do not recognize the song. The town, Monterosso, is charming, it has the distinctive look and architecture of the Riviera, romantic and beautiful, it makes me wish I was not alone.
The tourists my age are like a cancer, drunken and loud while they wander the streets as families try to sleep. Alone up on my rock, it doesn’t make sense for me to isolate myself and grow sadder, but I don’t move. After awhile I realize that no one is going to come keep me company, and I climb down off the rock I had been sitting on. I am slightly drunk as I walk down the street past the bars back to the apartment, but as I pass I see an open lot illuminated by flood lighting, and a group of toothless old men playing bocce ball. They are oblivious to the mindless hedonism surrounding them. It makes me smile. Their wrinkled faces show only contentment and a simple joy, and it makes me wish I wish I could join them, be one of them, but I know I am just a traveler, and far from home. Still, the sight of them is an oasis in the desert for me. I don’t feel as lonely as I did before. I let my petty depression pass, and I walk on. In its place is only exhaustion. All is quiet inside me as I return to the apartment where I am staying, and turn in for the night.

it wasn't long ago that i came back here
it was raining out, and i was tired of feeling bad
Afraid of feeling nothing at all, it's been so long
since that day
when i was a child i thought i could carry it all by myself
but now it's crushing me
I think about G-d and redemption
i think about my mother
i can't see straight and it's getting cold out
here in my room with my eyes closed i think i'm home
i think this is home

I am limestone
A flaky formation under a bridge
In a large town in New Jersey out of sight of the skyline
I watch time slip by in days and in years
A trickling stream most of the time runs me by
But now there is draught and it is gone
Sometimes at night I have visitors
When the sun rises it reflects off of broken glass
Shattered amongst my fellow stones
Sometimes I see needles, sometimes sleeping bodies
Usually alone, often dirty
The lonely people that come here
If I could speak I would try to comfort them
Let them know they aren’t alone
A few summers ago police came and took one of them away
He was limp and broken looking as they dragged him off
I watched him go and wondered where he would end, where he had come from, what he had done
I am surrounded and nestled amongst thousands like me
We are all aware of each other and yet cannot share a solitary thought or emotion
I have been here a long time, years and years, and surely will for many years more
It is lonely being a stone when there is nothing to do and you watch dying spirits burying themselves all the time
Maybe one day a kid will pick me up and put me in his pocket
I would like that, and maybe I would be thrown or dropped someplace new and exciting
The hope of a stone may seem like no hope at all
But it speeds the days
And since I’m awake
I may as well hope
After all

Wheeeeeeeeee!!!, sledding is fun, children think rushing down rolling embankments on tubes and sleds red-cheeked in brisk December sunshine. The sky is blue, the snow is white. The earth is covered in ice, sleeping frozen before its return to vibrant springtime life. Laughing, laughing, dizzied with delight, down and up and down again they go until the sun is gone, the parents watch their children at play. How strange that the cold makes faces redder, that that which destroys the life of the ground can bring such vitality to young faces, how strange the way bitter winter fertilizes the earth for the coming year. Mr. Shapiro stands at the bottom of the hill sipping hot chocolate from a thermos watching his son Jacob and his friend Jonathan careen giddily in an inner tube. “Come sledding dad,” he cries as they come to a halt at the bottom of the hill. But they are bounding up again before he can reply.
Sarah lies in the snow staring up through barren trees into cold blue sky. Her tiny body fits so snugly into the snow, secure and supportive she feels the cold all around her. She likes to play by herself. She hears distant voices laughing and thinks about her friends she left behind in Philadelphia, who can’t go sledding in the city. Her fur hood rubbed softly against her cheeks as she turns her head to watch the boys jump into the inner tub with a running start, now racing down the hill.
The car tires spread gray slush as they cut through the wet mess of the afternoon December road, swaths of slop sprayed smoothly onto sides of the street. Darryl deftly works his brakes on slippery roads, thinking of getting home to his wife. He is approaching Cherry hill, where the kids go sledding in the winter. The ice cream is melting and the radio plays soft country from the 70s.
The inner tube is going faster this time, and doesn’t stop in the same place as before. Soon Jacob and Jonathan are sliding into the road as a gray Buick approaches, slamming brakes and spinning wheels. There is a bump, and sliding to quiet. Jacob has a mild concussion. Darryl apologizes and says “how can I help,” and the boys cry and Sarah stares down from the top of the hill, her heart racing from fear, shocked at what almost had happened. Jacob is taken to the hospital and is fine in a few weeks, Darryl comes and visits him at home and brings toys and candy. It wasn’t his fault, everyone agrees. They are friends from now on. The ground is gray with the melting snow, and the earth dreams of days of green and bloom. The sky is still blue, getting warmer as kids play and soon snowing turns to raining as the mess is washed away, leaving the naked earth waiting for spring.

You certainly have a wide range in variety.
Grabbing life and placing it on paper.
Good job.

most of these are assorted things I did in a creative writing class awhile ago, just wanted to see what people thought, besides the teacher :-).

Very interesting. Each one seamed to tell a different part or time in someones life

I liked them. I really liked the first one