Poem: It laps the shore Tickling your feet In an uncomfortable way. Sometimes it comes up to your knees, The water is cold. Churning. The sand running between your toes As the water ebbs and flows. Sometimes you are bobbing in the waves, Your head barely managing to stay above The crashing waves Occasionally you… Continue reading REBLOG: ‘The Ocean of Sadness’ by Nicole Smith
Shoot, or: Christmas comes early
A 'Septolet' Putin brags Russia's hypersonic kinzhal missiles are unstoppable. Ukraine shoots kinzhals down over Kyiv. Septolet? The Septolet is a poem consisting of seven lines containing fourteen words with a break anywhere in between the two parts. Both parts deal with the same thought and create a picture.
1945, or: 2023
REBLOG: ‘Ruach and the Flute’ by Tanmay Philip
Poem: I was sinking In insecure delusions Illusions Hallucinations Looking for meaning In their voices Of ridicule And hate But now I’m picking my scabs Looking for auguries On my raw skin I was never good At appraising value A good target For the con man Selling decaying wood And bad neighbourhoods Near markets Selling… Continue reading REBLOG: ‘Ruach and the Flute’ by Tanmay Philip
Helter, or: Skelter
A 'Coraline' poem 'pon shores renowned for rough welter, by unlit lighthouse whiling days, whooping from trees along lush bay, untroubled by glowing swelter... 'til dark morn papa brought grim news that left him mourning all he'd lose- no longer to helter skelter- leave behind easy, breezy ways. chapter two in dark, woodsy lands brought… Continue reading Helter, or: Skelter
Tree corpse, or: Ship of dreams
Trees find purchase in human remains; Some lush, some losing their leaves, some bare; but Screw the symbolism! Am I right? Or was I A seven-year-old, devastated When his beloved tree corpse, Ship of dreams and fantasy voyages to outer space, Was barbarously hacked down in cold sap For being Unsafe, supposedly; In seventh grade,… Continue reading Tree corpse, or: Ship of dreams
Last phone call, or: Blue stained glass
Poetry Partners #110 'Last Phone Call', a poem by Mary Anne Abdo of 'Blue Stained Glass' One call, four lines. "Dad, can you hear us?" "Mom is outside of your bedroom window. She wants to say, 'Hello!'" Hearing his wife banging on the window, "Marty can you hear me?" Only an inaudible acknowledgement rang over… Continue reading Last phone call, or: Blue stained glass
Live to tell, or: Breathe
Poetry Partners #82 'No, Covid is Not Gone Yet!' a poem by Robert J Jr. of 'Robert's Snap Spot' Unexpected change in life. Omicron. Emergency Room. Doom. Crying. Pneumonia in Lungs. Not the fatal end… Huh! Sent home Emergency Room. Admitted to COVID-19 ward, husband can visit. Sunday, COVID ward, “COVID-19 Ward… No visit except… Continue reading Live to tell, or: Breathe
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