Category Archives: Poem – Not Written By Me Though

Planting a Garden

Pitching Pennies Poetry

Threatened,
Bullied,
Overcome
by a blank page
staring dumbly at me.

Superior,
Rigid, this entity
without a soul
until timidly, then boldly
I mark it with my pen.

Slowly It becomes more pliant,
It begins to bend. I show it things…

A bird on a limb,
A latticed rose climbing,
painting scarlet where drab had been.

Suddenly arable, the page becomes a garden. Each line
a row in bloom. The air wears the scent of roses.

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Weekend Writing Prompt #156 – Home

Let us hope we can transform the non-digital world into such a place for ourselves and our children. We have the key. We are the key. We have only to begin removing the lock.

Sharing Thoughts

Weekend Writing Prompt #156 – Home

Hidden inside my computer

Is my sweet virtual home

Known pathways

Each one takes me to friends’ home

To their world of stories, poems, photography

I feel so comfortable here

I am accepted here

My writing is accepted here

However boring, full of mistakes it may be

My friends are so encouraging

So kind and understanding

They are full of praise, appreciation

They make you feel important

They help enhance your self-esteem

No one is here to judge you

To make fun of you

I feel as if I have known them all my life

It’s an escape from the Problems of life

Maybe for an hour or more

But it’s relieving

Word count- 114

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Desperate Monsters

DESPERATE MONSTERS – Caitlin Johnstone

Desperate Monsters

We were comfortable in our complacency.
We were satisfied with our Netflix and our Taco Bell.
We were not happy, but we were satisfied.

We did not want to have to awaken
the strange DMT gods that live in our foreheads,
or the screw snakes sleeping at the base of our spine,
or the mushroom giants who dwell behind our visual fields,
or the great golden frog at the center of the earth.

We did not wish to have to summon
the caterpillar planets from the depths of space,
or the elephant squid from our secret abysses,
or the mammoth moths from the tabernacle in our throat,
or the Yellow Priestess from Her dinosaur throne.

But desperate times,
you see,
desperate times call for desperate monsters.

So now we’ve got to get up,
dust the cheese puff powder from off our sweatpants,
grumble our way over to the police tape-covered door
and, after clearing the theremin and the surfboard
and the sewing machine out of the way
(none of which we use anymore but we keep meaning to),
unleash eldritch angels and eyeball blimps
to burn this motherfucker to the ground.

We’d have been content with decent paychecks
and a viable planet,
and maybe some healthcare for the Yanks,
but you bastards got greedy
and now your mouths are full of weirdling worms,
and I bet you all feel quite silly now.

You did not realize that we have tentacles in our bellies
and wands that shoot eel ogres,
and benthic beasts swimming in our souls.

You did not realize that we are more powerful than your wildest imaginings,
and that you have never truly understood what we’re made of.

Desperate times call for desperate monsters,
old chap.
There is a feathered claw behind you.

~~~~~ ~ ~~~~~

https://caitlinjohnstone.com/2020/05/13/desperate-monsters/

Death is nothing at all / Smrt nije ništa

Timely.

Medju javom i medj' snom

Death is nothing at all.
It does not count.
I have only slipped away into the next room.
Nothing has happened.

Everything remains exactly as it was.
I am I, and you are you,
and the old life that we lived so fondly together is untouched, unchanged.
Whatever we were to each other, that we are still.

Call me by the old familiar name.
Speak of me in the easy way which you always used.
Put no difference into your tone.
Wear no forced air of solemnity or sorrow.

Laugh as we always laughed at the little jokes that we enjoyed together.
Play, smile, think of me, pray for me.
Let my name be ever the household word that it always was.
Let it be spoken without an effort, without the ghost of a shadow upon it.

Life means all that it ever meant.
It is the same as it…

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I love you!

Wild Scared Crazy

A million and one ways to say I love you
But none seems to suit you.

I’d go down on my knees for you,
But that’s too cliched.
You deserve something more intricate,
Something original, just as you are.

I’d promise you a life time,
But that would be the greatest lie.
For neither you nor I,
Know what the future holds.

I’d say I’ll keep you happy,
But I’ve let you down too many times.
And as much as I’d try,
I’d don’t trust myself.

I’d say you’re the reason I smile,
But you’re also the reason I cry.
You’ve hurt me like no one else,
We’ve had good days and bad days.

I’d write you a poetry,
But words are too less to describe you.
I’d give you a bouquet of roses,
But that would just dry away.

So darling, can you just read my eyes?
Hear the…

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This one’s for You.

a.mermaid'spen_

I know heartbreak,
It live in my veins, I hear my blood shout.
It took the colours out of my rainbow,
Tried to turn my heart inside out .

When my heart was hanging mid air
I forced myself to swallow the ink,
Somehow my sky managed to stay yellow
All my words and pages turned pink.

There’s this power in breathing
Something none of us can touch,
This magic resides in air, to heal,
Whenever life bleeds too much.

So, this one is for all the second bests
People who keep leaving ourselves behind,
Let’s stop trying to fit in with the world
We are enough, even if we are the last ones in line.

~🧜

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Who Is Listening?

Site Title

Let the wind direct my words.

Carry them where they need to go.

May they travel fast and far, controlled yet strong.

Hurrying along.

Caressing trees, zipping over mountains, dancing in rhythm with the sea breeze. Past the ocean. Unable to contain speed.

Stopping only for time, suspended in space.

Pray tell, who’s listening? Echoed the end of the message.

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Writing In Blood – Work In Progress

Please read and chew upon. 🙂

Writing in Blood

WIPmock2020

COMING MARCH 2020

unnamed

it’s a feeling, and it’s unnamed.

some have tried the terms
distant or cold.
some have labeled it
aloof or detached.

but those words are all states of being.
the process is what has no name.

knowing someone
is slipping away—but not
physically, not yet.
you feel it: pure feeling,
pure intuition.

as if a see-through barrier
engulfs their bodies
separating you from them.

a gray, opaque river
runs between you within
every interaction.

a viscous liquid covers
their words, the expression on their
faces. their insides feel
foreign to you.

the light—once kindled when
your eyes met—is now absent
when you look at them. your light
remains, but when you look into their
eyes—the mirror is gone—and
reflecting back at you is something…

something unnamed.

you can’t pin it down,
even when you confront them.
they’re just moving…
moving away, inch by inch,

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Kindling

May you live eternally, Betty.

Seasonings

.

I remember

when twenty-five years

was my whole lifetime.

.

Now a quarter century

is just another tumbleweed

bouncing down the street –

.

a little bit battered,

a lot more dust

but what wonderful kindling

I’ll be!

.

.

© 2019, 2020  Betty Hayes Albright 

.

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Hanged Man, a poem by Clarissa Simmens

This one is for Jennifer (and of course Shawn) with love.

Jamie Dedes' THE POET BY DAY Webzine

Ryder Waite Tarot XII, U.S. Public Domain

“’Christ! You know it ain’t easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They’re going to crucify me'” *



Crow cawing in early morning clouds
Tallest tree invisible in fog
Tarot’s Hanged Man
Initiation into a mysterious world
Odin hung for 9 days
Euhemerizationally** sacrificing his eye
Think of other mythical and biblical
Heroes hung over the centuries
All in the name of knowledge
Ah, but John Lennon
Knew he was a sacrifice
No worse than others
Yet, in his quest for wisdom
He cried out to us:
“Christ! You know it ain’t easy
You know how hard it can be
The way things are going
They’re going to crucify me” *
He knew, he knew
But tell me who
Would assassinate a rocker?
So many of us
Hanging in silence
Smoke and steam
Muffling our dreams
Then…

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