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![Profile picture of Lizz]()
Lizz wrote a new post
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Read MoreSometimes I don’t write for beauty. I write because if I don’t, I’ll drown in silence. These words—they’re the only air I got left. So if you read me… just know— This ink’s my heartbeat. For years, I’ve written without pause— sometimes with tears, sometimes with...
6 Comments-
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![Profile picture of Lizz]()
Thank you 😊
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![Profile picture of Duhsjaak]()
Chère L.,
Beauty.
The Chinese version:
Beauty in the woods, where no one can hear it, is still beautifulThe greater Amsterdam version:
Beauty which is shared with other people, growsIt’s almost akin to:
Sometimes giving away makes me richer.
All this and more you gave us with this wonderful post.If you’re American: Thank you very much
In all other cases: (please) keep on keeping on (Curtis Mayfield)
Kind regards, Gus-
![Profile picture of Lizz]()
Thank you 😊 and no I’m Canadian
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![Profile picture of Damian DeadLove]()
Powerfully penned, Lizz. Excellent write nicely transformed into lyrics my friend. It’s the little differences between the two that gives them each their own personality, while mirroring each other’s point in substance. Nicely done. Appreciate you.
Damian
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![Profile picture of Lizz]()
Thanks 😊
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![Profile picture of Fia Naturie]()
Im so sorry to hear you’re going through all of that. You want you write horror go ahead. There are a few people on here that love it.
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![Profile picture of Paula Jobi]()
It wouldn’t be all horror.
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![Profile picture of I_IS_ ME]()
First reading of your predicament, super sorry to read of this. But hopefully your surgeries are successful and we get a new Paula with a totally new poetic vision.
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![Profile picture of Curly Grace]()
Curly Grace posted in the group National Poetry Month
The Tenth Muse Speaks: Whispers Across Lesbos
She walks on the edge of the wind,
voice braided with sea and olive,
each syllable a spark struck
from the tinder of longing.Island-born, where the waves fold
like a lover’s arm,
she counts the pulses of hearts
as though each beat were a star.You burn me
my limbs betray m…Read More2 Comments-
![Profile picture of redzone]()
Curly Grace, what a great opening line: “She walks on the edge of the wind”. While I enjoyed reading the entirety of your poem, that last verse will be remembered by me. Poets, poetry, should never be “contained” or constrained. -Curt
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![Profile picture of Curly Grace]()
Thank you, Curt. That means a lot. I’m glad those lines stayed with you. And I agree… poetry needs room to breathe.
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![Profile picture of Usha]()
Usha wrote a new post
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Read MoreSome are born the stars, but a few are destined to become them. This vast sky is our abode—endless, open, and alive—and for him, it is not just a home, but heaven itself. People speak of karma as a path measured...
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![Profile picture of Willow]()
Willow posted in the group National Poetry Month
Sensory Memories
“why are you so addicted to popcorn?”
because on Saturday evenings…
when I was small…
(too young to know of more exciting things…
like theaters and urban adventures)
there was a table that became an arenawhere board games and Uno took over
and we gathered as a family…
no chores…
otherwise idle…Read More4 Comments-
![Profile picture of Harriet-Jacqui xx]()
Aw, I can smell the corn popping from here – a really atmospheric poem.
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![Profile picture of Willow]()
Thank you 😊 I make popcorn every week, never recapture those moments but it brings back the memories
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![Profile picture of redzone]()
Willow, I make the popcorn the same way your grandmother did, 3 quart pot, melt the butter and mix. But I must confess, the popcorn goes in a big bowl and I eat it all from there. Thanks for sharing the popcorn….er… I mean the poem. ;0) -Curt
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![Profile picture of Willow]()
There were a minimum of a dozen of us at that table. There would have been no room for a big bowl. I’ve never seen a bowl the size she used for the popcorn since then. I use an air popper but yes, it goes in a bowl and it’s all mine too. 😊
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To cool and it’s relatable to all that write, tight