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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 -
redzone posted in the group National Poetry Month
Love Sonnet LXXIX
As I glide smoothly across
the ice, as the cold air assails
my face, I feel like I am
flying. Your faceappears under the ice, staring
up at me. You are smiling,
your hands, upturned, reach
toward me, inviting me tojoin you in the cold, wet
waters of this dream. I
fly faster, skates movinglike a blur,…Read More
5 Comments-
I love the chill of this poem – if you’re not a fan of Kate Bush do listen to Under Ice on The Hounds of Love album!
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Thanks HJx, for the sweet comment and for the the Kate Bush mention. I will definitely go listen. I actually do like the few songs I have heard from her. As well as her duet with Peter Gabriel on “Don’t Give Up”.
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Such a vivid, haunting piece. I love how it moves from ice to fire with such ease. Beautifully done.
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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-
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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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Harriet-Jacqui xx posted in the group National Poetry Month
Fireflies Over the Somme
She led me to a lonely forest glade, where fireflies flew and faeries might have played,
The brooding sky was blood red, pure delight, the half-light glowed as dusk turned into night,
We lay among white lilies in the mist, she winked and beat her wings before she kissed,
Then whispered sweetest nothings in my ear, the…Read More1 Comment -
PAR (Paulo Acácio Ramos) posted in the group National Poetry Month
April 4th, the Compass Forgets Its Duty
The 4th takes my north,
reduces my compass
to a mere spasm of air
shivering through the half‑open window
on the left side of the house.It doesn’t steal direction violently.
No, April 4th is far too elegant for that.
It simply rearranges the wind,
tilts the light,
and suddenly every cer…Read More - Load More Posts
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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