• for you, whoever you are.

    She writes with a brutal hand,(there is no other way for the brutalized)truth sharpened to a stiletto pointher words crack skin,steal breath,open woundsand longing.Pages grow lustfully,ink turns to flesh,moans echo in strange tongues,and men stiffen in far-off rooms,their borders...

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    • hello dearest Benny beautifully written honesty ❤️

    • This is a great “tribute” write. Accurate with its visuals that it creates
      Well written.

    • Thank you Crimsin and Styxian.

    • Aptly written, my friend. The poem sitting on the right somehow makes it perfect and even more poignant.

      Clay

    • Hoi hoi
      Lured into this write by the artwork
      The artwork is nice, but it’s the write that tells it all.
      Lovely!
      Kind regards, Gus

    • The formatting of your poem gave me an “aha” moment. Now you’ve spoiled me for the left side of the page! Very impressionable lines throughout, like “a storm of naked syllables”. How I wish I had thought of that one. Do you prefer “Benny” or “Peter”? Let me know!

    • Well said. I probably know of which women you speak about. All here are valuable in some way.

    • Do I scare you? Lol. We are all damaged in some way. Some of us try to heal and those efforts may damage others. Everything pours out of me and I write it down. Most if it is “brutal” which is how I described my writing around 2000. Now I use “gritty”. You can empathize or just be thankful for the life you have. Most memories or thoughts can be put down to share.

      • No….you don’t scare me and I appreciate your comment and the honesty in your writing.
        Brutal or gritty has to be written as such.How else can the pain you have endured be conveyed?
        That said, I can only imagine your life….you have lived it
        💋

    • Excellent piece. I’ve read this poem twice and I can feel your passion & respect for her. Well said.

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    A Cryptic Sense of Doom

    A Cryptic Sense of Doom   Madness in the abyss of delusion yellow flashes of butts turn gray with haze of smoke rings scented mood candles veil the stench   Absurd chatter, blabber, bird gossip episodic giggles over fanatic demeanor bodies ubiquitous oily touches, sweaty chairs, foxy floors empty whiskey...

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    4 Comments
    • Interesting write. I found it quite intriguing.

    • You painted a picture in perfect detail of places I once visited.
      👍

    • You just nailed doom to this particular page .. enlightening all those passing through on the off chance and those intentionally visiting while simultaneously de-coding a significant percentage of what is left of mystery .. I’m glad I swung by this way Betty .. Warmly yours, Neville

    • Such a sad tale. Addictions kill and pull people into the gutter only to die. Your poem encapsulates the experience as though Satan were in the room with them.

  • Profile picture of Betty Hermelee
    Day into Night

    First light Dawn, pink The sun rises into an endless sky Shadows on the mountain range Like dancers on a stage Move in graceful patterns Daylight stretches Sun yawns and begins its sleep Slips behind the horizon   Dusk is here, purple Moon smiles Shadow dancers Ink sky ablaze by distant stars...

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    2 Comments
    • Great images in this Betty. Great poem.

    • If you can shove aside the exhaustion, this is what it’s like to be awake for 24 hours. All times of day have their beauty and their enchantments. I truly believe you’ve captured the delights of the lark and the owl. Much enjoyed!

      Clay

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