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    Atticus Abbey
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    ...on the woo

    On the woo, where the city bends its wrought ironspine to the moon, leaning into the hollows of the night.The air is a heavy velvet, thick with the scent of unsaid things,and the silence—it does not just sit; it drips. It...

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  • ~———————————•§•———————————~

    SESSION NINE
    “LA KADUTA”
    Wednesday, January 7th, 2026

    ~———————————•§•———————————~

    The La Kaduta is a short, quick, fun form to compose in.
    It can be about anything, leaving one’s creative side
    completely open to its freewheeling whimsies.

    La Kaduta
    Original form created by
    Richard W.…Read More

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    Systemic Damage

    Questions are a never ending spiral Searching for answers can get crazy Evil thoughts pulse until it goes viral Tired ideas has made the vision hazy   Masks conceal the cruelest intentions Orchestrated fear designed to control Conflict feeds all these rising tensions It’s systemic damage that...

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    • “Masks conceal the cruelest intentions
      Orchestrated fear designed to control”
      Wow! This is a powerful statement that holds much truth! You just have to listen carefully to politicians. They tell you everything they intent to do, hidden between distracting words.
      Brilliant work, Damian!

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Elke. So glad you connected with the write my friend. Two of my favorite lines as well. Exactly, they tell a lot these days. It’s all hidden in plain sight. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Not only true enough but my word yours here look so pretty sitting on their very own page .. Neville

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Neville. So glad you connected with the write my friend. Well you know how to make a person feel appreciated. Thanks to you kind sir. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Phenomenal piece Damian. Makes ya think. Powerful write my friend.

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Keith. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I’m always trying to evoke thought brother. lol. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Okay, Prophet, you did it again. They only wear the mask long enough to lull the sheep. The wolves are out in force now, no masks. And you nailed this one like a jackhammer of Truth. I really wish you weren’t so deadly accurate…but here we are. That vault of yours must be packed with treasure, my friend

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Willow. So glad you connected with the write my friend. Believe me I wish I wasn’t accurate. The wolves are taking everything that’s not nailed down. Including those boots we’re supposed to pull ourselves up with, we’re essentially strapless. lol. “Jackhammer of Truth” sounds like a possible song or album name. There are a couple of gems in there from time to time. I agree though the masks have been discarded. Always enjoy your commentary, sorry I tend to get you riled you up so often. lol. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Tight, relentless lines. This feels like a pressure chamber where thought turns toxic and power hides behind masks. I like how the poem doesn’t over-explain—just lets the spiral speak for itself. Dark, current, and uncomfortably true.

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Thomas. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I’m a believer of letting the reader fill in the gaps with their thoughts and where the write takes them. Thank you for your continued support. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • Nice! Tightly done yet with a bullseye message. The rhymes are perfect, too. Excellent write Damian.

      • Thanks so much for reading and your kind words, Mark. So glad you connected with the write my friend. I try.. Thanks for your continued support. Appreciate you.

        Damian

    • You were ahead of your time, Damian. This applies today as if it was written yesterday. Great poem!

  • Profile picture of Atticus Abbey
    Drink until...death due to tea

    Beneath the roots of the willow tree, where shadows dance and spirits flee,the teapot laid in silent rest, Its spout still warm, its heart possessed. Inside, the dregs of time congealed—a whisper from the unrevealed, black leaves like ink...

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