This is no other way. That is so true you need to keep going forward while the euphoric feeling is there.

“Death walks beside me,
slow, patient,
hands in pockets,
whistling something,
like it’s got nowhere better to be.”

Beautifully penned, Thomas. Excellent write my friend. Really dig the stanza above but it was all amazing. Appreciate you.

Damian

Great work, full of fire and grit.
Regards
James

Thank you.

The way you describe death walking beside you with his hands in his pockets, like he’s not worried because his time will come as it always does in time and he’ll be there for it…all wrapped up between the moments of gorgeous nature unfolding around you…this is a masterpiece! Also, there is a distinct feeling of tiny death found in witnessing something so incredibly awe-inspiring beautiful. Brilliant

You are fantastic. Thank you.

Many times writes are over my head, like this one. LOL. I’m pretty good at deciphering poems, etc. Yet some are more complex and perhaps “inside” than I can travel to. But, pixie sticks poems have kept many a reader caught up in the meanings, looking for that connection with the author. It is a bond formed of our mental values. Of what we grasp for, as writer and reader. You make a hell of a spider.

Oh motherfuck YES, this is goddamn poetry. I needed to get my head out of my own ass and breathe some air, and you, my sweet Welsh friend, are cold wind on a warm day.

The way you fuck a line, gods, with lube and soft kisses and hair pulls.

You weave a poem and use an unexpected trope-twist to make real magic. I’m reminded of why I word-crush on your shit.

THE FUCKING LANGUAGE…

straddle waking dreams to the hymen-ever-after

AND THIS?! Fuck you. I’m literally jealous I didn’t write it…

….and the moon is a voyeur’s pearl
stringing whispers to sky balustrade

THIS?! AAAAARRRHHH!
strip negligee to bone

I’m almost over-stimulated and about to cuss you out for being brilliant but this?!

sea-shell coved against my ear
like a seance with the deaf

…. that was amazing

I wish I hadn’t quit smoking.

Kickass shit.

BB

Dear R,

The energy of night passion jumps off the page in this piece. Two lovers trying desperately to make it happen without consequence of hurting others. The romance of the ocean in the back ground is hot and (al)luring. I really enjoyed the beauty, intensity and sexy shivers in this poem. H 🌷

Hauntingly, up my alley…fantastic!

Powerfully penned, Ghosteen. Excellent write with great storytelling my friend. Appreciate you.

Damian

“A familiar voice wears a bitter grin”
I can clearly understand your excellently expressed words, dear Damian. Such songs can trigger an endless loop of depressing thoughts. But they hold also the potential to make us aware of the shadows in our soul and help us to heal them.

This is free flowing thought is deep. It is amazing what the mind will produce at any given time.

There’s nothing worse than past regrets. If we could only get it right the first time it would alleviate so much. But life doesn’t allow it. Sad but true. Good one, Damian.

damn it dearest Damian this is great ❤️

Great rhymes, awesome message. Well done my friend.

” Listening to those old songs again

They speak of pain and past regret”

Yeahhh. I get this. The older I get the more I resonate with
those Truth Tellers of the past

Thorough work, Damian

much respect

Naaj

This hits with the weight of memory that refuses to soften, each line carrying its own ache. I love how the poem lets the past speak plainly—no sugar, just the raw residue of living.

Oh the layers in this one. It’s interesting how old songs can take us back to a moment and it’s fresh again, but we’re able to look at it through the eyes of hindsight. That’s where regret comes into play. Without hindsight, we don’t know there’s anything to regret. I sit with old tunes sometimes just to remind myself where I am, because of where I’ve been. And then I change the music and carry on. It’s all we can do. But those old ones… Feeling this one, my friend