• April 5th, Ghostships Drift Through the Mind

    On the 5th,
    the myth of the ghostships returns
    adrift,
    unhurried,
    moving with the slow authority
    of things that have forgotten
    what it means to have a destination.

    They glide across the inner horizon,
    full of voids and echoes
    from the beginnings of time,
    carrying the dust of ancient…Read More

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  • THE STORM’S EYES

    Tornado you seek
    The darkness
    I feel weak ..
    The skies in complete blackness
    Your power I’ll see all week.

    Clouds move like spilled ink
    On a grey canvas
    That I left to streak
    Brushing with slugs
    As an artist, you can’t peek.

    My art smears as the storm claims
    Bold dark colors
    Watch how it fades
    I’m happy…Read More

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  • almost

    I was gonna jump
    but I needed someone to watch
    so I waited
    and while waitin
    the moment passed
    and I forgot why I climbed
    so I came back down
    quieter than I went up

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    National Poetry Month
    Public Group
    30 Members
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  • 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 More

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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

      • 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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