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    Tim wrote a new post

    Emily Dickenson

    There's a big old steel gate around her graveThough It makes no difference - crypt or cave'Cause clocks won't tell the time of dayTo those that sleep in dirt or clay. It's dark - it's deep - what's small will...

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    Strangers Camp in the Mind

    They check the locksand install cameras,hoping to catch the crafty villainsthat plague their life like a mysterious virus.They call crying hysterical,say it happened again while they slept.Messed with. Nothing on the cameras.No evidence.But they've never been more sure.Hands on...

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    • You speak of a bizarre situation. If it’s not dementia than it’s paranoia. That can be hard to deal with, especially when moving to another state is seriously considered. Definitely a case for stress for the one who has to listen to it all. Good one, Thomas.

    • Oh wow, I swear I know these people. Unfortunately, in the case of mine, they’re not fully imagining things. When a bit of real harassment is lad down, it builds on a mind until everything becomes subject to suspect. It sucks for those observing and listening, but more so for them. Solid write here

    • I enjoy writes that are unexpected and take you on a journey.
      Good or bad. This write is excellent. I personally loved

      Patience like a prayer,
      thinking until my brain bruises.

      This whole piece is pretty awesome, bizarre and all.

    • “But then they glance at me.
      And those eyes cut through.
      Like I’m part of it now.”

      Hauntingly penned, Thomas. Another excellent write with amazing storytelling my friend. The verse above gave me goosebumps. It’s always feels like we’re on a journey in your stories. Nicely done as always. Appreciate you.

      Damian

    • Footsteps that do not belong to the house are a rupture, not necessarily danger,
      but a shift in the contract between space and silence.
      They mark the moment when architecture stops being loyal.

      Appreciate you!

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    Tim wrote a new post

    Voices in Motion

    The windwill not stop sighing—soft, insistent, foreign—hour upon hour... It runs the fields,threads through trees,hissing night into day. It summons—warns—whispers somethingI cannot,alone,perceive. The wind will not stop sighingas it slides over cold, sullen waters,bending brown marsh grass low,imploring the roaming thrushes—some sharp,...

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    Tim wrote a new post

    Cumulus People

    Their heads are in the clouds.   They seem to float with eyes content staring into cell phone screens, soaking up dopamine like hummingbirds hovering above nectar.   I watch them, witness them on streets, benches, trains.   Their moods are contemplative as they wander from here to there.   Wandering down streets, meandering above the ground.   They roam like clouds, seemingly unaware of...

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  • Profile picture of redzone

    redzone posted in the group National Poetry Month

    Poetry Day #10

    I get so lost sometimes
    watching as the world burns,
    as centuries of Culture and
    Heritage, human lives, are destroyed
    for no reason other than who
    will be number one among
    the billions.

    Our world burns,
    it cries for our help, our decision
    to act and honor what remains
    of humanity’s decency, to cast
    out the i…Read More

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    2 Comments
    • You write our thoughts so well, thank you.

    • On so many levels this so the unblemished truth. And what isn’t burning is drowning. While a pocket of corrupt haves destroy everything for the have nots…and ultimately themselves

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