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      Rosie C Changed their profile cover

    • 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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      Fia Naturie wrote a new post

      Conditioned

      Back aches Feet throbs Vision strain Headache driving one insane   We came up with the saying  “the tough get it done”   I’m done… We as a society, on a whole Are charcoaled steak Extra well, with no tenderness in sight

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    • Conditioned

      Back aches
      Feet throbs
      Vision strain
      Headache driving one insane

      We came up with the saying “the tough get it done”

      I’m done…
      We as a society, on the whole
      Are charcoaled steak
      Extra well, with no tenderness in sight

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      4 Comments
      • It does feel that way, done, charcoaled. But after last Saturday, I saw hope for many reasons beyond the numbers. But it will take more than a one and done approach. It will take sustained resistance, nonviolent activity, a refusal to obey the flames of abuse, and in our millions to stop the “grilling”.

      • Your poem rings so true, Fia,. Let’s hope that, one day, Society rediscovers tenderness, love, and caring about each other rather than all the squalid hatred, the foul judgement that has no place.

    • Fireflies Over the Somme
      She led me to a lonely forest glade, where fireflies flew and faeries might have played,
      The brooding sky was blood red, pure delight, the half-light glowed as dusk turned into night,
      We lay among white lilies in the mist, she winked and beat her wings before she kissed,
      Then whispered sweetest nothings in my ear, the…Read More

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