Category: Poetry
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15 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
A Stream of Consciousness We are a small village on the edge of a larger one, with an ancient forest standing mute as moss between the city-folk and us, and an Anglo-Saxon church whose bells fill Sunday with a provincial air beside a field thick with bracken that sheep chew to the root every winter…
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14 Sept: Mystical Sunday
Her Ink Bleeds (microdosing fiction in 50µg) Thunder never needsto shout,to linger.Some words roll lowfor days, lodgedand scrolled between yourribs and lung,until even your breath tastes of copper.The Old One knew this —she’d spent a lifetimecollecting echoesin inkwellsmade of hollowedbones. Some artwork is created using Midjourney AI, and is identified as such in the ALT…
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13 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
This poem is in response to Friedrich’s article entitled Terra Dystopia, which I recommend — it is an excellent read. He asks: What kind of time are we living in today? I find myself living in a Kairotic Interregnum — an age between ages, when the old dissolves, the new has no name, and choice…
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13 Sept: Riding the Storm
Riding the Storm Storm drags the swamp,but that man won’t run.Barefoot in mud,and he glares at the skylike it owes him something. Cypress leaning close,gossiping in the shadows —thunder shakes whiskeystraight down his bones. There’s storm in his blood,hurricane in his breath —he was born to howldeep against the dark. And when the sky splits,when…
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12 Sept: The Women of Lafitte’s
A Short Story The Seamstress She leans into the clatter of the machine, foot steady, hands coaxing fabric through with a tenderness that belies the harsh steel needle. The air is heavy, close — thick with the sweetness of cotton dust and the metallic tang of oil. Outside, New Orleans sweats; inside, she stitches against…
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11 Sept: Ink In Thirds
100 Word Wednesday: prompt – image of an open palm The girl shrank from the compliment, as if it shone too bright. Her grandmother’s eyes — the weight of ages. “There once was a chalice,” she said, “cracked, scarred by flame, hollow with longing, and when the rain descended, the chalice turned aside. ‘I am…
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10 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
This poem is inspired by an article written by Spira: “Fear of Art” The Brush is a Blade They tell us freedom trickles down,a ribbon untied by royal hands,a parchment pressed with seals.But freedom does not fall like rain. It rises —from the ground,from the spray-can hiss on stone,from the ink that refuses to dry,from the…
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9 Sept: dVerse Quadrille
So Much Between So much dependson the moon’s pale hinge,the way night folds its dark velvetover the day’ssharp edges. So much is still heldin the soft hush —the unsaid,the almost, the breath betweengoodnightand a dream’sfirst tender sigh. This quadrille (44-words, sans title) is written for Dee’s dVerse Poets Quadrille #231 “much”. Some artwork is created using Midjourney…
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9 Sept: Journal of Thoughts
The Absent Ink (a companion to an upcoming Six: The Shadowed Door) It is like finding a shadowwhere a door used to be —a threshold you crossed a thousand timeswithout ever seeing the hinges. Or like the neighbour you waved toacross the wire and glass of years — who’s now gone, and no casseroles arrive,no…
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8 Sept: Starvow – The Liturgy
19 of 27 – Liturgy for Starvow: The Silent Exchange I. The GreetingNot a vow spoken,but a pulse exchanged —a light in an east-facing window,answeredby a presence in an old oak tree. It is a dawn ritual with no name,a breath they lend to silence,a space made sacredonly because they both tend it. II. The…
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