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Old t-shirts in the closetholiday decorations in the attic.The only once used, then forgotten,waffle iron and matching crock potnext to the glassware collection. The smile in the photograph but not really a smile.More a wry chucklebehind the sunglasses without a sound. The echo of their voices is in the walls of the house,not quite real,
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Feed uswith AI slopand pink slime. Season us with America first rhetoric,ignore whispers of war crimes. Wash it down with dye-free soda popor gluten-free beer. Placate us with half redacted truths,never mind the fear. Broil us in another unwinnable war. Pacify outragewith Patriot Gamesso we never know the score. Add sexism, racism, ageism, ableism, and
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The mountain changes with every breath the trees take from the heavens surrounding them. In one season a sigh as children run beneath her branches, build lean to’s and cross her streams looking for frogs. Her moss beds the dreams of a future, they can only hope to reach. In another season the breath becomes
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I felt faith fade from my soul,an echo soft like a whispered lightas Nightmare exacted her toll. I fit myself into a roleand fed off joy, as she fed off spite.I felt faith fade from my soul as I gave in to her control.Each word injured me, each sentence a fight,as Nightmare exacted her toll.
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Am I your alibifor when you don’t remember sex? An alter you couldn’t be botheredto even name, just a fragment of the host self you let out at partiesor whenever you need something stronger than your spine? I amthe jet fuel in your veins. At any sign of trouble,I am there. Your persistent companion Your
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“What do you want to bebefore you’re retired?”The empty diaper box saidto the new microwave box,a much needed, albeit belated, wedding gift. “What do you mean?I thought we go straight to recycling,or that firepit I saw out backon my way in?”He replied perplexed, sides sleekin the kitchen light. The diaper box laughed,“Oh no sweetheart,There’s still
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The sun hides from view,what day is it anymore?Bloom quiet dusklight My branches slowly form limbs again, though tulipsstill grow from my hair. It’s then I hear thelantern light conversing withthe travel-worn tree. In one, the voice ismelody eager light, theother steady, warm. “She’s a long way fromhome,” the lantern says briskly,each word crisp cut
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Some of these may be duplicates of ones in other blog posts. Trying to do a clean up, but wanted to still keep them available to share and be seen. Best wishes 🤗 You may see me as a dumpster fireBut sometimes, that’s just howSupernovas are formed.— I cry when it rainsmy bones crackling with
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I dream of the drumsYour kisses echodown the valley of menpoised for battlewith a whiskey keg.The goose is cooked,green laced wedding dresswith a flower crown. I dream of you in yarrowI dream of dandelion fluffI dream of me loving youI dream of you loving meI dream of our honeymoonMaking love within that lakeI dream of
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He glowed with secretsworn like armor, shielding whatuntold future lies____ I arranged myselfin pretty perfect patterns for you, did it work?___ I fold the whispersof sunset into my skirts,delight radiant. ___I revive my heart,only to cut more piecesoff, to give to you. ____Today I dreamed of copper skies, the line between fae and real world
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Poetry With Hart 