Mind Flower
Velvet as the soft caress of light that falls upon the night
fall afresh on me mind flower of my beating heart.
You, ne'er defined by power of sweet seduction,
are my embrace of earth, wind and fire!
Luxurious as the satin look I see within his eyes
your silky feel of human touch is more than I can take!
Ultra light and plush, feathery like a bird of paradise
you fly me to the edge of time, then take me to the stars.
Your words like snow and rain
melting against my window pane
only to return to me,
time and time again.
Velvet as the soft caress of light that falls upon the night
fall afresh on me mind flower of my beating heart.
4d ago
May 29, 2026 at 8:12 PM UTC
They can be fragile and creative
Some are bold and talented beyond words
The reviews can be amazing while others not so much
Kindness and caring employed
Reasons for their writing are endless
Tell it from tne soul
Tell it from the heart
Poets are best to talk to poets
One of tbe reasons I am here
What about you?
What did you share?
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 6:14 PM UTC
Mira drifts into my my dreams
between breaths
carrying the warmth of every wish
i dared to speak.
the night turns gentle
touching the quiet corners
where longing use to hide.
she moves through the dark
gathering the scattered pieces
i pretend to have forgotten.
the warmth i never speak out loud
quieted by the soft hazel light of her eyes.
her presence lingers in a trace of rain and sweetgrass,
a quiet promise she will return when shadows fall.
how close she was in the waking world.
how close she remains when daylight fades.
even as morning breaks, these dreams of Mira cling to me.
constant as the night around a single star.
6d ago
May 27, 2026 at 8:34 PM UTC
I am writing, for all the lilacs in my range of vision
and for all the siren summers that beg for my return.
I am writing for my heart to bloom and flower,
beneath the cupid bow of heaven's hour;
I am forming a poem on the tip of my mind
then dotting it with flourish letters of love.
I am shaping my poetic thoughts,
above the sky line of a bran new day.
I am a poet of old in the body of a young one
with poetic flair I have climbed every wrung
but for all the tea in china, I could never stop
writing my verses, ... for poetry is my life.
7d ago
May 27, 2026 at 12:38 PM UTC
When the open curtain finally smiles
releasing the light of a thousand suns
Every mote and speck of dust
from yesterday,
shall remain suspended
in time...
May 25
May 25, 2026 at 12:02 AM UTC
Cool to contemplate--
Love like Jesus, none greater,
His trademark blessings.
May 22
May 22, 2026 at 5:42 PM UTC
A squadron of wild shoots and greens, plum tomatoes soaked in brine
a tad of this a tad of that and suddenly you got something quite divine
A fleet of mushrooms, a pound of four leaf clovers, a pinch of fever few
and soon you'll have them lining up, for a bowl of that flavorful stew...
Inner bark of cinnamon a sprig of thyme, don't forget to lick the spoon
and if you prep it nice and early, it shall be ready by half past noon
Perhaps he's just a crazy elf throwing caution to the wind, wink wink!
but as far as I know, this stew can only be eaten aside a good stiff drink
So go ahead ask the mountain gnome to leave you some on your porch
and try not to cry when you taste it, even if it's hotter than a blow torch
Chili peppers hotter than the beef side of hell, go ahead sit for a spell
eat some and soon you'll be walking funny, all zig-zag and pell-mell.
May 18
May 18, 2026 at 11:49 PM UTC
The scorching disc in the sky
and the labyrinthian bark
set the forest in a mood for a reading—or a ******
As I was reading The Metamorphosis,
I noticed a beetle
rolling this submissive ball of dung.
I thought: see, this creature is like me.
I imagined it going to work.
Maybe he has to deliver a ridiculous number of *****
and at the end of the day
he comes back home, exhausted,
and finds Miss Beetle in bed
with another beetle.
Meanwhile,
the beetle, devoutly sculpting a ball,
rolls it toward an unknown destination.
Maybe this is a Sisyphean task—
endlessly pushing this boulder, triple its size,
making value out of dung.
The beetle paused,
climbed on top of the ball, and said:
“Maybe—none of your business, Samsa.”
It speaks!
Did it just call me Samsa?!
And I kid you not,
as it climbed down, and futile as it seems—
rolling that massive ball of dung—
The beetle smiled.
May 11
May 11, 2026 at 7:10 AM UTC