My cheeks tint soft scarlet,
watercolor wash anointing me,
warming me,
inside.
My last hidden speck of pigment,
grasping brush hairs,
silently awaiting
it’s drop of water.
What bend in the universe,
what brilliant happenstance,
what trick of biology
brought this magic?
You,
standing silent in the great hall,
for the first time,
when I found kind eyes and
lost my heart.
Jan 22
Jan 22, 2026 at 11:00 AM UTC
Hey, let’s take a pass
on the glitter,
at last.
The shiny gold
that appears
so bold,
that always distracts
from seeing
the facts.
It’s hard not to break
with someone
who takes
almost all I’ve got
just to live,
and not
lay lonely around,
with your
lost and found.
So, save room today,
to hear
me say,
there’s not much left
In my heart,
and yet,
I’m doing my best
at leaving you
the rest.
Jan 16
Jan 16, 2026 at 1:23 PM UTC
Not only angels
have wings
to ascend
and guard.
The just on earth,
biding their time,
must fill the voids
carved deep by the cruel.
We pray
that the earthly scale
Tips soon toward good,
as the cruel are heavy
and, currently
having
their
day.
Jan 14
Jan 14, 2026 at 1:17 PM UTC
Some days
the simplest steps
seem not worth the climb.
The weights we carry
only expose the roots in the soil.
Worrying is a hollow fruit
that’s poor at holding
all the sorrows of the day,
but wonderful at emptying
today of all its joys.
So,
dare to voyage
the gambling seas,
and create your adventures,
shedding the worries of the world.
The sea will calm-
it always does-
as you exploit your strengths
and Hold Fast
with all your might.
Jan 13
Jan 13, 2026 at 1:21 PM UTC
The tiniest flick of the finger
sends the dominos falling.
The chance assignment.
The random partnering.
The missed traffic light
that sent us grasping
the coffeeshop door- together.
The unexplained connection
that dilated the pupils
that turned the head
then turned up the corners of your mouth-
then mine.
The flirtation, that became
the thrill, that became
the desire, that became
the affair
that never became.
Because,
you remembered your keys, and
left on time, and
made the light.
So,
the dominos didn’t fall, and
we sat across the room, and
we occasionally glanced up, and
we wondered.
Jan 12
Jan 12, 2026 at 12:32 PM UTC
Renee Good wrote a poem
about dissecting fetal pigs—
but not really.
It’s about Bibles being donated and zealots. About putrid smells and salt and ink.
About finding the pancreas
and the tercet sounds of cicadas.
About finding her soul.
It’s about “making room for wonder.”
About her mother moving a slip of hair
behind her ear and getting down to the truth—
That life is merely
the meeting of **** and *****
“And what dies there.”
The bibles are now half-price.
The sticky smells are her drying blood
on her slip of hair tucked behind her ear.
Four, point-blank bullets
sent her soul flying.
Her last words were “I’m not mad at you”
before her mouth filled with salt and ink.
She had no chance to bid farewell
to her **** and *****
playing warm at home.
But a light is shining on the Minnesota snow
and I hope she can see
the ICE melting.
Jan 11
Jan 11, 2026 at 10:42 PM UTC