Zephyrschild - Hello Poetry

My phone's a demon Luring my fingers away From my Mac's keyboard

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5d ago

May 29, 2026 at 9:39 PM UTC

My phone's a demon Luring my fingers away From my Mac's keyboard

Broken glass The sound my Mac makes when it wants my attention Broken glass Slivers in my fingertips deep in the soapsuds Broken glass Mistakenly nuked impure glassware Broken glass The shattered picture next to the door, warning of a nighttime intruder Broken glass Bedside decanter knocked unaware to the hard wooden floor Broken glass A set now unset Broken glass Clumsiness of memory

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5d ago

May 29, 2026 at 9:37 PM UTC

Broken glass

Broken glass The sound my Mac makes when it wants my attention Broken glass Slivers in my fingertips deep in the soapsuds Broken glass Mistakenly nuked impure glassware Broken glass The shattered picture next to the door, warning of a nighttime intruder Broken glass Bedside decanter knocked unaware to the hard wooden floor Broken glass A set now unset Broken glass Clumsiness of memory

14

It has been twenty years I dont know what to say, My heart still screams in anguish Sleep is not sweet tonight Yet still its tender claw rejoices Slicing my living flesh as wont the needle pierced her's Dear Pandora, my own sweet love Grey furred angel from above Pray forgive my meager heart For waiting until the end The fresh breeze caught your meow And tore my own cry From the depths of my soul How could I not understand You yearned for the soft mistral's kiss And my own embrace As I held you, that last time With that awful vet who misdiagnosed you And wielded death's own needle Forgive me, Pandora, as I can never forgive myself 7 years was never anything but a daily beginning New every dawn with your sweet purr and rub against my face Never Bootsie. Eternally Pandora.

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May 13

May 13, 2026 at 10:39 PM UTC

Pandora

It has been twenty years I dont know what to say, My heart still screams in anguish Sleep is not sweet tonight Yet still its tender claw rejoices Slicing my living flesh as wont the needle pierced her's Dear Pandora, my own sweet love Grey furred angel from above Pray forgive my meager heart For waiting until the end The fresh breeze caught your meow And tore my own cry From the depths of my soul How could I not understand You yearned for the soft mistral's kiss And my own embrace As I held you, that last time With that awful vet who misdiagnosed you And wielded death's own needle Forgive me, Pandora, as I can never forgive myself 7 years was never anything but a daily beginning New every dawn with your sweet purr and rub against my face Never Bootsie. Eternally Pandora.

22

Sunlight blasts the roof across the way, Shrieking white light through the gap in my curtains. Obliterating the barrier set by the sheers The couch lingers in molten caramel <ping> goes my phone Amazon teases me yet again A China tea set in shades of mint and pink and gold High tea with all the genteel parts for six elegant ladies Ready for scones and cucumber sandwiches and petit fours A second later, Home Depot, not wanting to lose the race, Spins its own version for twice as much Nirvana in a teacup Unfortunately, the tea would be solely for me, myself, and I Leaving me to wonder, As I often do nowadays Where do I go to meet the other three guests? The rabbit hole?

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Mar 9

Mar 9, 2026 at 6:01 PM UTC

refracted

Sunlight blasts the roof across the way, Shrieking white light through the gap in my curtains. Obliterating the barrier set by the sheers The couch lingers in molten caramel <ping> goes my phone Amazon teases me yet again A China tea set in shades of mint and pink and gold High tea with all the genteel parts for six elegant ladies Ready for scones and cucumber sandwiches and petit fours A second later, Home Depot, not wanting to lose the race, Spins its own version for twice as much Nirvana in a teacup Unfortunately, the tea would be solely for me, myself, and I Leaving me to wonder, As I often do nowadays Where do I go to meet the other three guests? The rabbit hole?

17

Smile and taste the spring upon these lips Wander with me among the flowers as they bloom Only call me by name and I appear Need I say it aloud? Or, do you know deep within? Persephone is my name. Persephone who seeks the god of death Who seeks the god of death His whispers call to me, Waking me in the palest light Fluttering around me Coaxing me awake Drawing me toward the empty barge Sightless moths batter the cage of my ribs Pleading for a place in the sun Is there no solace for me, in this endless night? The fields of poppies, yield to barley Night drenched fields of waving barley Thrumming beneath the moon's heavy gaze, The wind calls to me, urging me to dance Beckoning to me Within the fertile darkness of my soul, A leaden arrow has pierced my chill flesh Yet still I rest alone Black hooves thunder through my head A god's lonely cry lingers Within the music of fallen hooves Everything here is motionless Even the wind has fled Pale lavender flowers edge my path I am paler Mother reaps now in this bower of barren stalks The silken spring dies within winter's tethered grip The maidens all laughed that last day Gathering bouquets of dying flowers Hades stormed through the fields Searching How was i to know I was the one he sought? Never have I tasted the nectar of love's embrace Nor clung to the soothing tether that time gifts to lovers The pomegranate seeds linger within the cup of my hand

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Feb 28

Feb 28, 2026 at 1:22 PM UTC

The Persephone verses

Smile and taste the spring upon these lips Wander with me among the flowers as they bloom Only call me by name and I appear Need I say it aloud? Or, do you know deep within? Persephone is my name. Persephone who seeks the god of death Who seeks the god of death His whispers call to me, Waking me in the palest light Fluttering around me Coaxing me awake Drawing me toward the empty barge Sightless moths batter the cage of my ribs Pleading for a place in the sun Is there no solace for me, in this endless night? The fields of poppies, yield to barley Night drenched fields of waving barley Thrumming beneath the moon's heavy gaze, The wind calls to me, urging me to dance Beckoning to me Within the fertile darkness of my soul, A leaden arrow has pierced my chill flesh Yet still I rest alone Black hooves thunder through my head A god's lonely cry lingers Within the music of fallen hooves Everything here is motionless Even the wind has fled Pale lavender flowers edge my path I am paler Mother reaps now in this bower of barren stalks The silken spring dies within winter's tethered grip The maidens all laughed that last day Gathering bouquets of dying flowers Hades stormed through the fields Searching How was i to know I was the one he sought? Never have I tasted the nectar of love's embrace Nor clung to the soothing tether that time gifts to lovers The pomegranate seeds linger within the cup of my hand

41

Sheaves of white swirling in the naked sunlight Scorch my picture window, Laughing at my ephemeral window sheers With all the might of winter's scorn. Icicles drip in the merciless glare Despite the negative chill. My macbook purrs softly in the blaring glow, Warm against my fingertips.

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Feb 2

Feb 2, 2026 at 4:42 PM UTC

Winter white

Sheaves of white swirling in the naked sunlight Scorch my picture window, Laughing at my ephemeral window sheers With all the might of winter's scorn. Icicles drip in the merciless glare Despite the negative chill. My macbook purrs softly in the blaring glow, Warm against my fingertips.

8

As a young child, wandering amidst the wild Canadian woods, I learned from my Aunt Elena about mushrooms: The boring ones were safe to eat If they were monotone, (Not polka dot And puffing pastel plumes when plucked) These alone were safe to eat. So my sister, cousin, and I filled our metal bait buckets with the best of the worst: Brightly colored poison. We relished the hunt, seeking the most exotically colored and brightly hued mushrooms and toadstools we could find, Cherishing our treasures as dearly as Halloween treats, Comparing, at afternoon's end, the dazzling array Glinting with dew on the green, green grass. My aunt gathered our haul, Tossing every last vestige of our hunt into the dancing flames of the evening's fire; Scrubbing our buckets with a bit of malodorous bleach; And then, each of us, in turn: Ivory soap and fresh clothes, Ridding us of the noxious residue. The night was peaceful, at last, Until my sister blithely stated No amount of soap could alter me: For I, too, was brightly colored poison.

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Jan 3

Jan 3, 2026 at 12:09 PM UTC

Brightly colored poison

As a young child, wandering amidst the wild Canadian woods, I learned from my Aunt Elena about mushrooms: The boring ones were safe to eat If they were monotone, (Not polka dot And puffing pastel plumes when plucked) These alone were safe to eat. So my sister, cousin, and I filled our metal bait buckets with the best of the worst: Brightly colored poison. We relished the hunt, seeking the most exotically colored and brightly hued mushrooms and toadstools we could find, Cherishing our treasures as dearly as Halloween treats, Comparing, at afternoon's end, the dazzling array Glinting with dew on the green, green grass. My aunt gathered our haul, Tossing every last vestige of our hunt into the dancing flames of the evening's fire; Scrubbing our buckets with a bit of malodorous bleach; And then, each of us, in turn: Ivory soap and fresh clothes, Ridding us of the noxious residue. The night was peaceful, at last, Until my sister blithely stated No amount of soap could alter me: For I, too, was brightly colored poison.

26

December's harsh clime Tis the opposite of June's temperate smile Sweetened, though as it is With love done merry Amid celebrations of birth and renewal Trees are hewn and severed from the earth Decorated with fusions of color and light Evergreens enjoyed inside whilst too cold to enjoy while out Gifts are sought with care and hearts full of love Wrapped and beribboned and placed beneath the indoor trees Adding to their focal point within the home Sweet treats scent the air with exotic spices Songs are sung burgeoning with love unique to the season More hugs are given than in any other month Even the humble mistletoe has magical powers to bring two souls together in a brief, yet meaningful kiss Winter solstice sings of spring's slow turn And with the power of New Year's eve, everyone's gift: a new chance to materialize their dreams

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Nov 30, 2025

Nov 30, 2025 at 7:35 PM UTC

December's kiss

December's harsh clime Tis the opposite of June's temperate smile Sweetened, though as it is With love done merry Amid celebrations of birth and renewal Trees are hewn and severed from the earth Decorated with fusions of color and light Evergreens enjoyed inside whilst too cold to enjoy while out Gifts are sought with care and hearts full of love Wrapped and beribboned and placed beneath the indoor trees Adding to their focal point within the home Sweet treats scent the air with exotic spices Songs are sung burgeoning with love unique to the season More hugs are given than in any other month Even the humble mistletoe has magical powers to bring two souls together in a brief, yet meaningful kiss Winter solstice sings of spring's slow turn And with the power of New Year's eve, everyone's gift: a new chance to materialize their dreams

17

When death comes, Will I be ready? Or, will I shrink away Remembering all the wishes undone All the conversations I never had The loves never met When Death comes, Will I embrace it, As I often want to do? Wishing I was undone And unmade for the remainder of the pain When death comes, Will it be painless, or a horror? I chant to my cells Live and be well Fight against mutants and free radicals And the dark things that lurk deep within and have no names When Death comes, I will bring an apple for his horse

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Nov 2, 2025

Nov 2, 2025 at 8:50 PM UTC

When death comes

When death comes, Will I be ready? Or, will I shrink away Remembering all the wishes undone All the conversations I never had The loves never met When Death comes, Will I embrace it, As I often want to do? Wishing I was undone And unmade for the remainder of the pain When death comes, Will it be painless, or a horror? I chant to my cells Live and be well Fight against mutants and free radicals And the dark things that lurk deep within and have no names When Death comes, I will bring an apple for his horse

19

By Cynthia Firtik High up in my turret The briared thorns are no longer a hindrance But a welcome protection No false suitors hang moldering within the crimson blooms Impaled time and again by the vicious thorns In these ghastly frightening days, Time and again the thorns have retreated Allowing the morning doves to perch atop the balcony railing, cooing Or letting me out surreptitiously on my timid forays out for food and medicine I see shadows of death in tentative smiles Anger and fright when the six foot barrier is breached Sideways glances search for a reason to flee. A cough. A sniffle. A sneeze. Each panic inducing symptom the bane of my spring existence. Should I wear a placard? I'm allergic. Not contagious. Or maybe a scarlet letter A would suffice I do my best not to linger over-long Never knowing when a dreaded sniffle will manifest, despite all the pills and sprays. And don't get me started on the wheezing from the pneumonia I had in January. Don't walk too fast or ascend stairs too quickly. A few missteps and I sound like a dying bagpipe. I chant in my mind, "Take it slow and remember to breathe." Safely back in my sanctuary, blessing the day and all it has manifested. Thanking my early years and my adaptation to solitude. Some would call the briared thorns a manifestation of my illness Depression appearing as the blood red blooms And the darker things, the nasty hooky thorns And of the false princes? Parts of me that never breached the core. So I sit here in enforced solitude, my illness wrapped around me Keeping me safe, contrarily enough By the very habit that once inspired its inception: isolation.

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Nov 2, 2025

Nov 2, 2025 at 8:45 PM UTC

A note from solitude

By Cynthia Firtik High up in my turret The briared thorns are no longer a hindrance But a welcome protection No false suitors hang moldering within the crimson blooms Impaled time and again by the vicious thorns In these ghastly frightening days, Time and again the thorns have retreated Allowing the morning doves to perch atop the balcony railing, cooing Or letting me out surreptitiously on my timid forays out for food and medicine I see shadows of death in tentative smiles Anger and fright when the six foot barrier is breached Sideways glances search for a reason to flee. A cough. A sniffle. A sneeze. Each panic inducing symptom the bane of my spring existence. Should I wear a placard? I'm allergic. Not contagious. Or maybe a scarlet letter A would suffice I do my best not to linger over-long Never knowing when a dreaded sniffle will manifest, despite all the pills and sprays. And don't get me started on the wheezing from the pneumonia I had in January. Don't walk too fast or ascend stairs too quickly. A few missteps and I sound like a dying bagpipe. I chant in my mind, "Take it slow and remember to breathe." Safely back in my sanctuary, blessing the day and all it has manifested. Thanking my early years and my adaptation to solitude. Some would call the briared thorns a manifestation of my illness Depression appearing as the blood red blooms And the darker things, the nasty hooky thorns And of the false princes? Parts of me that never breached the core. So I sit here in enforced solitude, my illness wrapped around me Keeping me safe, contrarily enough By the very habit that once inspired its inception: isolation.

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