Edmund black

Jan 12

Kurt Philip Behm

Explain the words
and all freedom is gone
Slicing and dicing
enslaved to the throng
Meaning depends
upon whom and what’s heard
Evolving new wings
—each reader a bird

(Dreamsleep: January, 2024)

Jan 12

Kurt Philip Behm

It's Best ...

Sometimes
it’s a very good idea
to cry

Sometimes
hello the opening act
of goodbye

Sometimes
what you think about
is not what you know

Sometimes
the reason to come
the best reason to go

Sometimes
when cresting the hill
the view doesn’t change

Sometimes
when cresting the hill
your destiny claimed

Sometimes
when music enthralls
the poetry flows

Sometimes
when music enthralls
there’s nothing to sow

Sometimes
a wish in the wind
beats two in the well

Sometimes
the harder we pray
the closer to hell

Sometimes
just what you ask for
is just what you’ll get

Sometimes
when hope has been lost
— it’s best to forget

(Dreamsleep: January, 2024)

Jan 12

Keli

Ink stains

They say love and hate
Are a coin.
Dealt only by the luck of a flip.
to me they are:
Two Ink pots,
Shattered.
Spreading.
Towards each other,
Mingling,
Seeping,
Mixing.
Leaving their dark stains,
As you struggle
to wipe them away.
Indifference is the
Quill now useless.

Spilling them in
The first place is up to you.

#love #hate

Jan 12

Keli

The truth

I know I am as weak as I allow myself
And as strong as I make myself
For that is the truth of weakness and strength.

It’s all about will.

Edmund black Jan 11

Falling For You

I keep my poetry
                         On  the edge of my tongue

            Like dew on the edge of a leaf
                       After the rain

                     Patiently waiting
                                with exquisite beauty


                                      To

                                          F

                                             A

                                                L

                                                   L
                    Where I would like to believe
                         You'll be waiting patiently like grass

                                                                                            On a happy spring morning

                                            For me to land.

Edmund black Jan 9

When You’re A Poet

When language is lost
When words nowhere to be found
When now you’re gone too

Baby I swear
it’s like a slow death
Upon my mind.