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 Jun 28 Kyra
Donall Dempsey

she poses

"Wot ya doin'
my eyes question her

"I'm inventing
my self
making my world"

I wordless
my daughter far more
wiser than her father

could ever be
but then
she's three
 Jun 27 Kyra
Toil is wrought
Before us
What we begot
Efforts expounded
Creativity founded
But all will be for naught


A universal champion
The preserver of the undone
Tomorrow we'll find
The appropriate time
To see that the battle is won
An oldie that I dusted off to provide some much needed levity to my stream. Honestly, I cannot ascertain when I actually wrote this as it exists before I began including dating conventions into saving my work and long before I thought that my work might be worth saving. Hmmmm, ironic. Even more ironic is the minutia is that no one saves anything locally anymore, we convene to the almighty 'Cloud'. Irony and anachronisms, that's me in a nutshell I suppose.

Although for extra 'Dad' factor:
Windows: ctrl+S
Mac Command+S
Linux... You hug a penguin before his fancy gala at the Met? I dunno Linux so  good. My neck is a barren landscape for bearding...
 Jun 27 Kyra
 Jun 27 Kyra
We all have a choice
Don't be ashamed
Just follow your heartbeat
Because I promise you
You'll be okay
The silence still buries me but one day it will become my favorite music
 Jun 27 Kyra
It's time for change, feels overdue.
I've been toiling in red too long.
'You must know what you want and manifest it', they say,
But what you want and what you truly need do not always match up.
Want is shallow.
I need a blue enigma,
A new path,
El camino nuevo,
One of calm, goodness, worthiness, humility... Joy.
Joy from love, love from grace, grace from peace, peace from place,
El camino Nuevo.
Poetry prompt: 'Blue Enigma'
 Jun 27 Kyra
Nat Lipstadt
You Are the Texture


~ for all of you,
you, you poet~


is a technique used in painting,
where paint is laid on an area of
the surface thickly, usually thick
enough that the brush or  painting-
knife strokes are visible.

Paint can also be mixed right on
to the canvas. When dry, impasto
provides texture; the paint appears
as if, to be coming out of the canvas.


Cut & Paste

is a technique used in poetry writing,
we refer back to our visions, heard words,
the eyeful, the earful, scents, the reads read,
all in the mind’s palette blended, thickly, but
the merging fused, every word~in~coloration,
it is unique, reincarnation, copying impossible.

The imagery, cut and pasted from thy heart and
soul, upon canvas, your poems~pieces each appear
as you-are-texture, you becoming out of, you, the canvas.



it is not lost on me that the
scars, our words,herein,
we note too frequently, almost casually,
are, can be, the selfsame
for our first and foremost
canvas we utilize,
is ourselves…
our bodies, ourselves
Fri Jun 23
 Jun 27 Kyra
silent library
those unspoken words on shelves
I ache to voice them
 Jun 27 Kyra
Henry Bladon
What would happen if the moon leaked?
Would there be a luminous canal
that flowed with moon milk?
Would we be able to bathe in
a shimmering pool of silver?
 Jun 27 Kyra
Desire and dreams,
lofty clouds casting distant shadows.
Momentary shades of calm,
convert to blinding flame.
Torpid question marks rearrange
exclamation points.
Hues of commas and periods,
vibrant adjectives and adverbs.
Grunts and growls of wildered existence.
Perpetual noise.
Such picturesque nonsense.
Belief of charging knights
and moonwalks
decay to disappointed waistlines
shaky hands,
confused with living.

What beautiful strangeness,
the prospect of becoming.
Do we chase the shadows or create our own;
flourish roots
with ardent fingers?
Imagine with ferocity
enriching curiosity?
Dig deep, my child, and know you're real.
Or don't
We are substance and shadow,
words of florescence.
Or won't
Disheartened by cruelty
unfamiliar reflections,
resigned to naked truth.
Or can't

Do we accept,
or will we refuse?
Inhaling why,
exhaling when.
Blooming breaths
Horizons anew
Warmth of sun,
serenity of shade.
First poem I've put on here in years. Enjoy.
 Jun 3 Kyra
 Jun 3 Kyra
this place is a pond
destined to dry, destined to die
i fashion some wings, white and long
i left before i could see it was wrong
spending my seconds before the sun
before tumbling down into the blue ocean
serpents and mermen
sharks and eels
my lungs fill like swimming pools
my restlessness got me killed
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