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weeping purple leaves
bowing her curly tight head
swinging lithe limbs
singing in shadows old

time hymns. Redbud
lavender pea flowers
they call ruby falls. Amusing
the hours surfing on  

a begotten breeze. Skimming
the water looking for ducks,
frogs and geese. Some say she's
lonely. Some say she's blue. Grey

clouds befall her all standing in
queues. She mingles with dewdrops
and jingles in rhyme. Spending her time
flirting with sunbeams, tracking

herons looking to dine. The bellow of
bullfrogs paint a crimson smile,
while spilled perfume of lilacs dancing
in showers has her laughing for hours.
 3d
Erenn
Her parents passed on
before she could tie her own shoes,
left with a baby brother
and grief too big for her hands.
Her grandparents gave her love—
soft, steady,
the kind that never asked her to smile.

But the world outside was cruel.
So she built boxes—
safe little spaces
where no one could hurt her.
She painted roses on the walls:
red for anger,
white for innocence,
black for the nights
she cried without sound.

She spoke in riddles,
loved in silence,
and kept her heart
wrapped in thorns.
No one ever stayed long enough
to see the girl inside the box—
still hoping
someone might enter,
and choose to stay.

Until one day,
he knocked—
not to fix her,
but to sit beside her,
quietly.
And for the first time,
she opened the box,
not to hide—
but to let someone in.



Erennwrites
 Jun 22
irinia
For a year now
the cassette tape
has been played
over and over again.

We wake up
and with a swig
of loss
of death
and some tears
we swallow a pill of hope.

We follow a path
winding back and forth like a children’s swing –
long
and exhausting,
a path we know for sure
will end in a fall into
the mud of death.

Many times
we tried
to sew up the holes
that were pierced in our hearts
then we realized
our hearts have become sieves.
The pebbles of death
the tears of sadness
and the heavy memories
are too big to leak out.

by Asmaa Dwaima
 Jun 22
Arna
"They call me strange.
Maybe it's because —

I'm a girl who stays home,
While others my age are out with friends,
Skipping college, traveling, clubbing,
Doing all the Gen Z things.

Because I stay quiet,
Even in moments that demand boldness,
Choosing calm over chaos.

Because I prefer simplicity over fashion trends,
Minimalism over extravagance.

Because I love classics,
And music that speaks to the soul —
Not just the charts.

Because books are my escape,
While social media is just noise.

Because I find peace in solitude,
Instead of blending into crowds.

Because I’m single,
In a generation chasing love,
And running from its complications.

Let them call me strange.
I call it being
Imperfectly perfect
In my own small,
Quiet,
Cute little world."
They say I’m strange — because I choose calm over chaos, books over buzz, and solitude over noise.
But in this little world I’ve built, I’ve found my peace.
And maybe, just maybe… strange is beautiful.
Dear Father
I’m alone in a very scary place
And I’m not certain how I got here.
I lost sight of the footprints I was following
And wandered off the pathway you laid out for me.

The wind is cold and the sky is dark.
I just heard screeches from the nearby woods
And this path ends in only brambles.
Kneeling on the rocky ground
I beseech the Lord to rescue me.
He either doesn’t hear my cry
Or this is where I need to be
To learn to never take my eyes
Away from the light that guides me.
ljm
Day 5 trying to post this.  Feeling lost.
 Jun 4
Michael Murphy
1
My name is Tom. I live with mom.
I have some Giant issues.
I'm such a wreck. Hang on a sec.
I need some Giant tissues.

#2
When I sneeze, there's such a breeze.
Trees and houses tumble.
They get so mad, it makes me sad
To hear the people grumble.

#3
I'd run and hide, but last I tried,
I fell and hit the ground.
The valley rumpled, the mountains crumpled—
You should have heard the sound.

#4
A young boy, only two—
I was the same as you.
I was bigger by three
And by four,
I grew more—
I was almost as tall as a tree.

#5
It’s hard to sit,
find clothes that fit,
And friends?
I’ve never had one.
They’re scared of me,
But they can’t see—
I am really fun.

#6
One morning,
without warning,
a storm began to brew.
The rain fell,
the river swelled,
and thunder rumbled through.

#7
The river rose, it spilled and flowed—
It rushed right through the town.
The people screamed,
the houses leaned,
And fences tumbled down.

#8
I stomped my foot—
a hole I put
in a field by the town.
One stomp did make
a giant lake,
must be two acres round.

#9
The river waned,
despite the rain.
The people stood and cheered.
“Oh, so brave—
the town he saved,
the Giant that they feared!”

#10
Smiling faces,
welcome places
greet me every day.
My troubles ended,
now befriended—
they invited me to stay.

#11
Ten years have passed,
my friends at last—
in peace and love I live.
I wake each day,
searching for a way
to my friends, a gift to give.

#12
One final thought—
the love I sought
was always mine to claim.
“My friend,” said Elf,
“just love yourself,
and your story ends the same.”
I wrote a children's book.  I teach grades K-8 so I'm at similar level of maturity.  I hope your inner child enjoys this!
Bring comfort
Feel like home
Offer calm
Instead of chaos
Give one a sense of belonging
Help one feel centered
They are important
They are most needed
During times of trouble
We all have them
Without them
We feel lost
We can’t find our way
They are like a lighthouse
Steering a ship to port
They clear out the fog
Erasing darkness
Bringing in the light
They are everything
Every night
Fairies arrive
They come from far away
They are tiny creatures
Almost invisible
They have delicate wings
Beautiful really
Like a hummingbird
They have always existed
Since the beginning
They come to the believers
All over the world
To grant their wishes and dreams
While they sleep
They sprinkle magic dust over them
Made of silver and gold
To bring sweet dreams and protection
As night ends they leave
Returning home
Awaiting the next night
To come once again
Fairy dust magic
Today my soul has run away,
to places where my heart can't play--
Devotion lights the thoughts within,
yet still there's something I can't win.

In silence lies the grieving night,
from all the stories of my plight--
The quiet calm and windless air,
are gently stirred without a care.

My deepest feelings rise above,
ideas flourish with endless love--
The evening falls without a sound,
as moonlight shines onto the ground.

Perhaps I've wandered into fairyland,
with children dancing hand in hand--
My fondest wish is coming true,
as my soul's returned to be renewed.
 May 23
Agnes de Lods
In our unfinished garden,
warm stones resting atop one another,
forming a wobbly tower,
trying to connect with a true light.

Above the smoky air, faltering steps,
can I see the true shape of your struggles?
Does a malicious gnome
shape my projections?
He topples our confidence.

Do we know if we still want the same?

Your anesthetic drops,
drunk in secret behind smiles.
Your cruelty is a sarcastic, sober blow,
breaking down fleeting joy.

I long for stillness,
for a day without wrinkles.
Why do we argue for first place?
I lost to our demons, invisible enemies.
I heal my fading certainty,
Last night, I dreamt of a well,
repeating my thoughts.

Without context, we are lost,
surrounded by thick walls built by rifts.
We are still impatient for closeness.
We grapple with a weight of assumptions.

Seeing the tower of wobbly stones,
I don’t want to let go of your hands
trusting, warmly kind,
like a promise of endless green,
in our unfinished garden.
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