With strength, perseverance and faith
Dark tunnels become paths of light.



Shell ✨🐚

May all the sonnets in the world compiled in beauty
lend themselves to your sweet eyes of gold
may every line of of penmanship speak to you of me
showing you that ardor, still untold

and when the moon comes out to serenade you darling
send me kisses from your balcony
and when the moonlight bathes the feather's of a starling
tinted dark as heaven's ebony,  

bring me all your charms and play your castanets my love
rend each doubt and join me over there
where every wingeth bird soars up like a turtle dove  
and plays you music oh so fair

may every sonnet ever written call you out by name,
may every poem ever uttered be your sweet proclaim.

It comes from talking too fast.
Words from thought spill through
me.  I am unadorned with
punctuation.  I write in long
lines of ideas switching from
one to another like trestles.

Some thoughts get stuck or are
trapped under wheels. They rub
me clumsily.

I speak only English in a stomach
churning speed.  To tell you how
beautiful you are takes pages and
curls of rushing lines.

I am a jumble of ideas out loud.
A scorch of syllables.  I digress
of course.  I am a stumble of
sounds, a cataract of meanings.

Listen to the scrape of pen, the
words enlighten,emerge, into
conversation.


Caroline Shank
6.8.2023

There used to be enough
Dreams to go around
Now it's hard enough
To hold a single one down

No longer able
To reach the highest heights
Of all the wish I may's
All the wish I might's

Remember when we used to have
A much longer list
One at least if we tried
We could almost grasp

Now all we do is struggle
To even write it down
Outside of this bubble
In which dreams once were found

All the drams that we had
Holding us so tight
All the wish I may's
All the wish I might's

Have simply slipped away
The way dreams sometimes do
Flying out the window
Along with our youth

Nem élhetek, se nem pusztulnak tovább
(I CANNOT LIVE NOR DIE ANY LONGER)

For Miklós Radnóti

I build this
bridge of words
so that I can

walk back over time
and take
your hand

you to me
this man
made only of words

talking out of a book
and I only able
to touch you

with these
used words
of mine

I clasp your hand
in mine
call you friend

*

Miklós Radnóti, the Hungarian poet, was shot by guards after a forced march from a Serbian labour camp in 1944 and thrown into a mass grave. When his body was later exhumed, a notebook of poems was found sewn into his clothing so even from beyond this lonely grave his words insisted on living.

"Don't walk past me, friend. Yell, and I'll stand up again!"

I reach out my hand made of words and touch your words that still make you a man.

As I’m quickly scrolling by
Out of the corner of my eye
I see a Bible, saying or verse
The origins of everything, the universe

Quick stop! all noice, Internet chatter
Dig deeper, what’s the subject matter?
A burning desire to know more
Research books scattered on the floor.

Daily God will give me a sign
I only have to seek and I shall find
Words from the Holy Spirit filled my mind
To study, learn, and grow
Most  importantly, the thirst, to know

The Bible is the roadmap to salvation
Stories, parables, and Revelation
The last generation is upon us
People, don’t have a clue, or make a fuss

Life will pass them by
In the blink of an eye,
they won’t know, why?
In desperation, the people will cry

If , my last breath
is a martyr’s death
I will know, I’m Blissed
My soul, God will possess

I wanted to take care of you
as if you were the last sunflower on Earth
but winter ravaged this garden.
Despite my best efforts,
I watched your petals wither
before my helpless eyes.
It is true that I did not know
how to take care of you,
but I’ll be ****** if
I had not given you my all.