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Mica Wood Feb 11
A knot work spell is an easy way
To breathe magic into macrame.
An anchor knot for an aid
so I don’t drop my braid.

I try to tie well,
for each knot is a spell
I don’t want to unravel.

Carefully binding
to seal in my intentions.

A mantra, repeated with each loop.

I am loved,
I am loved,
I am loved.
snipes Feb 7
Don’t get fooled.
Magic and voodoo,
don’t go on getting fooled.
Internet schemes and everyday memes,
don’t go on getting fooled.
A heart in a persons trust,
nah, no don’t go getting fooled.
Love and lust,
yeah a mfer got fooled.
Space time suspending a soul on a spool.
The Lords 7 days meeting String Theory’s ways.
These are things my heart foolishly feels these days.
As my brain thinks death will be my last friend, I’ll know.
My soul extends the vibrations cruising in different solars.
I’ll be with the fooled focused on chasing another chance of feeling life over.
Underneath the canopy where gentle breezes sway,
Forest elves flutter with elegance, a magical play.
Amidst green verdant foliage, they frolic and giggle,
The magical musical is fleeting, mere whispered riddle.

In a world where dreams and stories intertwine,
Tales spunned fantasy, recounted by mankind,
Elvish girls gowns with radiance aboudingly fair,
Among the trees, glittering sunlight in their hair.

Whispers of majestic charms spoken on the wind,
A beauty, a kind of rarity makes me tremble within,
Woods and animals hold a secret just out of sight,
Wistful hearts desire, a true nature's silent delight.

Moonbeams showers over their echoes of laughter,
Promises before the dawn of time converge ever after,
Forever serenity among animals where they lay,
As clever fairies mislead curious human away.

Legends of old remain a whisper of truth,
Only the pure ones, innocent hearts of youth,
Granted an entrance or visions fleeting glimpse,
Others succumbing under the mystical hijinks.
Word count 155. Fantasy of the faerie.
Trinkets Jan 25
you have a secret don’t you
like a coin in the hand of
a beginner magician
well hidden for any who
never really pay attention
Sara Barrett Jan 22
Our first snowfall
two teenagers driving through Maryland’s quiet streets,
snowflakes soft as whispers,
pausing the world, binding us in its stillness.

Years later, Montana welcomed us,
its snow blanketing base housing,
our son’s laughter rising like smoke in the cold.
Soon, we welcomed our daughter,
her presence as gentle as freshly fallen snow,
our family growing beneath the frosted skies.

In New Hampshire, snow wrapped us as four,
a family held close through a winter of unknowns,
its quiet presence a reminder of resilience,
of love weathering every storm.

And now, in Florida—
where the sun reigns and snow should be a stranger,
it falls again.
Five hours of wonder cascading from the heavens,
a gift from the elements,
blessing this home, this moment, this us.

Snow has followed our beginnings—
each new chapter marked in white.
It shields, it cleanses,
a quiet protector cloaked in frost,
a sacred pause to reflect, to remember,
to hold close the warmth of our bond.

May it always find us,
this quiet magic,
this pure renewal,
reminding us that wherever we are,
we are blessed,
we are whole,
and we are home.
This poem is a reflection on the role snow has played in my life and the connection it holds with my husband and our journey together. From the winter of 2007, when two teenagers fell in love on snowy Maryland streets, to our first snowfall as a family in Montana, snow has always found us at the start of something new. Now, 17 years later, in the rare magic of Winter Storm Enzo in 2025, we sit together in the Panhandle of Florida, watching 8 inches of snow blanket our world. It feels like a quiet reminder—of love, resilience, and the way snow has always invited us to pause, reflect, and cherish each other as we write the next chapter of our lives.
Zywa Jan 18
He's unsure and can't

do magic, yet he can do --


magical thinking.
Poem "[Week] 9" (2022, Gerda Blees)

Collection "Specialities"
Jay Jan 14
Breakups don’t make sense to me. Am I just supposed to feel nothing now? To erase all the time we spent together, the memories etched into my mind, the quiet promises whispered in the dark? Am I meant to set it all on fire, pretending you don’t cross my thoughts with every breath I take? As if love is just a fleeting phase, something that vanishes as easily as it began. Am I supposed to suddenly hate you, to force down the feelings still rooted in my chest? Forget the warmth of your hand in mine, our fingers laced together against the chill of the world? What about the dreams we built, reshaping our futures to fit one another? Is “moving on” some sort of magic trick? Or is it a spell no one’s ever taught me, some dark art that hides the ache beneath tangled overgrowth? Do the feelings ever really die, or do they just lie buried, choked out by weeds where flowers once bloomed? The silence left in their place is deafening, and I can’t understand how hearts can simply unravel. How love, once so vivid, can close its eyes to everything it defined. How am I supposed to walk away when the echoes of what we had still call me back?
so-
A    mb-
        re,
       Sw-
       a-
      n's,
    cu-
    rl-
ing,
ne-                Rarely,
ck. takes, the time, to, longingly,
straighten out. If, it, took, a honking
step, toward; a banal, straight line. Wo-
uld, Lir, hear, his children's; swansong?
Or, pinion feathers, flip, on breezes, as,
              they,
                  flap, about?

© poormansdreams
When I was small I always thought I'd be turned into a swan by my evil stepfather. But, I've warmed to the proud honkers in my old age.
Raven Kuhn Jan 5
I got my letter but I didn’t read it,
Just followed along with my kin;
I wouldn’t let the Sorting Hat touch me,
And claimed to all I was Slytherin.

I never liked the other colours,
But green seemed to fit, and I felt like a snake!
Plus, when I’d want something as much as I did,
I was more than willing to be fake.

I didn’t try with witches or spells;
I missed class on purpose, and it stung my pride.
My Patronus, the crow, still crouched in my shoulder—
But even he’d known I’d lied. Now I’m trapped inside.

My life’s about art and academia, dark...
So I’ve poured over books behind secret walls.
An INTP means something to me,
Now I’m staring, completely enthralled.

I got my House but I didn't fit in--
At least not to the same degree.
Maybe I earned it for all that I was,
But now it doesn't feel like me.
I'm not a fan of Harry Potter, but I went to the theme park in 2017 and of course my family did the quiz. It got me thinking: if you begged the Sorting Hat hard enough, would it really put you in the House you wanted at the time, even if it wasn't who you'd turn out to be?
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