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brandychanning Dec 2023
Retro Morn: Re-Reading Jenny (1.) and Her Purple Hat, (2.), Listening to Vonda Shepard

I am a beautiful woman, and reliably informed so,
by handsome. men, lustful fools, and one too many
sideward glances

in a difference place, musical needs call me out to retro smooth me
away from the waves of nausea of news repeats ingested, the lesser
qualities of human beings basic basest nature, I inhale subdued

Jenny’s defiance of life’s expectations and Vonda’s voice
smooth my discordant emotive candles that won’t stay lit,
add in a touch of melting Joni & Divine Ms. Bette,
gets me slow kickstarting

and I have not reached
the lofty plateau of
twenty five years of age

but my mom, the  Queen Regent, reminds me royalty possesses
very old souls, which Is why I’m caught out listening, dancing
awake to the music of
her youth* and hear her discreetly humming the tunes, even though the phone connection broken minutes earlier

she signed off with a practised Elizabethan airy disturbance royal wave of her hand, instructing this raining (no, not reigning)
Queen to  “darling go write a poem…”

don’t we all listen to our mothers?

my name is brandychanning

*music inhale subdued kickstarting a poem
Where Shelter Jun 2023
<6:36 AM>

~for Joanne Louise Veronika~

patches of light, snatches of sleep,
cumulative tallies of every 24 hour arrhythmia,
detect heart alarms ringing, watch warnings screeching beeping

who cares!

new commitment, self imposed!

greet the early ones with sooth and java,
a combination, “all across the nation,”
ease them in from sleeply lyrical dreams,
to a clear sky, renew anew, bay waters
running new tide fast, tiny tendrils of water points,
etch-a-sketch paths to a calm souls restoration

the smoke haze bad dream departed,
sun rays warmth for the invisible innards,
waves look like the EKG of human at peace,
resting heart rate steady and rhythmically sweet

and I laugh at myself, preposterous!
this is my secret path to restoration,
please laugh at me, join the raucous joy
of not-taking-yourself too seriously,
meaning of a new light, fresh waters,
of an old friend, the same diurnal perspective,
a new alphabet that spells but a singular duality,
a two-word~poem of
meditative perfection:

calm sheltering
Sat Jun 10
Silver Beach, S.I.
M Solav Mar 2022
Paved roads of cars that roam
Are sure to grow weary on my bones.
And there’s a high hill close to home
Onto which I seldom venture alone.
How I recall those many days of yore
When we’d go fresh out in the morn;
And up that hill now far across the globe
Would stare for short eons into the fog.
Written as photopoetry on February 9th, 2022.

— Copyright © M. Solav —

This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact for usage requests. Thank you.

A beautiful day is nothang but life, for a beautiful soul makes a beautiful morning. As the daylight appears it make obvious how beautiful and ravishing you're. The light in your eye is as bright as the sunlight  sunlight. Wishing you a stunning morning as you really are. Good morning honey. Thinking about you.
atop the east hills
an outer edge of sun rays
were seen early this morn
Nat Lipstadt Sep 2013
New Moon Melange

(for Harlan Rivers originally,
and now for Aparna,
who reminded me
how I used to write
in the golden era of
seven years of plenty, so long, so ago...)


The softest cotton,
Wears ever softer with every use.

Contemplative introspection,

Like digging a castle & moat in the sandy beach,
You dread and joy, the knowing,
Incoming tide will arrive destructive inevitable,
Yet fill the moat, protect the kingdom,
Till is undone and returned to the blocks of minuscule,
Grains of sand.

Answers found, maybe lost, once more,
Necessitating questioning, non-stop processing,
And a rebuilding tomorrow... Pas de choix

But softer each time, easier with practice.

Even if convoluted, it is still a revolution.
Like twelve new moons, recycled.
(occasionally a lucky thirteenth appears)

Some of us are special chosen,
To essay, to assay, the condition human,
With a rock axe, tiny slivers chipped off,
And yet new moon stones uncovered,
needy of Cataloging,

You can change the day,
The month,
The moon twelve, thirteen times,
Hell, You can change your **** hat,
But don't fool nobody,

You are one of the special,
You job to paint the verbal paintings,
And to ascertain the meaning interior.

For in doing so, you do all of us service.
For your eyes see it ever so differently,
For you, task, paint and reveal each
New Moon’s Melange,
your unchosen gift.
to you
Responsa to "Mindfulness Mélange"
re-reminded by Aparna June 25, 2020
Cece Apr 2019
Today was my sister’s birthday
But a day that turned gray
A day that we were celebrating
But took a family member away

This day happened so fast
A day that made everyone in my family gasp
But this day was going to happen sooner or later
On this day my lovely grandmother past

I woke up in the morning
I saw a text
She’s fine
That’s what I thought in my mind

I panicked inside
I hoped in the car with my two sisters and I
While my dad
Oh my dad stayed behind

We drove with silence in the car with no one speaking
But what we did not know was that my grandmother was already sleeping

We pulled up to her neighborhood
When my dad called my sister
He said girls please come back home
We rushed back as fast as we could

My dad stood out front  
Tears streamed down his face
Trying to keep it all in
As I quickened my pace

We ran up to him with our arms wide open
As we cried along with him
No words needed to be spoken

But this day was going to happen sooner or later
On this day my lovely grandmother past
Sunshine Jan 2019
A gift from above
Made with love

Life to be had
Too bad it was sad

Hard to deal
Never feeling healed

A messed up head
Thinking alive or dead

Can't do it anymore
Hell what life has it store

Not Saying Goodbye
But It's time to fly

Now time for peace
Life treated like a lease

Wait why so many tears
They didn't know about my fears.

They shouldn't feel sad about my leaving
I'm at peace and they are grieving.
A brother of a friend of mine killed himself the pain I've seen this family go threw is heartbreaking and gives someone such as myself who has thought about & also tried doing it, a different way to look at it
K Balachandran Jan 2019
An albino crow,
On a fogless winter morn!
Nature spells wrong!
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