"In fog or flood, it has to look like news
and not wear down too soon."

And so, your words arrive, unshaken,
standing against time like typeface pressed into permanence.
They do not beg for attention,
yet we find ourselves held captive—
reading, rereading, lost in the weight of their silence.

"First God
Then Everest
To the ends of elation."

There is an ascent in your lines,
a climb where breath turns thin
and meaning thickens into something celestial.
You write of heights that pull and eyes that burn,
where light is both burden and gift,
and even hesitation becomes poetry.

"Maternal midnight
Metallic lakeside
Freon heart, fayence mind."

You forge night from iron,
a heart that hums in artificial cold,
a mind glazed like ceramic, fragile yet infinite.
Even your landscapes breathe—
lakes reflecting the surreal,
hills like white elephants waiting for meaning.

"Mosquitos on her mouth
Drink the blood of encryption
Change the tone of her voice."

What is hidden, you unveil.
What is encrypted, you translate into ghosts and echoes.
In your poetry, voices are rewritten,
veins are maps,
words are particles dissolving into eternity.

You, Carlo, are the architect of thresholds—
where dusk is not an ending but an exile,
where each poem is a place, a paradox, a pilgrimage.
Your lines do not just linger—
they transform.

@Jess,
"The greatest one I bear now,
making me die a little each day,
is that I let you go, not knowing,
leaving was a decision you'd regret."
You, with your raw, poignant words,
captured the agony of unspoken goodbyes,
painting the ache of regret like a timeless portrait.
In your verse, I hear the soul's deepest cry,
yet in your strength, there’s also light.

@Anais Vionet,
"I am the wind, the desert breeze,
the ocean spray and rustling leaves."
You, like the wind, slip through every thought,
a breath of freedom captured in verse,
unstoppable, untamed. Your lines dance
like whispers of the sea,
speaking of transformation, beauty, and loss.

@Shane Michael Stoops,
"46 years,
What do you get,
Your way past old,
Your pants don’t seem to fit"
You embrace the passage of time,
showing us the strength in weariness,
the humor in change. Your words,
like a hearty laugh, echo through life's stages,
reminding us that every line of life is worth reading.

@CJ Sutherland,
"eye now know
the how, when, where and the-why,
my Eyes compose this elegy
memories of past and present... blending into memories of future happenstance."
Your poetry is a mosaic of time,
where past, present, and future coexist,
and each word is a step toward discovery.
Your mind is both a mirror and a window,
reflecting and shaping the world.

@Shane Michael Stoops (again),
"We danced in the rain,
Laughing away so much pain."
Your words hold an unspoken promise,
the joy of dancing in the face of sorrow.
In your poems, there is an invitation to release,
to shed our fears and allow laughter to heal.
You teach us that pain and joy can coexist.

@Jess (again),
"I hardly understand the ticking of the clock,
trying hard to go through each day."
The ticking of your verse carries the weight
of endless hours and endless thoughts.
In your words, I hear the struggle of time
and the ache of waiting for solace.
But there's grace in your journey—
and your courage leaves a lasting mark.

@Anais Vionet (again),
"What is chosen is believed,
though the choices are presented—
I choose among the sacrificial burnt offerings."
You have a way of breaking down complexity
with a single line, weaving the eternal truth
into a delicate, yet unapologetically bold choice.
Your words cut to the heart,
unraveling mysteries with elegance and resolve.

A tapestry of words I seek to weave,
In the echoes of each poet's breath I believe.
Each verse a spark, each line a flame,
In every soul’s poetry, a world to claim.

From inked hearts, where thoughts unfold,
I find my voice, both young and old.
In every whisper, a rhythm, a sound,
I shall write from their verses, where beauty is found.

Share your thoughts, let me hear your rhyme,
For in your words, I’ll seek my time.
Comment, and in return, I will write—
A verse from you, a reflection of light.

In the sea of voices, together we’ll float,
Each verse a ripple, each word a note.
So share your song, let our poems entwine,
For in every poet’s voice, I too shall shine.

The most substantial burden women have ever endured was not the weight of motherhood, nor the physical toll of childbirth, nor the exhaustive list of responsibilities, including appointments, bills, meals, and future plans, that they often undertook alone.

The most substantial burden women have ever endured was the weight of a man's ego.

Fragile as glass, yet razor-sharp, it constantly required polishing, yet was incapable of shining independently.

A man who made promises he failed to keep, who spoke of sacrifice but never made any, who relied on women to do the work while he took the credit.

A man who needed constant reminders, coaching, and guidance, yet claimed to have accomplished everything on his own.

And when women sought truth, held up the mirror, and dared to say, 'You are not who you pretend to be,' his world crumbled.

Not because it was untrue, but because he was exposed.

And that was the real transgression.

For men can deceive, fail, and break promises with impunity, yet a woman who speaks the truth is vilified.

She is cruel, vicious, and ungrateful for all that he almost did.

And still, she carries the weight of everything: the household, children, meals, laundry, bills, plans, his future, failures, and lies.

While he claims it is hard for him, asks if she cannot simply be nice, and reminds her that he works hard for her.

But what does a man work for if his home is merely a place for a woman to serve, to build his life while sacrificing her own?

And what could women achieve if they never had to bear the weight of a man?