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 12h Caits
F Elliott
(for the Woman, and the Cowards who Fear Her)

she was never too much—
only too alive
for those who mistook control
for strength
and silence for peace.

her becoming was not a performance.
it was a war—
and the ones who claimed to love her
dropped their weapons
only to place their hands
around her throat
in the name of order.

they called her chaotic,
but it was their cowardice
that feared the shape she would take
if left untouched
by their grip.

they chose the seductress,
the one who dances at the edge
of her own erasure—
pliant, priestess of their small gods,
goddess of their easy pleasure.

but the true woman is not
a priestess of men;

she is a temple unto herself.

and to know her,
to truly see her,
requires the man to suffer.

to suffer her beauty
without owning it.
to suffer her fire
without extinguishing it.
to suffer the rise of a soul
that will not yield
to his fear of being seen as less.

he must descend
into the fragmentation
that makes him reach for control—
and there,
only there,
may he begin to rise.

and she?

she is not waiting anymore.

she was always the fire.

and the fire needs nothing

but its own spark

to blaze.


 Apr 8 Caits
C Conner
Time shook
And the shadows hummed
An ancient cicada song
Their heavy red eyes aware
The open iron gate clanging
In the wind - off beat.
After you were gone
There was no wasted breath -
No echoes.
No footsteps searching
Just emptyness
Like a two gallon stone crock
Drained.
 Apr 8 Caits
Thomas W Case
Calico snakes crawl the
garden of our love.
You, in your gingham
dress and hair in braids,
bent over the radishes.

I, unshaven in my *****
Johnny Cash t-shirt.
Earth all over my
face.
I fell into your
firey ring, that's for
**** sure.

As soon as my guard comes
down, you and that drunken
pirate moon, and that mad
smiling snake burn
me every time.

I'm leaving the garden and
heading back to those
wild midnight alleys where I
know what's coming.
Nursery rhymes are just
metered horror stories.
And spring is the biggest
liar of them all.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8k5NY8ZMx3I

Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I read my poetry from my recently published books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems, and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse Poems.  They are both available on Amazon.com

www.thomaswcase.com
 Apr 3 Caits
Nishu Mathur
The sea is still today
It's cerulean blue and gold
I think of the thoughts it carries
Within its hidden folds.
Its touch is soft and gentle
It soothes the ache of years
But I wonder how many waves
Are made from fallen tears.
Dear everyone,

This is such a surprise! Thank you all for your likes, loves and responses. I have not been very active on Hello Poetry, but will get back in action soon. So much appreciated. Thank you Hello Poetry for selecting this as a daily. Thank you so much my friends and fellow poets for taking the time to read this poem of mine. It means the world to me.  Love to everyone **
 Apr 3 Caits
November Sky
She moves like winter—
soft, slow,
cradling the air—
her steps are untraceable.

A life of corners suits her—
neat, unassuming,
never begging for light.

She keeps herself
tight within a space,
the way a bird
tucks its wings—
precise,
as though her presence
can speak just as loud.

When she speaks,
her voice skims the air—
pale as a white crow
sharp as double blades
of a cold November wind.

Her words land clean—
a snowflake dissolving
before you can catch
its pattern.

Just notice—
the warmth she guards,
burning coals
behind her sober look.

Her wrists,
fine and birdlike,
trace the outlines
of her wilderness.

It waits—
in the curve of her jaw,
in the way her fingers grasp,
tighter than they need to.

When I spread
her legs wide,
like the wings
of her hungry mouth—
she is the shadow
of the snow
on a ****** field—
softness
with deliberate grace
a river that never asked
to be seen.
Lia Marie Johnson—Sufjan Stevens —To Be Alone With You

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5cCHQGWs7PU
 Apr 3 Caits
November Sky
You walk ahead,
your back a sultry *****,
your hands hanging—
fingers splayed,
as if you’d held something too hot
and dropped it too quickly
to the ground.

I watch your shadow flutter
beneath your pretty red skirt—
a natural-born wildflower
in a white and yellow tank top.

The rain hasn’t stopped in days.
Even the air tastes sharp,
bitter as orange peels—
the kind we scraped our teeth against
as children,
zest running down our throats—
sweet, but always with a sting.

We walk like this—
through wetness,
through the morning
your step is careful—
mine, careless.
The sound of us
almost matching,
not quite—but it’s okay,
just like a song that falters
before the first note
but ends
with a bang.

And when we cross the street,
I don’t ask
if the other side
is any better than this one—
if it was ever less than a promise
we made to ourselves,
as the rain softened
the road beneath us.
Train—When I Look to the Sky
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KipSEcE6gGM
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