Tiny Butterfly Tiny butterfly spreading its wings ready to carry two worlds one old, one new one to live, one to give then rest on a choicest tendril among leaves to do the same act all over again Hour 7 @varenyas

Lookout Ryan wants to detour to Septimus Hill Where there’s a lookout overlooking Half the plains to the sea Been arguing about it for hours He wants to get a lie of the land Like he imagines himself a kind of General His words: foolish,…

Be careful, will you? Things aren’t always as they seem. Why do you trust so easily? Are you naive? Do you know the most easily sold item? Wanna know?  It’s your soul. You. Pacts, Covenants, Contracts — Call them whatever you want, the fact remains the…

Ode to the Living Dead (Valkyrie Kerry) ‘Dyer-Bolique, as dire as you are, Cursed streets offer something far worse, Vacant minds, absorbing smoked plants and wine, Menacing, intolerant curse.’ You heed my meaning, agree with my terms, Prepare me to fight, in the bleakest night,…

Twenty one 16×20’s nailed to posts. Below each, piles of flowers three feet, four feet high, stuffed toys, teddy bears, notes, signs, posters, prayer candles. In the neighborhood streets around, children of all ages chalking pictures and notes to their lost friends… It is all…

Hour Seven – Look on your phone and find the 10th non selfie picture and use that as your prompt.   The Graduate   Shiny sturdy ravens all They stride into the ancient hall and take their designated places after tentatively, anxiously scanning faces at…

The craziest thing about it that its not for real I go and fly with a spade Or I will fly away It comes with a eagle and even a bird You said that your flight will be late But stopping in England Going going…

content warning: pretty sure there’s none Much of life is a choice. Two roads, like Robert Frost wrote; The untrod paths, the call of the voice, Distant yet yearning note. There are many streets to take. To turn left or right; to rush or to…

The Sweetness of Vinegar credit to:The Vinegar Man by Ruth Comfort Mitchell Thank you Miss Collins, my poetry muse, your old legs bowed, with fist pounding out each poem’s rhythm upon your brittle hip. making us stand, alone, to recite from memory Vinegar, vinegar, vinegar…

After reflecting on a day of pain, I seek to find my self again. Calm waters soothe my weary mind and carry me away. I drift away in timeless peace I close my eyes and breathe release. I carry home a hope within. I’m feeling…