Beautiful swan floating gracefully by Dancing softly like the winds of spring Your joy and your candor, incredibly spry The weight of the world on your wing You pass by with ease and no cares in the sight So strong in your humility For though…

Text Prompt You find a time capsule buried in the backyard of your new home (or anywhere else, depends on you). What’s in it? How old is it or its probable story is up to the poet. Contributed by Bhasha Dwivedi. Strange Discovery Earth preserves…

The ground floor of the skyscraper is thrown into confusion as a cloud of cacophony descends on a gathering cloud of men in sleek suit and silk tie, all spread around in different directions, piercing the serenity of the corporate street. They needle their way…

  Crow,crow,crow,It’s blacky black. Dark,dark,dark,It’s blacky black. Black is so, dark, is so hard, is so good, Not is so ugly and Worsley scared. If it was scary,I never used. If it was ugly, I never mind. Black is so sweet,is so cute,is so lovely,…

Returning Longing solitude overlooks the borderlines ready to swim back Hour 9 @varenyas

Mower rattle of ceiling fan on high speed hammering of stakes metal to metal squeak of my chair click of mouse snap tap of keys birds in trees chip chip craw craw audience roar of distant waves there they are the clacking of palm fronds…

With gumboots spread wide, I crane my bare head to the periwinkle sky, tie dyed and bled a skyscraper needle’s head, I then spy pierces a cloud up high, sighs bringing rain’s beating pings like beetle’s wings on thin skin. – Sandra Johnson, 6/26/21  

In death she remains perfect, untouched Like the dreams we never tried, never ruined with our breath. She will always hold the goddess seat A memory of adoration that cures as it ages And you lovers of the living will have to make the best…

Why is my crown so garish, With spikes and thorns and so, My face rotting and disintegrating, My eyes the colour of blood. Why am I dressed in capes, And long gowns kissing the floor, The grey faded and old, A rusty scythe in my…

Hamlet’s Revenge Is it a wisp of fire Burning deep in my heart Fluttering to be free, Or the whisper That murmurs in the wind Tempting to bind Within the walls of fire? Hour 8 @varenyas