Hour Nine Dansa form Think Twice before you burn the bridge or one must learn to swim in a stalemate none can win unless the slights one acknowledge for a new start to begin before you burn the bridge. Think Twice before you burn the…

Hour 10: Away with the butterflies   We used to go to the art gallery with the gorgeous garden and all the famous to us statues to watch the frogs, listen to the birds, and cover ourselves in sharpie poetry –   We used to…

Prompt Ten – Text Prompt The first three words of your title should be “what is love”. That can be your whole title, in and of itself, probably followed by a question mark, or you can add more context onto the title before proceeding to the…

Swallow tails Don’t need their tails They just use them to Escape the birds Oh shoot this is almost late. I’ll do it properly later

Hour 9: Nicknames Outlive You   It’s true you know – if you’re not careful the nicknames out live you the art changes the future   & the memories morph into beings of thier own with thoughts, beating hearts   &   an appetite for…

I have been haunted by things/ I did not do/ but should have/ I was plagued by/chamomile/ the very thing/ I was promised/ could heal me/ and I have been tortured by potential.// The pastel ghosts/ came from me/ trying to give a face/ to…

Hour Seven Tethered to breath a rise and fall of chest- a lift of torso and a spirit, or what is left. Triggering the vagus a nerve once shaking as it’s coiled in suspended animation until the breath’s release, and to which pulse can now…

Prompt Seven – Text Prompt: The viator is a poetic form invented by Robin Skelton It’s a pretty simple form where the first line is used again as refrain in the second line of the second stanza, and the third line of the third stanza,…

Hour Six A fish out of water scooped out of the expanse with a net of lies and plunged within a crystalline bowl. Flitting to the surface wherein lies the tease of sustenance and breath held in stagnancy. Feeble attempts to avoid the anglerfish and…

Hour Five Memories tucked into my breast pocket left and close to my heart. They flutter like eyelids just waking from slumber- fractured images play upon the screen of thought a tribute to remembrance to lives previously lived during my years on the back roads….