Boy do I have a Grumpy Gift for you…

Not only do I love writing but I also enjoy reading. So many of the amazing things I read are enjoyed by so few, as not every literary marvel is also a marketing mogul. It’s this, i care to share most.

Imagination is the reality of the dreamer.

— Scott Ringenbach.

Stay tuned, and keep on orbiting those moons.

Validation—Mike Ennenbach

every smile
the cold frost
that dapples the windows
to the soulbarren desert
of just desserts
from whence
the tawdry expectation
of inexplicable palpation
seeks home
in biting whorls
of detrimental defiance
the time clock
the grand entrance
the vestibules of night

Read more —Mike Ennenbach

If Ahead I See – Robert Okaji

Gray skies filtered through light,
eyes adapting space,
the possibilities of the

horizon or a foot
lashing out in reflex,
what do I learn?

The house finch sings as if
all air will expire at song’s end.

Falling, I release this misplaced trust.
The path, muddied and crowded with fools.

to read more from this author, please click here: https://robertokaji.com/

Ouroboros —Erik Shinker

Do I just reiterate the
same sentiments?
Over and
over and
over again.
An ouroboros devouring himself in
an infinite, revolving wheel.

This serpent’s tail is
more venomous than
its teeth.
The end and beginning in
self-same destruction.

by Erik Shinker

Read more —Perpetually Past Due

Who have us has not felt this sentiment? A ticking watch that forgets to tock?

Somewhere – Vishal Dutia

Somewhere the sun is setting
In your tired eyes

Somewhere a cool breeze carries
Songs of changing times

Somewhere you’re getting by,
Flushed with words of wine,

Somewhere a fool laments
That he never called you “mine”

for more at Jalvis Quotes, click here: https://jalvisquotes.wordpress.com/

The Beauty of Poetry —The FreeThinker

Poetry is an artistic expression of the “beautiful.” It encompasses feeling, imagination, beauty. Poetry is both “art” and “truth.”

The poet, sometimes through cognition, which is like a gift, is able to create something beautiful. From Shakespeare to Milton to Wordsworth. The list is endless. To be able to see things through the eye of a poet, is a wondrous thing.

Poetry uses figurative expressions to transmit ideas, awake feelings, and inspire the imagination, which connect the individual mind and heart to universality.

There is more to this post. Continue to read The Beauty of Poetry on the link here.

What is poetry to you?

Filth – Jacob Ibrag (Eyes + Words)

Written by Jacob Ibrag

They want to go outside and move around.

Barefoot among the elements. The dirtier the pavement

the better. Filth makes it feel real. Tired of their cleanliness.

It’s not that they want to be careless, it’s simply the option

of having it. This self made prison and its recycled air.

Homes incubating their residents ignorance.

Photo by Joshua Rawson-Harris

to read more at ‘Eyes + Words’, click here:https://eyespluswords.com/

(Untitled Poem) – Svelte

14 day extension…
distance lengthens like my hair
grown since I started paying attention
to little things like that
and all the creases in the crumpled sky
closely I familiarize the face of time
no longer strangers now
I will acknowledge as it goes by
as I sharpen my skill set
and cut through monotony that’s become life
I practice a daydream
long after daylight…
– Jen

to read more from Jen, click here:https://wired4more.wordpress.com/

Slow Love – Reaching Joy


Let’s not listen to any music,

let the lyrics come on their own.

Open the door.

Let the birds sing.

The ground sweat.

You do not always have to be

the dancer, alone in the corner,

swaying under hanging plants

and borrowed words.

Do the birds sing

of lost lovers?

Do the trees dream of what could be

as they flow?

I ache for you,

even as life spins round

before me —

they cannot replace a slow love.

Am I some fool

for longing for you, still?

I am an animal.

No need to feel foolish for that —

I live how I act.

Shakespeare wrote poems

wrote fools

in isolation,

listened to birds sing

for inspiration,

as companion.

Does the love I mold in my hands

have potential to turn into a pot, a decorative vase

to place up on the mantel?

Or will it melt under its own weight?

The birds do not need social media.

They have wings.

The trees do not sit in bed till noon.

They have flowers,

growing from their sides.

The ground holds up my mind,

and still your love feels so light to me–

it can escape even a bird’s lips, if not your own.

I crave a slow love

who will dance with me,

who will clean the dishes as I dry,

pop bubbles,

look trouble in the eye.

I crave a slow love

who will see the creases

and know the book is not broken,

life itself is connected yet uneven

like a sweater,

like a vase,

like a tango that dips me down,

spins me around,

and smiles, easy.

I go outside only in my dreams, now–

let you come to me.

And yet you’re still a mystery,

slow to start

for a woman who knows quick

New York phrases and subtle gazes

from side to side,

knows the birds never die

when we stay in and rest.

Come, sit.

Listen to their song.

And hum, slow.

I wish everyone health and safety during this time. Be patient. Play your part: stay inside when you can. Know it will pass.

March 28th, 2020

find more from this author here: https://reachingjoythree.wordpress.com/

End of the Rope – Ali Grimshaw


The rope winds gently around my waist,
twisted, smoothly strong by years of mistakes,
trying again, doubt and wondering how.

Thick with memories of others who
believed with the strength of solid ground.
Believed that all earthquakes eventually stop shaking.
Believed in soil’s ability to grow what we need next.

The end of this rope was handed to me long ago.
A generous lifeline offered for free
to keep me on the planet.

Now I look down at the rope in my calloused hands,
threads of the millions, an explosion of frayed ends,
their forgivings, endurance,
the woven learnings of my ancestors.

The rope loops back and around me,
over and over,
then off into the distance.

I don’t need to see the end now
to trust it is anchored deeply somehow.

© Ali Grimshaw 2020

Inspired by William Stafford’s poem “The Way It Is”

dVerse – Final Couplet Prompt

Photo taken in on my last trip, Château de Suscinio in France.


Artbreak – Ustav Raj

You say you’re falling in love with me
and that’s why you need to walk away now
before I break your heart into two.
Of course, I’ll break your heart. I’m an extrovert.
That’s what we’re famous for doing.

it worries you that I can talk to anyone and make them smile so wide, the ends of their lips have no choice but to touch the wrinkles around their eyes.
It makes you insecure.
You need to walk away, despite knowing that if you leave
my stories will leave me too.
You’ll say bye and I’ll just open my mouth to try to ask you to stay and you’ll hear all my stories shattering inside my chest,
and then as I cry, it’ll leave me.
I’ll try to find my stories again.
I’ll look for it in the lost and found box in the cafes you and I constantly went to.
I’ll see if it’ll try to photobomb when I take selfies, like you used to.
I’ll search for it and I won’t find it.
It’ll kill me, make me feel empty.

stories are just a form of art,
just like me,
and our only defining characteristic
is that we’ll always find a way back to each other
so you choose to walk away
even if you’re breaking my art.
“they’ll come back.”
Introverts are poems, extroverts are stories.
Even if after this artbreak, my stories
comes back to me as poems,
that’s okay.
Maybe then you and I can rhyme.

Into poetry? – Limitless
Instagram – @myspirals