The Little Things – Jacob Ibrag

Written by Jacob Ibrag

Stretch towards the moon, towards

the power that shifts. The curvature of a smile

hidden upon each individuals lips. I stretch the hours

in my soul, where it counts at least a little bit. Text

dancing upon windows stage. Fallen pages of

writer making sense of the little things.

Photo by Toa Heftiba

the headline in that photo!

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Costume of Myself -Lauren Kathleen

An unchanging skeleton template –
The foundation of every self
Is the same cascade of roots
Mapped out in a blueprint, essential
To the unfolding of a life.

We build costumes of ourselves around the frame work,
Skins new then old then made new again.
Or new then old then forgotten completely,
New year, new me.
But the old year, old me
Still lingers silently –
Hung on a hanger in the wardrobe,
Hidden amongst the other worn and torn
Uniforms of which me I’ll be today. 

Today I may be washed and dried
With the creases ironed and holes patched
And sleeves attached, with rips repaired and
Complete with a belt and a bow in my hair,
But maybe tomorrow I will slip back into an old skin
To be momentarily reacquainted with
A memory, for the fun of remembering.
I will cloak myself in a costume of my past self,
Playing dress up in a skin and a mind once mine,
And the wrong-er it feels makes my new self feel right-er.
I will close my eyes and ignore the ill-fitting
Tight squeeze, stretched straps, and snapped seams.
For in a dance of vivid recall I remember: this,
This is what it once felt like to be me.

for more from Lauren, find her at ‘My Thoughts Bottle’:

Sleek as you are – Fauxcroft

Sleek body shining so glossy
Curves so fine and so damn classy
I bet you are the sweetest ride
Built for comfort
Let’s go full throttle
And head got the summit
As we peak with the wind blowing in our hair
Show me your best and give me your flair
I can show what a thrust really can do
Ride baby ride hell for leather under the moon
A hellcat in leathers we will both be humming soon.

image: Pinterest

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alone in a crowd – AB

Feeling absolutely lonely
with hundreds around
Unspeakable conversations
Forgetful sounds
Life could have been better
if lived as a hermit
Jungles, dark deserts
No pretence, no permit
Animals real friends
Trees companions true
Winds carry wishes
Earth protecting you

for more from AB, at ‘Perspectives on Life the Universe and Everything’ at:

Copper Sky- Chris Nelson

original presentation of poem by author did not include picture below. I meddled, oops!

Follow me,

I’ll follow you,

Follow you down

Through the leaf lattice lanes

The cold-pressed, silken steel streets

To the banks of the stream

That washed us down from

Our mother’s arms to the wailing sea,

From the copper sky

I’ll draw your scent

Etched by the march of blistered feet

And calloused hands that worked the soil

Tilled the earth like a worshipped wife

Wait for late summer’s heat-haze splendor

To draw the wheat from the chaff

And bask in your wonder,

Come with me,

I’ll come with you,

Come with you

Past the flowing fields of wheat

The fragrant factory towers whose breath

Like a fire pumps in and out

Resting our beating heart rhythm

With the solitude of its own,

From the verdant trees

I’ll catch your eye

Watch the silver scenes dance between

The gnarled bark faces of the ancients

And the heavy hung hands that drape

Hang low kissing the emerald glade

That washes like the ocean

To carry you home,

Follow me,

I’ll follow you,

Follow you down

Past the marble-cold faces

That press against the window panes

Their eyes imploring you to stay

Like the weeds between the pavement cracks

That fade with winter’s song,

From the copper sky

I’ll catch your glow

And feel its burn beneath my skin

Its warmth awakening the seeds

Which slumber safe in earthen beds

Their dreams contented like cot-held babies

But wanting always to bask

Once more in you.

© All original writing copyright Chris Nelson 2000-2020

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Reverie – sirensong1208

Morning glimpsed
behind a curtain
shaft of light
upon a headboard
dust motes
a stillness disturbed
fingers slowly
moving over warm skin
mine for yours
to thoughts, desire
curling around me
and within, a band
every revolution
every stroke
a lover’s wish
shattering restraint in a rush of sound
a bitten lip
the lingering mark
of your possession

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Passion Flower – House of Heart

The vibrancy of peony

lush curls of gardenia

the brush of nurture

on birds of paradise

tempests of wildflowers

scattered across a meadow

tame the feral garden

she blooms for you


art by Ronnie Piccard

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That Woman Remembered – The Human Anvil

In this wafer thin world,
My mirror holds together,
Your palpable smile.

I live there somewhere,
Buried; under warm hollow bricks,
Dreaming and dreaming,
Ringlets of flowers, raindrops of gold,
And of you reading a blank page,
Written one hundred ways.

Your name is a shape,
Or a flower or a bird,
Dahlia, Paloma or some rounded word,
You are the poem, I the paper,
You are as ivory and I a leper;
Waiting to talk yet walking away quiet,
Dismal of dark but afraid of light.

You smell of shade,
Along a long lost road,
Dressed like a farm, a sea of azure night,
Auburn hair, and grey eyes bright,
When did we grow, into this hour
Of longing madness,
Coiling itself through our hearts,
Like creepers circling the dead elms?

It’s past midnight, here,
And the waves are turning back,
Humming an echoing ebb, of times
Wept into single drop of chorused sunshine.
Your bare back,
Arched like waterfall,
Rests upon my eyes; eyes
Still yearning, along the crowded shore,
One amongst many like many amidst more.
All strangers to me as I am to you,
In this tangible tremor of life.

Random musings; this pillow feels soft,
Feathers abound, thoughts aloft.

There was an abandoned bench,
In a corner of December,
Where every story started,
Afore her departure,
Now nothing remains, there, here and everywhere,
Nothing but holes,
Inch deep, muddy and wriggling with worms.


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This Pole I Hold – Stella

Here on the bank of one of the largest manmade lakes in the country

He used to fish here

I grew up here

It’s peaceful

Besides his pole I hold

I see poles in the air scattered there

And there

True fishermen I guess

I still see him sitting here as the sunrises

I see me sitting right next to him

The water like glass with a single line luring


Just the sound of water trickling on my toes

I see his eyes sneak a peek at me once in a while

He loves me and I him

But now I sit in his chair alone with his pole

With tears and no idea what to do with this wiggle on my hook

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Hope (a double etheree)- Indieshe


Spreading love,
Now cloistered deep
And Melancholic,
It Fluttered in fury,
Darting at the grey cover,
Slipping through tiny crevices,
The icicles now with a dull sheen
A Suffusion of warmth so radiant.
Leaving a fiery trail on dreary grey,

The errant ray full of lively spright,
A cavalcade of surging hope,
Flaunting its golden shimmer,
Consoling the dark surf ,
For all was not lost,
Shades of dark grey,

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