Vagaries – indishe

Vague are the vagaries of life,
They tell us
To silence us.
They show us
To blind us.
They lead us
To mislead.
Vague emotions
And nameless turmoils,
Make you fall in the vortex of life.
The cauldron of life
Brims over
With life emoticons
All over.

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Things – Renwick Berchild

This is what I’ve decided
to do with a dead woman’s things.

her clothing through openings, taking her books
and splaying them spine high like fallen birds.

Burning the chairs where she pretended
rusted weak hands never hardened me,
the kitchen orchids’ sorry minds
drooping wrinkled to the pane.

Ex mero motu, her fancy silver, I take outside
and stick them in the ground standing

like soldiers at attention, erect and wakeful
taking stock of their graves, as the late light
makes long and narrow their shadows.

Rip free her curtains,
let clatter her pearls, let the old grey tongue
leading to her stoop become overgrown.

Weeds rushing
with yellow windmills, bowing
hot summers like toads.

I cry with wicked thoughts,
palms black with dust.

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I prevail – Michelle Cook

As my eyes open
The light deflects my thoughts
Like insects they scurry away
Leaving a trail of unfinished reflections

This is why I write so much better
When I’m on the verge of dreaming
In darkness and seclusion
Is where most of my ideas are born

Just like the vast oceans
Teeming with animals we’ve never seen
So it is the same way with my mind
In deep, dark solitude ― I prevail

© 2020 Michelle Cook

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Not Quite —Carol J Forrester

Last night I dreamed you real.

Felt you within the softness of my belly.

Loved you an existence.

Broke my heart open,

when this dream came loose.

Woke to pre-dawn,

a sleeping husband,

a house just the same,

and an ache too close to grief

for someone not quite here yet.

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Ghost – Mvadi


In the midst of

What used to be mine,

What is not mine now and

What will never belong to



With the wind chimes

Tangoing in and out

Of the endless sky of my mind,

A prison that looks open

But is truly

So cruel.


A shadow of what once was,

Pieces of this restless soul of mine

That can’t sleep.

I wish I could close my eyes sometimes

And forget that this ghost

Is here,

Forever a part of me.


My mind is a mess again,

So is my head,

My body is distraught as ever

But I’m still trying to live

Despite all the pain.


Tell me the sadness doesn’t last,

That the insomnia will melt away one day,

And I’ll sleep soundly tonight.


I see the tragedy of who I used to be

In your eyes and I can’t believe

It’s me I’m seeing.

I see the love I thought

I wanted but could never

Call my own.

Heaven knows I tried.


Everything seems to be awry, and

I am baffled by it all, aren’t I?


I’m lost, just one more time,

Before I go.

I’m trying to understand things

That I’ve never known before.


Don’t tell me I’m thinking too much,

I’m not.

I’m really so tired of myself.

Tell this ghost to go away already.

© Mvadi 2020.

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I Heard Myself – The Human Anvil

I heard myself,
Through passing prose of life,
In random echoes unending,
World’s single rhyme,
Each pause in time.
I heard myself,
Matching morning’s croon,
In silent noon,
Tuning strings of Brooks,
Counting steps that took,
A different turn.

I remember, the warmth of your hand
The feel of your fingers, like embers,
That winter night,
When you held me first,
Like marionette,
Strings leashed to your lashes,
As you undid me, and unearthed;
Piece by piece,
Till the fire awoke,
Behind my eyes, beneath my skin, beyond my dreams.
But you weren’t triumphant,
Nor red, with pride,
But as me, still,
As stone, as breath,
As world, as death.
And how we traveled, flew past,
Against wind, upon seas,
Within ships, without mast.

There be life, hidden beyond every edge,
And nook and crevice,
And love, in all broken things,
Dying with the wind.
There be laughter,
There be joy,
There be paintings,
There be ploy,
Tracing lives, through stone, wood, walls and steel.

The world may fall,
And the mask of man,
Fold into dust,
But we shall remain,
Here forever,
Reciting, the same symphony,
Through the crowning seas,
The tricks of trees,
And ebony stones,
And ivory bones.

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In Her Dreams – Jim Bates

By Jim Bates

She rides a painted pony
Over rolling grassland hills.
She walks a shaded woodland path,
And listens to the wind whispering.
Sometimes she stops to breathe the scent
Of a fragrant upland meadow,
Or drinks to quench her thirst
From a rushing mountain stream.
She uses the images in her young mind,
To take her far away,
From the filthy city her parents have taken her
While fleeing the ravages of war.
She travels from there often,
In the quiet of her mind,
And gives her youthful spirit a chance
To grow into something beautiful,
Just like in her dreams.

“I love to try and express how the natural world can have a positive impact on people.” – the poet

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