Thanksgiving Eve: A Poem

my blood can’t handle any more apologies, insistence on the right to celebrate genocide…

Thanksgiving Eve: A Poem

A poem by the lovely Jennifer Patino. Let it sink in. Allow it to marinate for a moment in your bones. However you spend this day, I hope you do it safely and with more awareness than you should probably have.

Please go to the original poem to “like” and “comment.” Her words deserve that. Peace and blessings.

lady in white

Sometimes, a piece of poetry hits you ever so subtly right in the gut. Devika Mathur’s words do that often. Please visit the original poem to like and comment as well.

I know of a lady in whitewith a mouth full of promises,spreading a nocturnal path of flowers,like a longed kiss above the eye,a lady that slips in my chest,within the small rim of my fist,a sniff so wild, a mouth that dwells on mountains moist.a lady with a potato peel,with cardigans and wool on […]

lady in white

Black Apple

Are you eating? The taste may be blood or bread or poison. A poison as another word for kindness.It is of a kind that when counted under fingersleaves the empty bellyfull, leading the tongue from sand.Kneading the open throat till dry,the hunger, to drown. Are you eaten? Do you feed the walls,the walls that, in […]

Black Apple

You’ll be happy you visited. Trust me. His work in unique and powerful.

Mercy

Sandy has such an intuitive and forthright mind. She’s also quite bold in her delivery and I love her writing for these things. I read this poem and I can see the imagery, feel the intensity, and respect the ending. It connects. She creates connection.


Please visit the original post to comment and like. ❤


The reciprocity of fate

Photo by Max Kleinen on Unsplash

As dawn breaks

over another day of uncertainty

silent comes the moth unbidden

from the cornered shadows

of my bedroom

frantic wings flee the dark.

I see not an intruder but

a fateful refugee

perhaps sent to probe

the virtuous nature

of a heart flush with fortune.

I cup my hands gently

around the winged creature

knowing it would be far less

trouble to drop it

in the toilet

into a watery grave,

it’s only a moth, after all.

Yet its wings

beat against my palms

not with a threat

but with a plea;

our connection is complete

in this moment

the moth and me

need only one thing — mercy


Sandy Knight, ©2020 All rights reserved.

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Carvings

Sarah, gut-puncher in so few words. I connected with this piece so much. I simply had to share this one.

Heartstring Eulogies

“My heart was laid bare
and your name was carved
into its walls.”

The silver blade flashed against the moonlight and though I couldn’t be sure, I thought I heard it sing as it sliced through the air. It was as if the silver were alive. And it danced to some melody only it could hear. When it connected to raw flesh, it cut with precision down to the bone in one clean swipe, leaving behind a searing, white hot pain that wouldn’t let go. That’s what it felt like when I first laid my eyes upon you. It was as if your soul cut through every defense I had like it was nothing. In an instant, my heart was laid bare and your name was carved into its walls.

© Sarah Doughty

Somehow being so vulnerable made me feel free.
It was exhilarating.

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