17 Comments

Thanks for the fun prompts. Fairwell SPM

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Thank YOU so mch for being here throughout dear Dionne. Farewelling SPM with you! :')

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Dark night of the soul…

Into the next decan

We step gracefully

Goodbye number 5

Hail generosity

Onto 6 of Disks

Fill the plates heartily

Be warned it’s a trap

Venus paints hungrily

Snack are delicious

Try to see past your plate

And crawl from soft couches

Use this time to create

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Based on where others are at in this week of prompts, I may have missed a piece or 2😸

At dusk…

Flying foxes fill the sky

Their very presence makes me cry

Marvel at their tiny feet

Dangling from a frond

I want to hug their furry bods

Shaped like alien bean pods

It’s ill advised scientists say

Rabies is unpleasant

Let them unfold & flap away

Shimmy past the moon

Shiny eyes, black nose, brown wings

In awe I am of living things

Sky grows dark & with it brings

A fabulous display

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A dark night of the soul...

When shames buries you

deep in its linens,


when loneliness tastes

bitter as orange peel

left in a dark room,

when horror comes

banging at your door,

there I am.

When you’re awake

all night with fretful fits


of memory like presents

un-wrapped and re-made

offered to the tree

of wretchedness and woe,

there I am.

When the demons of

doubt claw your

hard-beaten chest of air,

when you show

your body no mercy,

When time eats herself whole,

There I am.

I have studied the devotion

of Sappho, of Cohen, of

extraordinary women branded

immoderate by swine,

and I know how cold it gets.

And I won’t leave you.

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When the body speaks…

Aries Martian forces

Fire outward from the head

Taurus is a hungry bull

Just calmly chewing bread

Gemini talks with their hands

Sends breath into long arms

Cancer nurtures at the breast

While moonlight cools & charms

Leo glows beyond the heart

The lion’s back is strong

Virgo maintains the belly

A Mercurial work-song

Libra holds the kidneys

To balance as a pair

So Scorpio can lick the bowl

Hearth warms the derrière

Attached to muscles runners’ thighs

The Centaur making moves

Straight up the hill climbs Capricorn

With sturdy knees & hooves

Ankles bound Aquarian

Wields electricity

Pouring through the matrix

Rests Pisces swollen feet

Modeled after cosmic plan

Vertically represent

Map points toward the stars’ homes

We’re all incandescent

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why apologize

why apologize

when it’s for you

you want to make amends

but it has, Nothing

to do with me

your heavy heart needs absolution

it needs more room

more light maybe

more space

for all the other sparks and sparkles

something in me is moved by that

i can feel it, i want you to have it

but what about my heart?

left out of it?

you want to take the weight from yours and ask mine to hold it?

After it’s already holding so much?

from you?

this space that you took up,

this ache

you caused

you’re asking me to hold more??

i’ve apologized to my heart

not about this

but for not listening to her

not hearing her

not holding her

She’s very sure

there is no space for you anymore

so please,

Leave us out of it

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The part about- your heavy heart needs absolution…

💪❤️ this too hits hard. It’s like, who is this for?

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wow y’alls poems are hitting hard! thank you for sharing!!

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They really are aren't they? Thank you for your encouragement Shelby! <3

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Aliveness is like…

Awake again

Another day

Existence Earthly plain

Speak & laugh

Consume cry out

A bulging purple vein

Restricted access influence

Mysterious to bleak

Imbalance, shady needs more light

Messed up to say the least

Systems cast a sticky net

Manipulate belie

Massive bloat while many starve

How does this big bird fly

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<333 !

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An old museum…

Peep this stolen swag

Darkened by donor directives

Lure the eye from bigger pictures

Grave robbers delight

In time forgiven

Backdoor deals with collector scum

Institutional lighting

Hides a greasy detail

On cut glass boxes

No photos please

Excuse me sir

Can you put that down?

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Your final lines are always breathtaking!

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An old museum…

Ancient icons

of a Goddess old

as the first sunrise.

A bronze likeness

of Bastet

is officially named after

the Mayor who

painted her green.

Her wedjat eye will meet

the glassy gaze of six million

voyeurs this year.

And the year after that.

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Shitty poetry

Tuesday.

a pressure system of words scratches at my cells. an irritable trajectory fragments through what feels like hemispheres of my body. the bus is 6 minutes late. there’s a guy getting on behind me. stop-playing-with-your-pu•sy. he tells my back. the crack of provocation. my heckles retort. I’ll call it accidental. I’ll call it universal. I slipstream myself into a seat. the guy mutters past. his last word on the matter is the word c•nt. as if I am (am I though) a not-quite-there person.

I note the conditions of hope: I can paint. plant seedlings. shuffle around the block at dusk. covet stones & rocks laid in dirt. l can type II shitty poems. endure III alcohol-free days. I can dress myself. leave the house. fold my legs like an envelope on the floor of the book exchange. I can scrape together something that feels like safety. a broken tv can displace me. Polarities. I’m a warzone

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I love the phrase to note the "conditions of hope". And what a kicker <3

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