I don’t remember how you look….


 I don’t remember how you look

I don’t remember how you look.
Your eyes were blue, maybe hazel green?
I don’t know if your hair was golden blond or
maybe strawberry red?

I tried to describe you and each time I remember less.

I tried to envision you in my mind.
Each time I try. I remember less.

Sometime I dream of grasping your long hair.
Our bodies fighting each other for the sake of pure
pleasure only.
You calling out my name.
Sweet words of love spoken in the turmoil of sex.
Just kind words to reward the fulfillment of the body.
Not the heart.

I yearn to see you still.
Your hello’s were so sweet.
The goodbyes were long and written deep on the
walls of my heart.

I remember your long legs and tan body.
You dressed like a woman but
had the hunger of a child…

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Ode to Photography

Friendly Fairy Tales

present and past.
Frozen moments,
remembered and forgotten.
ordinary and extraordinary.

Photographic power
reveals in light and dark
what my mother looked like as
a young girl,
or my father as
he welcomed me to the world,
or myself
as I smiled between
brother and sister
whose faces are only visible
in black and white now.

Lost faces, missed warmth, people
linger in shades, lines, and shapes,
like hieroglyphics of the past.

Copyright 2020 Brenda Davis Harsham

Notes: For World Photography Day today, I offer this ode, in gratitude for how concrete my memories are, of times past.

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I Write Her

there’s nothing special
in my uniqueness
just a human doing life
born, living, crashing, burning
resurrecting when it’s been enough

i want to love continuously
while needing to be loved
when the harshness needs eased
the years a cycle of up and down
hopefully with you by my side

in the frame you picture me
i’m not notable
not a hero or filled with wisdom
just owning enough guts for the years
lived by me

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Don’t waste time judging

Confab With Me

There will be times when people will misunderstand you, they will ridicule your words as hollow promises and disregard your presence, never waste time judging them regardless, for what they think about you don’t define your character

You can listen to my YouTube channel Here

Connect with me on social media. My social media handles are below




Copyright © Shantanu Baruah

Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this site’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Shantanu Baruah, ckonfab.com, and afflatuz.com with appropriate and specific direction to theoriginal content

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Sandals in November – Poem by Ali Grimshaw

flashlight batteries - Ali Grimshaw

They called her crazy
an attempt to freeze 
her with jeers,
never understanding
that she chose to avoid 
too much comfort.

would always be 
her closest friend.
Arm in arm, they would
walk in sandals 
through November frost.

Warmed only by desire
for connection.

A step toward those
who had no shoes.

© Ali Grimshaw 2020


dVerse – Open Link Night

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Here I am with my newly grown hair after a year of chemotherapy. To my surprise it came back all gray! I had a few white strands going in, but this new sassy look is surprising. I’m thinking …gray is the new blonde! So I am delighted that I finally have some hair and a few eyebrows! AND that I survived long enough to vote! Yay!

Ovarian cancer is a beast. Remission isn’t an option at this stage, but treatment fortunately is. I’m alive and I was able to vote blue by mail to “bring back better”. The link in Florida let me know my vote was received and counted! Boom!

It’s been difficult enough to deal with cancer and to also have to turn on the news every day and watch our inept leader mishandle a pandemic. I’ve fought way too hard to live to succumb to COVID just…

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Thursday Photo Prompt- Open

Keep it alive

I am sharing this post from June 2019, written in response to Sue’s prompt- Open

The doors

Open……….open these doors

You shout at the top of your voice

Let in the light, I am sick of the dark

Can’t anyone see how stale is the air

That we breath, trapped in this dank place

Can you not see what we have become in here

Not daring to took at the outside world

Fearing it and yet harboring a hate for all

That is on the other side of these closed doors

Open these door and be bold and courageous

Just like opening your hearts to the new light

(For visually challenged writers, the monochromeimage shows an empty corridor with several doors openingin a line, one after the other…)

In response to;

Thursdays Photo Prompt-Open#writephoto

A Prompt by;Sue Vincent



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Benefits of Intermittent Fasting