Our writer stopped setting her alarm for less anxiety and better sleep. Read all about it here.
Our writer trained herself to wake up early each morning. Read her tips, as well as what worked and what didn’t here.
You forgave me
I remember us. We were something.
I chased you till you couldn’t run no-more.
I promised you the moon, I promised you a ancient love.
Drinking aged wine and dancing till 4 am.
Now I confess to the Pacific.
I broke a angel heart in the Fall and now I feel the regret.
The California Winter storms became my only friend and I told the sea.
Pretty lady told me yesterday, she whispered to me on a pay phone.
I forgave you Johnnie. Please enjoy California and please be careful.
You can’t escape from everything. Have great fun and find a reason to be alive.
Her last words, kind and sweet.
Once we had a torrid love and we swam in kisses and sweet wine.
I remember a blushing beauty, who gave everything to me and I did not know.
Love sweet, love nourished can be utopia…
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In Austin, Texas. Pretty woman confessed her sins to the bar room poet. He listen to her tale and he caught glimpses of soft tears falling for things that were in the lost and found. She told him, “Once her game was truth or dare. Now she know the fragrance of her adventure. Run to, run from and escape.” Now her once pretty face wore a disguise. She forgot her true face and she was alone.
He took her hand and kissed each finger and he looked at her beautiful coffee eyes and he told her. All of us are children in the game of love. We want everything and we want nothing. We will submerge in the emotion of love, feel the utopia and one day. The utopia become a prison. White words, black words. We shall say and we shall regret when we learn. We lies…
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We didn’t know, love was like a fleeing butterfly.
We tried to hold the wind, we tried to stop time,
we held our kisses long and sweet.
We didn’t know.
Love words, love dances, just magic and wisp for the dreamers.
We didn’t know, love comes when she wants and you cannot stop time.
Locked doors must be opened and you cannot catch the wind.
I love your memory and I need to hear your voice, dear beloved.
A love story
I remember us, I remember you.
You were my Spring time love,
my wildflower dream that came true.
You taught me to dance with the free-flowers and
to sing to the sun and the moon.
We found the ancient castles of Germany and
I loved watching your face,
your eyes, filled with joy discovering new places and new wonders.
We found love,
holding hands, sharing warm kisses,
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It’s time to listen
to really hear
to pay attention
to what’s being said
too often we pretend to listen
while our minds are wandering
worrying about money
the corona virus, our children
even when we are alone we don’t really listen
we don’t hear the sounds of silence
the songs of the birds or the power of the wind
what our animals are saying with their eyes
so listen… really listen
hear the sounds around you
the music of the night
the time has come
it’s time to listen
~The Tennessee Poet~
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“Nobody notices when your zipper is up, but everyone notices when it’s down.” Cynthia Lewis
Half Mast I'm not much for flags, something about a narrowing view that addles the best minds and, like a dog's territorial spray, borders a fantasy about things supposedly owned, and I was making this point over a jar or two, when someone said, yours isn't flying too well, you're half mast, and I zippered in a laughing hell. ©Paul Vincent Cannon