Promote a Poet/Writer Thursday, May 13, 2021

Go Dog Go Café

Welcome to Promote a Poet/Writer Thursday! This is the day of the week where all members of the Go Dog Go Café Community are invited to introduce a Poet or Writer they enjoy reading.

Participating is really fast and simple- in the comments below, post the link for the Home Page of the Poet/Writer you are introducing to us and tell us briefly why you think they are special.

We encourage all of you to visit these blogs (or social media pages) and get acquainted with some great new writers. You never know who you might meet. . .

Happy reading!

View original post

Thirst

Word of the Day Challenge

Today’s Word of the Day is Thirst.

If you want to participate, create a pingback to link your post. Not sure how to do that? See how to create pingbacks here. Please note that for the prompts that I publish, the comment box will now remain open for people who experience trouble with pingbacks. However, I won’t guarantee a quick response to actual comments, that would be left here. If you have questions, or ideas you’d like to submit, please use our “contact” page.

.

View original post

Daily Haiku – Thu. May 13, 2021 – Poetry For Healing

Haiku Butterfly bushes Adorned in their purple bloomsAttracting Monarchs Copyright © 2021 Christine Bolton – Poetry for Healing

Source: Daily Haiku – Thu. May 13, 2021 – Poetry For Healing

Where Do We Go From Here? – Poetry For Healing

Now the love has gone and open wounds will not heal Wanting to move on but paralyzed limbs are planted in stone Neither wanting to make

Source: Where Do We Go From Here? – Poetry For Healing

Sad Cafe by Rene Hunter

MasticadoresUsa // Editor: Barbara Leonhard

art by Fabian Perez

Sad Cafe
Rene Hunter[author’s site]

Autumn leaves have begun to fall.
Late October London is ablaze in
hues of orange and purple.
On my bench by the river I daydream
that I am an adolescent reptile
escaped from Kafka’s Die Verwanlung
laid back basking in the sun.
The air is layered in cologne,
men do notinterest me now.
I am content to casually observe.
To my advantage I know all about them
while they know so little about me.
Thinking of you against my wishes,
dying a little, dead all the sweet hope
and dreams never realized, I imagine my
earthly body padded,sat beside yours
on a grassy knoll breathing in the scent of lilac
and the mossy green River Delta.
In the dark I am nude but for a shadow
across my torso.
You are so near and to distract myself
from…

View original post 57 more words

Kaleidoscope

The Darkest Fairytale

Colour is linked to my emotions
It is my second heartbeat,
The ink feels like passion
The shades taste bittersweet.
Merging with my eyes
Connecting to my veins,
The pigments ignite my blood
The spectrums numb the pain.
Colour speaks my language
Through a palette deep inside,
Mixing saturations of glitter
Exploding when paints collide.
The rainbow that is me
Is captured by the light,
With a kaleidoscope of colour
I am more than black and white.
Iridescence is the abyss of my soul
Mixed with the hues of time,
Highlighting the dark corners
In a chroma of endless rhymes.

K

View original post

Poem: Smoke Rising from the Teapot, by Mark Tulin/Weeds and Wildflowers

Crow On The Wire

Smoke Rising from the Teapot, by Mark Tulin

This poem originally published in Dennett’s wonderful site, Weeds and Wildflowers. I wrote this poem based on Dennett’s prompt “The Idea of Home.”

Smoke Rising from the Teapot I’ll miss my home when I die, the sheets of paper stuck to the walls with my ideas, computers charged on power cords, palm trees swaying outside my window I’ll miss the brown sofa that I shared with my wife, watching baseball games and old black and white movies Clark Gable and Spencer Tracy They don’t make stars like that anymore I must have cooked a hundred stir-fry on that large black wok, chopping onions and carrots, adding the baby bok choy There will be no more hand drums played in the living room, the beating of my conga, the tapping of my bongo No longer will smoke rise from the metal teapot…

View original post 18 more words

Ali Grimshaw | flashlight batteries – Ali Grimshaw

I am a lover of questions, a hope rebel and a safe place to land. I contribute to the world as an educator, life coach, facilitator and poet. I am lit up by helping others find their authentic voic…

Source: Ali Grimshaw | flashlight batteries – Ali Grimshaw

Stirred – a poem by Paul Vincent Cannon

parallax

Photo: javardh at unsplash.com

“Hope is the thing with feathers that perches in the soul.” Emily Dickinson

Stirred

Autumn stirred its breath which
stirred the air all around,
pausing a feather in my midst,
which I took from the space right
in front of me as it hovered so
lightly without burden, as a phrase
couched so beautifully in an 
invitation that seemed so tenuous,
and yet as strong as an ox in the
most delicate way, as ox feathers
can be in the moment of vulnerability,
that leads me a feeling of wanting
to fly on the air of hope.

Copyright 2021 ©Paul Vincent Cannon 
All Rights Reserved ®

View original post

Touch – Rose Girl’s World

Souls meet in the night dance and make love Not bounded to thoughts or skin they touch more intimately than hands can and go deeper within ©RoseGirl2021

Source: Touch – Rose Girl’s World