FANNING THE FLAMES
I was heavy
Weighed down
And buried by Judgment
Unintentional but hurtful just the same
Expectations of who I should be
As a daughter
As a Catholic
As a wife
As a colleague
By men
Fearful, yet domineering
Oh, the irony
That your insecurity has fueled my power
Fed the tiny coals that the women in my life
Have protected
Fanned them into flames
Fed the fire in my belly
Ignited my strength and resolve
Given birth to my voice
I am woman.
I liberate myself.
Hear me thunder!
And growl, and rage, and shout
I will no longer be judged, dismissed, hidden—
or silenced.
A Vivid Vision
I danced to sleep
And dreamt a dream
where I danced
all night long
I tap, and I dance
It was such a delight
I even tapped
away from dream land.
An anchor forged of dust and bone,
we keep our footing on the stone.
The world demands a quiet weight,
a patient, unyielding state,
where hands stay rested on the wood
and do the things they always should.
Yet in the space behind the eyes,
the architecture starts to rise.
No heavy earth, no pulling line
can tame the sudden, bold design.
The walls fall back, the ceilings clear,
and distance simply disappears.
You step across an ocean shore,
unlatch a long-forgotten door,
or stand atop a wind-swept height
without a single fear of flight.
No rules of earth, no pull of stone—
you build a cosmos of your own.
And though the waking world will claim
the daily posture of your name,
it cannot reach, nor can it bind
the infinite map within the mind.
For when the heavy eyelids close,
the spirit goes where no one knows.
Over the hill what does those words mean
Are we no use to those around
Or are we building another's dream
To help them have a life quite sound
Are we no use to those around
Only if our wisdom seeds have no bed
To help them have a life quite sound
Instead of one that's filled with dread
Only if our wisdom seeds have no bed
Will we be without a harvest
Instead of one that's filled with dread
I want a life that will find rest
Will we be without a harvest
Or will you reap eternally
I want a life that will find rest
When I have been all I can be
Now will you reap eternally
Or are we building another's dreams
When I have been all I can be
Over the hill what does those words mean
long legged sacred
haunch observes
a veneration in Ancient Egypt
speaking beak in Thoth-Hermès hands
first feathers released from Ark
fertility symbol hailed by Moses ~
Partners in poetic perambulation
in peregrination’s peaceful imagination
Without prestidigitation
serendipitous poesy will do
Each of us inspiring the others
creating community ~ sisters and brothers
Take a load of Aldo
My father I been
Carrying a heavy load
Full of my problems
That I keep Putting it of
Every single day
Because I never feel
Like solving my problems
On my own
And I am the one that
End up suffering
By not solving the problems
Own my own
So today I will ask my father
To give me a hand in
Solving my problems
Because my father knows me
From inside out
Because he is the one
Who had created me
Many years ago
With his holy hands
And he had placed me
Here on earth to live
And I feel blessed to
Be able to live on earth
Also you had made me
In to the men I am
I am somebody that is
Special needs
Father I already got used
To it
Also father I am always
Praying to you
I never forget to pray
To you
And in my prayer
I ask you to get rid
Of my mental illness
That I have for a long time
Now
It has been 5 years now
That I haven’t had a crisis
And I am keeping away
From the hospital
As old age upon us descends,
we view the past through rosy lens.
It seems to us that bygone days
were far better in many ways.
The memories of better times
help us cope when life serves up limes.
They give us hope that better days
will soon return, like Dawn’s bright rays.
But dreaming of the good old days
can cause us to live in a daze
and rob us of the good in life
that abounds amidst its strifes.
The good old days had their fair share
of heartache, trouble, strife, and care.
The present times, in many ways,
are better than the good old days.
Treasure the good from bygone days
Let them inform your present ways
So, you can reap the very best,
As you progress in your life quest.
Believe
I will not allow people
To let me down
I want people
To treat me
The same way
I treat them
I just want to be
Respected by
You guys
I don’t think that is
Too much to ask
What about you
I wish you would believe
In something
But you don't
Yes money is your God
Also you say that money
Grows on tree
That is wrong
You say you can buy people
With money
To be your friends
You can't
lofty pines
encircle
the opal pool
surreal shades
of blue
shimmer through
shining
swimmers’ inspiration
skies elevation
Sweet devotion
You are everything I ever wanted
You hello Say to me
You never say that to me friend
Sweet devotion
I don't know how to live
Without you
I need you every hour my friend
Do you love me friend?
Let me hear yes
Written: September 14, 2026, for a contest sponsored by: Andrea Dietrich
****************
Salt stings your tears, each glistening bead of sadness.
Your breathing finds its natural rhythm, as if found
beneath the grief, a pulse untouched by innocence.
I mistook your quiet for apathy, yet innocence
remained—a fragile flame beneath the weight of sadness,
a sporadic, sparkling smile of something you had found.
Lost friends, lost years, yet somehow you found
a grace that gathered up your scattered innocence,
and gently lifted you beyond your darker sadness.
Perhaps God found innocence within your sadness.
Spare me some love, Fidelis—
the way a beggar spares a coin
from the hand of a saint,
or rain spares one roof
while drowning the village.
Give me what you have left
after you have fed the wolves,
after your heart has paid its taxes
to every stranger
who called it home.
I do not ask for the moon.
It has disappointed me enough—
always hanging above the ruins
like a witness too beautiful
to testify.
Give me a cup of your silence.
I have learned to drink from empty things.
I have kissed the rim of absence
until my lips forgot
what warmth was supposed to mean.
Spare me some love, Fidelis—
not all of it.
Only what remains
when the house is quiet,
and the last door closes.
“Remember me, O my God, for good.” — Nehemiah 13:31
May the lantern
of my memory
shine like bright gold
as hope of renewal
sustains me
from late summer
through winter’s end
Fine
Very fine
Like a worm
Shirt cotton threads pull
And fray
Bare skin
Pale skin finally
Appears through the gasps
Through the holes
Inspiration Categories
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Related Poetry Forms
motivation, revelation, insight, influence, encouragement, genius, incentive, enthusiasm, vision, whim, brainchild, hunch, fancy, motive, awakening, illumination, flash, creativity, stimulation, approach, brainstorm, elevation, exaltation, muse, rumble, animus, impulse, spark, spur, thought, notion, afflatus, arousal, deep think, inflatus,