The table carries a round pale mark
where a coffee mug sat long ago,
and right beside it, flat and still,
the letter lies in the shadows' slow
and steady crawl across the pine.
Twenty winters have turned the page,
fading the ink of the handwritten name
to a shade like tea or dry oak leaf.
Nobody touches it; no one came
to break the seal or turn it over.
It sits there while the floorboards creak,
while light fades out on the kitchen floor,
holding a voice that never spoke,
a sentence left at a heavy door.
Did it carry an apology?
A sudden shift in a life's design?
Or just the quiet, ordinary words
of someone running out of time?
Now it’s as much a part of the wood
as the rings inside or the varnish wear—
a piece of news that arrived too late,
or arrived to a house with no one there.
And now the rafters groan and break,
as the tired walls fold inward slowly,
burying timber in dust under shade
where only creeping ivy grows;
unopened still, beneath the fall,
the message sleeps forevermore.
i have many regrets
i didnt say sorry enough
i didnt visit enough
i didnt call enough
i wasnt embraced
by the warmth of your arms
long enough
the same arms
that held me
as an infant
i cannot speak of my regrets
guilt settles
where words should be
so many words
were left unsaid
instead,
i wandered the
hospital halls
youre no longer the
man i remember,
the strong,
intelligent man
that is where my regret lives
i wish i had more time
with you
forever,
your grandson
November 11, 1511
Bell Tower Student Villa
Florence
Most Honorable Leonardo ~
I am traversing Venice with Ricardo
We’ve roamed the delightful dame of Florence
where we’ve ogled all kinds of performance
Rhapsodic to report that I have audience with Michelangelo, Sculptor
certainly he is a revolutionary artist, a disrupter
I’m seeking to be his assistant to do household chores and learn
wanting to imbibe his artistic wisdom, not to earn
Florence is growing rapidly with many rogues
though it still feels evocative like a maiden rose
I’m immersed in visiting life-size statues, complete and incomplete —
walking miles of cobblestone streets, making
me deplete
My senses raw as unworked marble, ready to be carved without any garble…
Write to me, please, with family news, about your health —
I trust you are in strength and wealth
With the Grace of God, nothing else
Your friend, Giovanni, wearing an Italian belt !
Dear A,
“Do you remember John McLean?” you asked
“He died of an overdose this week past,”
If I remember John McLean? I can see
Him in fractured shadows of memory
Edges curled up with whisky and cigarettes
Our midnight quests for sleaze and side-effects;
While we talked of escape and sought new thrills
Beyond the tollgate and home’s confining hills,
When we searched that night so determinedly
For pills in the nervous light of a pharmacy
Perhaps our adolescent raving dimmed
Some destiny already struggling in him?
Like Eve’s fossil footprints pressed in the dune
On mustard shores along Langebaan lagoon,
All our choices leave their trails, faint remains
Of petrified memory through time-hewn veins
And the blue-black susurrus of his blood
Dried up like Eve’s footprint before the flood.
Ending so sudden, abrupt, unforeseen.
But yes, yes, I do remember John McLean.
Yours sincerely
M.
Many decades have passed since I was last with you.
That time still haunts me as talking was hard to do.
My emotions for you continue to be strong.
Loving you since seventeen is much like lifelong.
I cannot find you or yours, even now online.
For a long time that has chilled me from heart to spine.
We were twenty when shade came down over our sun.
Your Mother called with words that shot me like a gun.
Entering your hospital room, the world went boom.
Your eyes saw me without expression or your bloom.
I ached as you trip talked bi-polar antisense.
My love and concern churned pieces of fears intense.
I never fully knew me until I met you.
At seventeen, we grew views seeking hidden clues.
You left the ground with me so we might better see.
We pushed against all boundaries blocking our free.
When our flying wings had barely spread from teen dreams,
we promised to lifelong gentle the others stream.
It was at your bedside that my heart first slow died.
Next day, you were gone, staff had no info or lied.
Your parents ignored their phone and soon sold their home.
That’s why I write and drop letters in yards with gnomes.
To the friends I value – most are authentic,
which means they also are a tad eccentric!
Thus, friend, with you I can say anything,
and blessings to the table you always bring.
You bring me understanding and compassion.
These days it seems such things aren’t quite in fashion.
You don’t mock my beliefs; I don’t mock yours.
You trust me, and my trust in you assures . . .
we are free to be ourselves in all we say
to one another any given time of day.
We know each other’s strengths; that’s great because
we also know (but do not judge) each other’s flaws.
You build me up when I’m unsure. I hope
to help you when it’s hard for YOU to cope.
The way we think may not always be
exactly the same, but that’s okay by me.
In a world where divisiveness is rife,
it’s good to have a friend like you for life.
And yes, it is "for life" when friends are true
because you value me as I value you.
My dear friend, how have you been?
It’s hard to write, I haven’t seen
You since forever, but I thought
I’d let you know: I think a lot
About you thinking that I think
That we’re remembering in sync
Each other’s names, and what we had
A life ago: the good, the bad,
The friendship of those ancient times,
The joys, the tears, the feats, the crimes,
The dinners that my Mom prepared,
The novels that your sister shared…
You know the spiel, I won’t go on,
And I don’t think it would be wrong
To round this up, and to confirm:
I’ll see you soon—in cosmic terms.
Oh, I think about them a lot;
The letters you would have written to me.
And know I'll be keeping the letters until the ink fades.
So, write me a letter every now and then.
And on the days in between, a little note does the same magic.
Now, don't worry about not getting the same treatment.
I learned love before I could speak a word.
And I'll love you in every word, in every language I know.
Those letters you would have written would be my favourite words to read.
I'll write back every time you want me to.
And when you don't, I'll love you the hardest.
Write me a letter when you're finally here.
a and
an abm
anu always
astounding at
adaptative antic
accommodate again
addlepated aversive
alpine anchylosis
are as
am ?
(Weekly Magnetic Poetry Challenge • September 14–20, 2026)
She's magnificently lovely
She's like wine;so fine
Her love sweeter like the grapes from the vineyard
Her touch ignites and blazes up like an inferno
She's the mistress and master of affection
She's a doctor;stitches me up when am broken,Injects me with compassion when am depressed and puts me to bed on her bed of roses
She knits gowns of hope and leather jackets of passion
She knits armors of hope for the knights during combat
She chose me,I chose her
Together we'll walk out of the maze of bricks and thorns to the chamber of destiny.
An envelope rests on the windowsill,
its flap slightly lifted
as though a breath passed through it.
Inside, a small drift of cloud~
soft, unsettled,
holding the shape of whatever message
has not yet been read.
Outside, the sky carries
the same quiet weather:
clouds moving with deliberate calm,
as if they know
their likeness has been folded
and left waiting.
I do not open the envelope.
Some messages arrive
only when the heart is still enough
to hear them.
So I let it rest~
a pale reminder
that heaven speaks
in small, unhurried ways.
By evening, the cloud inside
has thinned to a faint whisper,
yet the window remains bright,
as though the sky
has leaned close
to finish what it meant to say.
Life's loud lessons Linger,
Locking losses low,
Lifting lone lion's
Living long dusks,
Learning leveled love
Like life-long laws.
Lanes lit lightly midnight
Laced with late- night looks,
Low-key legends
Leaning,
Lasting.
You put a face to every cliche about love
You bring balance where I feel off
You water the fruits of my spirit I neglect
You are the one I want to share my garden with
You make Texas feel like Eden
Got me cheesing through any season
I've never been this comfortable
I've never felt this strong while staying humble
Today God's breath breathed into your heart
Evidence of the son how your life flowers
I could never pick your petals but I'd always choose you
You are a blessing that overflows my cup
You challenge the best parts of me
So this is a thank you
For being in this part of my journey
I hope I can give you at least half of what you bring me
In a world where love is poisoned
You are a key ingredient to the antidote
You help me paint the color of hope
And I hope regardless of what life looks like
You know my heart grows deeper when thinking of you
p.s. for her…
“K here! I have come to cheer up your night
dear maiden, silent beauty, as you rest.
A once dull eve is now a gallant knight.”
“W here! From you, this knight, I’ll wrest. “
“K won’t allow what is to be to not…
be. In a jiffy you will wear my ring.
Verily, we two will soon tie the knot.”
Will W from glad, the sadness wring?
K says, “W vexes – what is new –
but he will never stop the marriage rite”.
You’ll have a happy ending as you knew.
(That’s just the kind of poetry I “write”.)
W to Miss H, eleventh hour:
“Call me ‘Dub’”, for this wedding will be ours.
To write a good letter, take ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦ plenty of time ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
Take patience ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ and stir it ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦
With the ladle of energy. ¦¦¦¦ fill a cup
With kind thoughts and helpful thoughts, ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦
¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ and words strong and true.
Mix all ¦¦¦¦¦ together, and ¦¦¦¦ add ¦¦¦ spice
Some good news, ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦ all news that's nice.
¦¦¦¦ seal with a ¦¦¦¦ kiss and stamp it with care;
¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦¦¦ ¦¦¦¦¦¦ and presto! 'tis there.
(Blackout of Recipe of a Good Letter by Amos Russel Wells)
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