i have come to believe
that my home is real.
the cup slips from my hand,
falls to the floor,
and breaks with a sound.
my home
has learned my name.
even the mirror
knows who I am.
government men arrive
and write out a receipt for my house.
there is no extra charge
for the blue on the walls.
my home
begins to chew on me,
then swallows me whole.
my home
cannot feed my hunger.
so I go
to work in someone else’s field.
autumn.
at the corner of the neighbourhood,
i notice the sky
has changed its colour.
i buy a new tube of toothpaste
from the grocer
and return home.
beside the window,
a bed lies awake all night.
i am there too.
i enter the house
carrying a handful of dust.
everywhere,
there are so many traces of me.
my home
keeps me alive.
I can't do it
My heart tries
But the bee
Is where my rose lies
The River flows
Giving life to all
But the snake
Is where my eyes fall
The snow offers joy
So many sledding on slopes
But the pending danger
Is where my hope ropes
...and I hang on for dear life
Life...that's a laugh
Where is living in dying
Try as I might, my system
Forbids access to what desire is buying
I press my pen against paper
Demanding it write out my joy
But it sighs and retracts
Sighting all effort as a ploy
My pen is right, there's no point
In writing about what I haven't known
I'm told a great harvest is coming
For the many good seeds I have sown
...and I wait in the patience my tent now holds
Written by Trudy Schrader on 08-30-2026
I write out my pain word after word leaving ink splotches and tear stains
I love writing.
Books,
Poetry,
I love it all.
A way to express.
Write out emotions.
Ones I dont even know the names of.
I don't know how to feel them.
But i know i feel them.
And all I can do is write.
And I hope that,
Eventually,
Someone will understand.
That I'm not alone.
That another person feels the same.
That my words resonate with another being.
Sometimes when I write,
I giggle at my words,
Or tears begin to block my view.
Because I'm writing.
And I'm spilling my guts.
And my feelings.
And I'm not sure what they are.
But they're deep.
And they're real.
And they're raw.
But they're useless.
Because no one but me sees these.
You feel like abstract art
Like a bed sheet waiting on a summers breeze
Like honey on my teeth
You stick to me, sickly sweet
Like a silent conductor
You write out all my mistakes
I dont have to perform
Hoping this time it takes
You say im stuck, sickly sweet
Like the gum underneath my feet
Like words that dry up beneath my tongue
Like shoes on wet sand
I can't speak or run
And my skin is on fire
I'm losing sound
I'm still shaking on solid ground
But I choose to stay
I never wish to depart
Because to me it feels like abstract art
Been writing less poems
Since I got my first iPhone
Cuz it takes longer
The ads annoy me
The keyboard is too tiny
It’s more frustrating
Autocorrect— ugh!
Don’t even get me started!
I know how to spell!
Oh wait, actually
As I write out my complaints
It’s all going well :)
Perhaps most of all
I simply have not made time
(Watching many reels)
So, well, here I am
The poems are jammed in my heart
Waiting to go free
Perfectionism
Might also be restraining
Creativity
It may be too late
For some thoughts I neglected
Not too late for some
I’ve had lots of time
Time to mull it all over
Have to start somewhere…
I want to write love poems
About what i feel inside
But every instinct i have
Just tells me to hide
I bleed on paper
I write out my blues
So how can i change
And write happy things too?
I keep the hopeful thoughts locked up
Tucked close to my heart
“Let no person see it,
No word line or part”
The shifting color-way of the sea,
from comfortable to extreme in dress.
Trash is not carried fashionably,
do not slap on this trend of distress.
There’s an image we strive to maintain,
I promise this does nothing for it.
A sad faux pas leaves only disdain.
The salty sweet smile of the ocean
conveys your long held in aggression.
No way to say this delicately,
it’s destructive to be this careless.
Can’t argue with a necessity
yet we live with this disgusting mess.
Dimethyl sulfide and acid rain
invading your senses bit by bit.
Pollution’s such an awful refrain.
Let beach couture call you to action,
and Mother Earth write out the caption.
I'm lonely driving all these miles
The clouds take on a darkened hue
Full of raindrops, like my eyes
Full of tears that cry for you
Moments come where I'm so sad
But then they pass, it's not too bad
It's just the love that's in my heart
That aches as long as we're apart
And that's the constant...aching pain,
A heart that's thirsting for some rain
To come and quench the burning fire
Of longing, pining, deep desire
Writing keeps my sanity
Expressing my humanity
It helps to write out how I feel
An affidavit that it's real
Skies of Blue, an ode to you
In truth though, they're not always blue
As long as I await someday
This says it better, Skies of Gray
(A seductive voice whispers as incense fills the air)
Sat within here
A discarded loop in time and space
Within this room
I see you all in the distance
Shimmering through
Like bright pink desert mirages
In your living tombs
Stood alone
In my magical circle of no rehearsals
Chanting Yaruba tribes
Ancient magical rites
Summoning up the populous of Godhead
So I the shaman can call to you
“When the living ground eats the breathing Sun, I will open the secret doors to take you home.
For eating and tasting words like a new, Grace Dent, at Lent, isn't for you.
Just write this down and burn it in the back garden on a piece of paper.
I'm ready,
Come and take me to the secret amphitheatre
Where the voices of the Serpent
The Beast
And God take to its stage
To showcase who they've taken home and played.”
To then write out your own name in the ruined temples books
Before you line up to watch
Before they return
And choose
Before you are took
And I'll call within a heartbeat
To take you East
To meet
Either God or the Beast
(C)
Copyright John Duffy
This is where I hide,
A secret garden
Cool and quiet-
Where words rest
in safe space.
Here I can write out
those wary, hidden thoughts
That come out with insight-
Aware, half awake, they fly out.
Caught by surprise,
Flushed OUT from
cozy comfort zone...
Disturbance kick start
with real life
shock starts my heart
with blush brush.
Aqua Marine.
Posted: Friday, 15th November, 2024.
Posted:
Fifty-two dollars
Oh how I wish I had fifty-two dollars
to cover the cost of a four-dollar meal,
and pay for an outfit that’s much more in style,
on sale, half the price, is considered a steal
To gather a card for each holiday calling
and write out your name where the address does go,
grabbing a beautiful bouquet of flowers,
that bloom like your smile each season they grow
To purchase a suitcase for that destination,
that brings my heart closer to where yours does wait
while running to catch Monday’s bus at the station,
for Tuesday or Wednesday just might be too late
Oh how I wish I had fifty-two dollars,
so I could be near you whatever I spend
and maybe have change left to keep in my pocket,
in case time allows me to see you again
Hear them pray for the last time,
their leather boots no protection still.
Listen to the church bell chime.
Hear the men ordering to kill.
Turn off the radio.
Stop the birds sing.
Let her know what she already owe.
Let the soldiers have that final drink.
Tell them that all’s fair in love and war
Tell them the trenches should become their home
The scream of the dying they ignore
As they recite a funeral poem
His mother is crying
And His brother is dying
Now he stands still
As finally he starts flying.
The stars are not wanted anymore;
put out every one.
Lay him down in the cold floor
and lay down all the guns.
Write out the message ‘he is dead’,
and let the sky bleed out that rich red.
3 AM
It is the time when the souls of the world are still
When life is made and the angel of death kills
All the stars shine in the sky and the moon gives the night light
It is when my pen goes into my hand and my soul blooms at night
The curse and the gift God gave to me to feel into words all in me
To write the joy and pain that has burned inside me
The twilight hour is over me
Angels and demons sit on both sides of me
Opening the wounds and scars of my life moving tears free
Moving me back to life when it was good
To become a man and mistakes that left me misunderstood
The person people look at and see the outside of me
Not the storms and waves thrashing the mind and soul inside me
Love has battled to keep my soul good in the midst of evil times
Wisdom has in taken my mind to overlook things now that waste my time
God comes and listens to my soul leak its troubles and pains
My prayers and my mind release, so much entwine and i write divine
Lost sometimes because of life but I write out of my soul to find me to know him
Blooming out my soul at 3AM
S Qualls
There's a passport I would like to revoke
from one person who thinks it's a joke
to repeatedly make fun of fellow writers.
Like a pugilist, she calls us 'prizefighters.'
What harm if we enjoy entering contests?
That doesn't prove whose poetry is best
because one person's opinion has weight
and another says it's open for debate.
If she's trying to deflate anyone's intellect,
she won't do it with a weapon of disrespect.
I applaud people who bravely try a new form
They're not afraid to write out of the norm.
She stabs with a pen, trying to draw blood
while sitting on her toosh like a couch spud.
We don't write to be popular. She's wrong,
but lord, she keeps howling the same ol song.
She claims we want attention and a high profile,
but her posts draw attention in words that defile.
I've never understood why her eyes get glazed
over contest entrants who should be praised.
She dares write of grace and having humility
but complains vehemently, and with hostility.
Her PS passport should be revoked & shredded
as punishment for being rude and hardheaded.
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