Beautiful poetry by Eric @ My Sword and Shield.  Comments closed here.

My Sword and Shield....

I could feel the warmth of her
even in my delirium
I was all too aware
of the combustible air
between her skin and mine
as she leaned forward
her teeth nipping the end
of the thread
attached to the needle
she was a seamstress of souls
this dusky angel
when only moments ago
I had dragged myself to her door
7 pounds lighter in my chest
with a need to close the breach
here now
in this intimate proximity
I could feel my spirit bend towards her
like a plant
that for too long
had been starved of light

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in my favorite dream

cautiously we walk  on
a snow swept  sidewalk.
Safe inside, your arms shield
me from  the chaotic traffic.
Steadfast against you
I fixate on your impossibly sexy voice
discussing *Down and Out In Paris
as I surreptitiously slip into the
mind of left bank female poets cultivating
anarchy in your adventurous ear.
At our favorite café you order tea
and hot cocoa for me with thick cream
that you lick from my dripping lips.
The cosmos cease to exist and
we dissolve in the windows prism
disappear into a nomadic world
of lovers.



art by Tom Soillot


*Down and Out in Paris  and London

by George Orwell


it’s world poetry day

Poetry and Tea Roses


I will always disappoint you.

My words  are no where near roses,

ink stained and caked with clay

though I have scrubbed them bloody.

My lines overflow with sudden downpours

that  inflate into a monsoon

a swell you can not hold back with

the tenderest of sighs.

Still I beg to be saved from obscurity.

I tell lies lovingly,

each verse a litany of devotion

or a buzzed serendipity.

I will fall in love with the sleeved heart of every poet.

Give me a purpose ,  a  wilting tea rose

or the embryo of a pearl washed ashore.


World Poetry Day is a time to appreciate and support poets and poetry around the world. It is held on March 21 each year and is an initiative of the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization (UNESCO).




Tide Pool

In that hour before dawn when the stars still hold on to the velveteen sky,  stealthy specters rose, pulled on  layers of clothes and quietly slipped into the low lying fog.  Silently  father let the car roll  down the driveway  signalling me with a fingertip to his lips to not make  a sound for fear we would wake the sleeping who might want to intrude on an adventure for two.   The purring cat of an engine hummed   down the deserted highway to a slab of pavement leading to the bay.  From there the air was filled with the scent of  Gumbo Limbo and salty mangrove drifting through our  windows.   Parking between two  boulders we walked to the craggy shore. The sky flamingo pink,  the waves  so far away,   the tidal land came alive with trifles of tiny seas where a  bug eyed Hermit Crab hurriedly dug his hiding hole.  Provocative anemones waved fuchsia fingers at lilac colored algae where a Starfish tiny as a tear waited patiently for a finger to regrow.   Sea gulls waking with the sun signaled us to move along.  In the full light of day we sat silently on the sea wall, the sound of crashing waves pounding in our ears.
sea anemones
Photo by Brocken Inaglory

House of Heart – Author Appreciation

Thank you Braeden. This is is incredibly kind and generous and very appreciated.

Overflowing Ink

Holly Rene Hunter is the “House of Heart” blog. When I do stop by and read her blog I am quite impressed. Holly does a great job creating beautiful imagery. She writes with elegance and it’s almost as if I’m reading a famous poet from the 1970’s. I am always impressed when I read her blog. I enjoy the choices of word and style. Some may not know this but she also has a book. I encourage for others to take the time to read it.

Please check out her blog if you have not.

I take the time to do this because it is very time consuming for a blogger to answer questions for an award that is offered to them. This is my way of appreciating them without doing a bunch of work.

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Nothing’s Gonna Hurt You Baby


Whispered something in your ear
It was a perverted thing to say
But I said it anyway
Made you smile and look away

Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby
As long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine
Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby
Nothing’s gonna take you from my side

When we dance in my living room
To that silly ’90s R&B
When we have a drink or three
Always ends in a hazy shower scene

Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby
As long as you’re with me, you’ll be just fine
Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby
Nothing’s gonna take you from my side

When we laugh into the microphone and sing
With our sunglasses on, to our favorite songs

When we’re laughing in the microphone and singing
With our sunglasses on, to our favorite songs

Nothing’s gonna hurt you baby
Nothing’s gonna take you from my side


If  I should return to your provenance  I would bring one last offering.  Those words you loved,  that you spoke a thousand times  or wrote just once.  I would place them near,  let those tender verses lie down beside you.


Wild wood

A trampled path winds

its way through the

reaching arms of evergreen

to a misty wild wood where my

heart lies down with yours.

White tail deer nibble goldenrod

lift the veil of solitude.

Spring showers and wild flowers

flourish here where

April lives forever.

image © Joan Egert

Autumn fruit

when I was just a shy girl

and you were a blonde haired boy

we raced through  wheat fields chasing.

Suddenly serious your adventurous

eyes  made me  shiver and your hands

stroked my body for no apparent reason.

I yearned for your touch anytime and

kissed you open mouthed without permission.

I adored your mock anger when I made you

find me and  the way you looked down when

I caught you staring.

Autumn threw its shadow on the sprouting

wheat  where we lay naked smooth and wet.

Now I always knock before I enter your

reading room and you softly close your book

and pull me to you.

We are still intrigued by summer love,

fierce and tender and unafraid.





Common Ground

He doesn’t know why she hurts,  what she is thinking,  he is not adept at examining   those fine points best left in the pit of her belly.   Her  thoughts are dangerous bells,  once rung they can’t be silenced. For him the final line is the closing, for her it is profound sadness.


 The heart can fall like a suicide

spiral down like the shade of

midnight deserts

  cold as petals on an icy lake

a flowing grave of dreams

an echo chamber of pain

Let my tongue flirt like

a butterfly among


rather than polish my scars

debride my wounds.