Okay, so…I was talking to the chicklets and…

It’s Gigi with the Chicklets!

Rethinking Life

I asked them to help me show what society/culture does to people and what it’s like to be free, open, and creative.  They got to work immediately and three of the chicklets walked  into the Rubber Duck Pond to show how depressing and closed off society/culture makes everyone.  They put on shades to show how it blinds people and crushes their spirits.  Clarence demonstrated what it was like to be free and creative.  I think they did a fantastic job and I thanked them very much.  They said they hoped they got the message across and I told them that I thought they did it beautifully.

View original post

Sutures…

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

View original post

Shieldmaiden…

Poetry by Eric Syrdal of My Sword and Shield, contributing writer for whisper and the roar

Whisper and the Roar

shildmaiden Sigrun by RinRin Daishi

Her eyes are painted
with porcelain bravery
bravado and battlefield-hardened
she wields her weapons
sarcastic razor-edged wit
impenetrable oaken confidence
guarding her breast
all the ambition forged
within iron and steel
dark amber flame, her hair
across her shoulders
a regal mane
unstirred by the winds of war
like so many before her
behind this buttressed bulwark
lies a warrior heart
broken and battle-weary
enough of scars and sacrifice
enough of wounds and wanting
rain-soaked and shell-shocked
she wanders
seeking the broken path home

View original post

Autumn leaves falling

beautiful…please visit the original, comments closed at HOH

 

MB Blissett

He watches the

Leaves. They fall

In wrinkled splendour

The wet rotten traveling clothes

Of time and how

He has known failure

Wrestled with

His demons

The ones he couldn’t

Befriend

Educate

He knows himself

What frightens him

And how he still

Leans into

Them

The leaves fall

and

Part of him goes with them

He knows being open

Invites pain but does it anyway

Understanding the gift

Of himself and

Why some people

Returned it unopened

He knows his own value

And even alone,

He rules in quiet regard

View original post

The first kiss

So beautiful…comments closed here, please visit the original.

Inalienable Write

The first kiss begins.

My hand on her cheek – barely touching – her head backwards tilts

My hand can move gently through her hair now

Like a soft breeze sweeps the wild hillside grass.

Her face so beautiful like the last glimpse of sunset

Across the summer water.

Her mouth like the soft darkness of dusk

And my mouth the stars, slowly, touching

More, then one more then another and then all.

We’re as close as humid day,

My breathing on her neck and my hand on her face

And for that brief moment, time takes forever,

The world is only as big as us,

My passion flows as the monsoon rains.

The first kiss had begun, well before it began.

image source

Photo by Maggie West

Copyright © 2017 Grant Fenton – All Rights Reserved

View original post

Yes, I Am

Something completely different and extraordinary.
Comments closed here.

A Reading Writer

he tried to give me
the kiss of eternity,
like a parched flower
he thought i need his shower,
but i don’t.

i felt my warm skin
against the cold wall,
as he pushed me deeper
to surrender my all,
but i don’t.

i sank, scratched my nails
against his back,
he tried to stop me
with a full-blown smack,
but i don’t.

before he gave
another strong blow,
i kicked hard
his tummy’s below,
yes, i do.

before my eardrums
cracked in his screams,
i pulled his gun’s trigger
and ended his dreams,
yes, i do.

for i am a woman
who doesn’t have a man,
but i won’t let anyone
to strip me to undone,
yes, i am.

now, ask me
if i am guilty,
of killing a monster
who could’ve killed me,
yes, i am.

06.14.2017
©2017 Rosemawrites@A Reading Writer. All Rights Reserved.
Photo via Public Domain Photo

In response to 

View original post 101 more words

Faun at the foot of the fountain – by Gurkski

I want to be  a marble faun at the foot of the fountain in the heart of the market of the town where life swarms. Instead I sit on the steps of that fountain squinting at the antsy rustling around me, grabbing my bottle tighter.

I have since recently fallen in love with that marginally overweight businessman gulping from his pocket flask while waiting for his tram because I love the expression of fear in his face that I know so well. I love even more the posh secretary smoking nervously,  stomping her stilettos on the sidewalk, because she  leaves her package of cigarettes on the bench for me every  day of her working week.

The rest I majestically ignore. The same straying dog meets me at eight with a mouth full of hedonistic laughter and throws his meager body against mine to get the night shiver out of our bones.

Originally posted at Dithyrambs and Ditties

 

My Love

Beautiful! Comments closed here. Please visit the original.

days of stone

-blazon after Woloch

My love with her chocolate river of tresses,
Her slow-flowing curls, polished mahogany.
My love with her lips of tequila sunrise
With her milky-skinned sin, spreading wildfire blush.
My love with her hummingbird voice
Her windswept dune song, her soul
strumming hum
My love with her eyes of moonstone and twilight,
Her mysterious eyes of long tide pool shadows
My love with her willow tree frame
With her star-dappled thighs, soft gossamer down.
My love with her lotus bloom tongue,
Her narcotic tongue tracing spirals through midnight,
My love with her deep-desert wellspring,
To which I stumble, broken and parched.

Ryan Stone

Posted at dVerse Poets Pub – Poetics: Sensory Play

watermarked2016-10-24-1313

View original post