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Core Beliefs: We are students & teachers to each other. Giving & receiving are the same. There’s a time & place for spontaneity. My poems = stories, unless not.

A waiting room of sorts.

we brought the son
to her bedside
where she smiled
her lips
craving a kiss
to warm the chill
of dying
his guitar strumming
kept her ears awake
her eyes on him.

we brought the middle child
her brown-eyed girl
concern on her face
concealed by
the long moments
they shared space
around their hearts
she knew this woman
was hers
and they did kiss
and it was warm
they spoke
of summers
at the sea
warm tanning
in the sand
not the white sheet
separating their touch
by threads now.

I am the firstborn girl
doing the bringing
I’ve brought…

A poem…

Photo by Dawn Armfield on Unsplash

And your village
shingles untethered
flown to dust sifting
the ruin of cities.
Sleep pleasures skin sky
your last memory
beyond the photos in your car.
Damp jade grass first
crimson then
then nothing.
Gone bedrooms
kitchen tables
deserts of bedframes and
remember white cotton sheets
and damp bath towels
on the floor.
Streets to ash
pit your eyes,
dust of your abstinent
mouth speaks for
itself no notion
left of your own
open throat
silent in its instant
of closing.
How will you
not sleep
not laugh
not breathe the now hours
and tomorrow?
toward stars swept away
blinking brilliantly out
diamonds red gray black.
Spirit lifts endlessly
the horizon becomes a distant
and stinging salt
cheeks seep to douse
lips like bone again.
The petition of thousands
help hope struggle.
Dream the bees stir again
the seeds awaken.
us today

A poem…to take you there.

photo by author

After laying hot the morning astride the whitewashed
bowl of the salted pool balancing the emerald
sea beside we left our naked shadows in the noonday hours
our breasts too pale to stay so long.
The sun burned our turning skin like razors splaying fruits.
From Blue Harbour we climb ‘round the jungled edge
sliced with green slashing blades of palm and fern
painted drench of reds blooming between tangled vines
belayed on poles of knuckled bamboo. Sun dogs
float above the path sectioned from the wild by
fragments of limey marl walls. Cut light like cut cloth covers
the north shore’s risen coast. Crosshatched with…

A remembrance

Photo by Josh Appel on Unsplash

Our cousin’s attic smelled like hot
ripped timbers, brittle and dry after all the years
it had perched there, spilling dust,
balanced high atop its narrow Victorian house
like a huge hat you could play in.

Beside the steep stairwell a bed,
metal springs creaked and squashed if you jumped
or rolled over the ticking to the middle,
in the dark pushing and pulling, all hands,
sweat, and dirty feet.

Peas in the pod of overnights endlessly together.
Lights out we cuddled and listened for spooks
that might snatch us like nets. …

As I heard it…

Photo by David Hertle on Unsplash

Her voice lands on my hearing
straight as rain plugs prismed lawns in a windless drench

She speaks detached, simple wisdom
trailing diction behind her heritage

Sings soulful secrets sown by girls of every age —
fertile epics buried in muddy tropic bloodlines, needled into long blue veins

Sweaty dreams dampen white linen pillows
women sit balanced in the boughs above her

She stitches ballads plain, without profusion, without foolery
speaking long sounds like tall white columns defining the shaded portico

In every poem a milkweed pod bursts memories
plants native healing herbs in her lies, in each wet wound

For J.D. Harms’ 29 May 2021 Saturday Poetry Prompt: explanations

Photo by Dhaya Eddine Bentaleb on Unsplash

whispering oh what is that beautiful thing that just happened?
…literally floating on clear medicated tap water, the hot spring
where jets silence intermittently pairing the sky and me
not sucking turbulence beneath teal cloud reflections—
so smooth—it tells me earth surely does spin fast
but is immense and mostly gravitated so that,
my synthetic pond lays still
but for my breathing.
the tweets begin in distant trees trilling, bubbling,
and peeping their lovesongs and broken hearts,
earnestly blessing the lyric of daybreak.
please don’t tell me this is not the same as bliss —
ultra-paintings from our golden eye we rarely use,
brain cells doing their passionate best to vibrate and…

A poem

Photo by Konrad Wojciechowski on Unsplash

there’ve been moments when the molecules
and winds, the breathing in
of paradise spraying drunken
mist in my face;
when these entities
have been all that presses on me —
all there is spilling into my shell
pouring from the pit of me
my bowl invisible like the angels among us
and sometimes the planes planets and plants
manifest all astral and frenzied in unison
sinking to the floor like a cry, a glance going down
sensing how the bleeding feels
how the hot mess shows up
staining blue dreams black
liquid and entangled.
the tiniest praying mantis prays loud
and clear naming the love words
depth and constancy.
along the edges
seamless spineless sluiced of digital
images and…

Kristie Darling

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