Christine Ray – Missing and Loving
I havelearned to
wear solitude quietly
an old quilt draped
over sharp shoulder blades
engulfed inthreadbare
patches of memory
that I worry
with lonely fingertips
softly blurring seams
between amethyst
indigo
silver
I straddle the scissoredge
between missing you
and loving you still
aware that either way
I bleed
© 2018 Christine Elizabeth Ray – All Rights Reserved
TheFeatheredSleep – Greener Grass
Some of the forgotten towns
circling big cities, lone wolves
warming fur against bright lights
wear their bleakness like a flag
the emptied streets at night where
no merriment is found, kids have
climbed aboard their bikes and motored
through snow if necessary, to escape
into the cold clutches of wine and euro-pop.
The touring people who do not live in these towns
glamorize by proxy
their little steeples, the preserve of history
how charming graffiti looks in a foreign language
they do not see behind the doors
into a teen world of preparedness
all who will flee when time comes
somehow, make their empty pocketed way
to bigger cities, offering the solace of
24 hour misery
surely it beats
sleeping in your childhood cot
listening to your parents snore
inching closer to a local grave plot
they put their heads in bags of glue
just to feel like they…
View original post 35 more words
Pattimouse – 2 Monday poems
And because I am proud of Serena. (She is doing a volume of poetry of her own.) Here is one of hers.
HASTY – On a journey
There is a moment when you realize that your journey is yours. That moment is different for everyone. That moment for me was when I needed brain surgery. They say life flashes before your eyes when you are faced with the possibility of no tomorrow. And though we all face that possibility every second… rarely do we feel it as acutely as when someone we love dies or we are faced with our own death.
People who love us hope we know what we are doing. They may feel like they know better. They may even stress about your choices but… it’s not their journey.
Your regrets will be your regrets. Your joys will be yours. Nobody… not even those who love and want the best for you can know what your future holds.
As a Christian I often think about death and what it means. How does death change…
View original post 153 more words
Candice Louisa Daquin discusses “Blackout” by Candace Owens at Borderless Journal
A discussion by Candice Louisa Daquin based on reading Candace Owens’ book Blackout: How Black America Can Make Its Second Escape from the Democrat Plantation
According to the author, Candace Owens:
Hilaría Baldwin is NOT Spanish.
Rachel Dolezal will NEVER be black.
A biological man is NOT a woman.
A biological female will never be a man.
These people are just ‘playing pretend’ and as such, it’s not real. Obviously, her rhetoric has caused a mixed response. Many would agree with the first two examples, and be offended by the last two. Yet in some ways, the same argument is being used. Let’s pick this apart some.
Candace Owens in her book Blackout:How Black America Can Make Its Second Escape from the Democrat Plantation makes some points that really question what we assume. She’s not politically correct and maybe that’s not such a bad thing in some regards, although how far…
View original post 4,017 more words
Candice Louisa Daquin discusses a controversial book at Borderless
A discussion by Candice Louisa Daquin based on reading Candace Owens’ book Blackout: How Black America Can Make Its Second Escape from the Democrat Plantation According to the author, Candace Owens: Hilaría Baldwin is NOT Spanish.Rachel Dolezal will NEVER be black.A biological man is NOT a woman.A biological female will never be a man. These people […]
Please note I am writing objectively without wishing to be ‘for’ one side or the other. It’s too easy to write those kinds of pieces. I’m tired of journalism being a pulpit for opinions. Objective rationality is possible with less judgement. It doesn’t mean you support someone if you consider what they’ve written. It means you have your eyes open. I appreciate Borderless Journal for being a place that accepts true critical thinking.
TheFeatheredSleep – Flying thoughts
Before generic
we toiled
with well made heavy tools
to survive
thinking less, I suspect
of the quality of that living
whether we were ‘happy’
nor having time for slight or scold
to injure us
sheer brevity of our toil
overwhelming higher thought
which at times I believe
may be as fitful and ill-fitting
as apple eaten from forbidden tree
it is that knowledge of ourselves
sends us into quiet turmoil
perpetuated by hours to muse
on the fix and drip of life
we taste despair in our abundant imaginings
for all we learn, we grow further
from that seat of quiet peace found
in hard labor and less thought
for every Sunday where I get to lie in
watching snow fall outside my safe insulated house
I wonder at the wisdom of this progress
whether
like the man I know who
lives in the woods
gathering water by stream
View original post 29 more words
A call for submissions
HASTY – Self Love?
We were taking pictures. It was a fun night. But with most fun nights where I was hanging out with friends the anxiety was intense. I look at this picture and I see it. That fraction of a second right before the big smile that says “life is good and I am good”. Except I was rarely ever good during this time of my life.
I thought I had everything but I was stuck in the quicksand of a life that was broken. And I didn’t understand how it was broken.
Maybe it was self love. The lack of it rather.
Self love.
It’s just something I hear other women say. I see them strive for it. Struggle for it. Hurt for it.
And I suppose all the empty I felt was just space waiting for me to understand what it meant to love myself.
I love other people. I’ve…
View original post 60 more words
TheFeatheredSleep – An artist and death
Query feels like a brand though it comes with veil
the doctors say, phantom pain becomes step mother
to fragile veins
first one to freeze come a cold snap
ready for tindering a bristling fire
at noon I want to eat warm eggs from your palm
touch your vermillion paint brush to my own face
feel the render of tempera against parchment
without any contempt for you, I wish you gone
but ink dries fast in the cold, it’s a myth it takes a warm day
to run a bath and slit your wrists
they never ask why, only how
the fire trucks blink like fallen damsons on melting streets
it was your enemy knocked on the door, broke it down, carried you out
not laughing at your slack form, the way your hair when wet
thins into dismal life line
the bequeath of surprise leaves us wordless
I with…
View original post 84 more words
Life is make believe, fantasy given form
Finding Inspiration
POETRY RANDOM THOUGHTS AND STUFF LIKE THAT...
hand-drawn comics & other musings of an androgynous punk rock wild witch
An Instrument of the Divine's will.
Parcham, which in Urdu, roughly translates into "Flag" or "Banner", is an online forum, mediating on literature, poetry, art, culture and Politics. It stands for the spirit of resistance against forces that are out to stifle and throttle voices around us.
Poetry, stories and some random words...
For expression, for freedom, for joy, for solidarity in womanhood
Cycling, breast cancer recovery, bipolar disorder
Traveling the great passage of life - Art in nature and writing
Building Perspective on Trauma, Loss, Attachment, Familial Pain, and Moving Forward: LaDonna Remy, MSW, LICSW
An exploration of a world beyond borders...
Stretch your brain
Paintings for Kids and Kids at Heart
Life from the Tail End
Poetry ~ from my heart ~ to yours ~
Artist by choice, photographer by default, poet by accident.
writer — poet — word and reality rearrange(r)
Stephen Fuller *** Poetry, Essays
cabbagesandkings524 