The Apology

The small, fragile jewelry box
sewn in a delicate tapestry
fabric that was now
worn and frayed,
held only a
lone pair of dangled
earrings, three tiers of
unidentifiable
pale, pink
crystals that now still
sparkled in the slice
of sunlight that had
crept across the room’s
planked flooring.
A story surrounded this
box and those earrings.
A love story, a gripping story,
a loss story and one
of struggle against the
flat, matte images of lives
entangled (and dangled)
in life and with each other.
Those earrings were an apology.

Join me at dVerse Poets Pub for Open Link Night Thursday at 3PM EST where I’ll be hosting.

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Autumn Haiku

breeze scatters dead leaves
morning glory lifts her head
slight chill greets the day

Join me today as I host Open Link Night for dVerse Poets Pub.  We go live at 3PM EST.

Tapping Into The Source

Photo: Pinterest Free Domain

 

Yogi-posture, ramrod straight,
legs crossed in yin-yang shape.
Hands held gently at rest on the knees,
while fingers posed in mudras
help to focus energies.
Eyes closed softly,
attention on the breath,
allowing it freely to tap into the Source.
Follow the breath,
it will show you the way,
the truth lies within you
beyond this illusory play.

Sharing this poem that I wrote shortly after beginning my blog (it’s a repeat).  Join me as I host Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets.  The doors to the pub open at 3PM Thursday.  Share any ONE poem of your choosing.

 

Rock Springs

Rock Springs, Apopka, FL; image from Pinterest

spring of my youth
where rocks stay
lodged for endless ages
and I rushed around
them in my haste to
run, jump, hurdle
myself into the
flesh-freezing waters
that refreshed my
body with soul-baring
joy to revisit there again
 
the horizon was brought
up short by the thick
forested trees that
surrounded and kept
partially hidden that
crystal clear pool
that burbled endlessly
up from the depths
of a magical, carved
out cave of underwater
rock…it frightened me
to push my face down
below the surface and
gaze down, down into
that deepness where
boulders had rolled
and shifted and created
the perfect home for
that purity to come forth
 
charming though were
the shallow paths
of water mostly ankle
deep that meandered
through the woods
then to stop and excavate
miniature springs and
extract treasures of tiny
shells and sharks’ teeth
from countless eons ago
 
darkness descends on this
sweet paradise and the
shouts and laughter
of children fall silent
as the wood-burning grill’s
embers slowly weaken and
the colors echo the sunset

Please join me Thursday at 3PM as I host Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.  Choose any one of your poems to share.

Life Force

We are vibration.
Our lives are a continuous
series of sparks that ignite
our life force and maintain
our beating hearts and breath.
Do we arrive with a finite number
of inhalations and exhalations
that we fulfill before we flicker
out into complete nothingness?

Join us at dVerse Poets as we celebrate our 6th year anniversary and our Quadrille prompt given by Grace.

I Wish You Well

My heart stirs with compassion
as I watch the old woman carrying
her packages down the sidewalk.
Most likely many years past the
ability to drive but I surmise that
she still must use her unsteady
legs to make her way to retrieve
food and the other necessities
of sustenance. Has she no one
who can or will assist her? I think
of my own mother who is now
surrounded by family members
and others who pitch in to aid
her in all of her daily needs.
I marvel at the strength it takes
of an elderly woman (who I
judge should be relaxing and
cared for in her later years) to
trek out into the world and fend
for herself. Of course these are
all assumptions I’m making but
still I send blessings that she
be well, that she feel loved,
may she feel content, and may
all of the universe support her
soul on its singular journey.
For some reason tears appear.

Join us for Poetics hosted by Paul Dear Tuesday 3PM EST at dVerse Poets Pub where he presents Blessing poems.

Unfettered

She wants a green funeral
laid to rest at the roots
of her Christian upbringing
where monks roam
the Monastery of the Holy Spirit
and peace has inherited these acres.

A plain pine box will
encase her remains and
simply, shallowly placed
beneath the oaks, where
their leaves have quietly
drifted and come to rest.

Her spirit will be set
free as it lifts from her
form effortlessly, casting
off the shell that no longer
is of use. Once more her
essence will be unbound
by earthly attachments
and joy and wholeness
will be hers.

Unfettered she merges with
her God Source and the
love that surrounds her
permeates her soul.
Any pain or discomfort
is no more. She is in a state
of endless, divine worship.
All is Good and we will
rejoice in her freedom
while at the same time
mourning the loss of our
Dearly Beloved Sister.

I wrote this after speaking with the sister of my childhood friend, Patsy, and learning that her time with us was very limited.  She passed away on April 15, 2017 after living seven years with cancer.  Before their mother passed away, the three of them would visit this beautiful monastery in Conyers, GA and enjoy the peaceful grounds.  They offer “green” burials and Patsy decided that she wanted to be laid to rest on the acreage that is set aside for this purpose.  You can read about the monastery here.

Join me as I host Open Link Night at dVerse Poets where the pub doors will open Thursday, 3PM EST.

Unsound

Life was becoming quieter.
Sounds that once were sharp
and clear are dulled and muddled.
These ears that had once been
sound were damaged by
an infection and quickly lost
their acuity. My place in the
world of the hearing has now
been diminished.

Please join us at dVerse Poets Pub where Victoria is our hostess for our Monday Quadrille.  The pub opens at 3PM EST.

Traces

She applied pale and
ethereal
colors in her paintings.
Sometimes they were
almost imperceptible,
and just shadows or echoes
of her subject. It had both
a ghostly and melancholy
effect. Her artistry spoke
in hints and shades of
times that have now been lost.

Join us at dVerse as De presents Quadrille Monday.  Come have some fun with one of our most popular forms.

Duck and Cover!

 

Photo: Google Images; Duck and Cover drills in the 50s

I grew up in the 50s and 60s and during the Cold War between Russia and the United States school children were taught the “duck and cover” method to save our lives in case of nuclear bombing during school hours. Huh?  I vividly remember these drills that would come randomly during the school year in addition to our fire drills.

When the alarm sounded we were instructed to quickly and quietly (always quietly) to get in a huddle down on our knees underneath our desks with our heads protectively covered by our arms. I’m sure I wasn’t aware specifically of the reason for these drills at my young age but the energy surrounding the drill left me fearful and shaken.  Sometimes the exercise had us lined up and following our teachers out to the parking lot where waiting volunteer parents lent their cars as getaway vehicles to whisk us away off campus.

Not only would these drills be useless in protecting anyone during a nuclear blast but they added fear to an already too fearful child. We also had the Cuban Missile Crisis in the 60s…I lived in very close proximity to Cuba, and the Vietnam War was on television during the evening news.  It’s no wonder that I was well acquainted with anxiety as a child.

fire whips hysteria
crackling, consuming calm
frightened doe huddles

Join us today at 3PM EST as Toni presents Haibun Monday at dVerse Poets Pub.

Mundane Morning

We heard a loud shooshing
sound from our second floor
apartment. We ran to the
back sliding glass door just
in time to see a hot air balloon
just barely skimming the roof!
Wasn’t expecting to see that on
this no-longer, uneventful
mundane morning.

Join us at dVerse Poets Pub as De presents our Monday Quadrille prompt.  The pub opens at 3PM Monday EST.

The Pond in the Woods

Several weeks ago, Mira and I planned a morning adventure as soon as I arrived at her house and we set off before she had even eaten breakfast. She was too excited to eat so I packed her some food, drinks and snacks.  No telling how long we’d be gone when we hit the trail together.

But we did know our destination. It was our favorite place to visit…the pond in the woods.  This pond was hand made by its owner and was heavily concealed by the surrounding flora and large stand of beautiful bamboo nearby.  We loved visiting it because it was just enough of a walk to make you feel as if you’ve gone somewhere and many fish and small but full-grown mud turtles resided there.  Pure fun!

Today, though, our adventure was added to by a new dimension to our interacting with the fish and turtles. We got out our bread I had packed for them and started feeding the fish and before long large groups of mostly minnows were hungrily crowding around the pieces near the edge of the pond.  Sometimes we’ll bring along a few of Mira’s plastic cups or beach toys to try and scoop some of the fish up for a closer look.  This day we hadn’t so I decided to try my luck at scooping them up in my hands and I was surprised when I caught a few.  Mira and I watched as they flopped around in my palms as the water drained through.  I quickly lowered them back into the water.  I did this repeatedly and was successful most times.  Then Mira wanted to give it a try as well.  I told her to wait until there was a large school around the bread pieces and then she quickly dunked her tiny hands in and brought up some wriggling fish!  We both were thrilled at her triumph…yay!

Soon we spied a mud turtle swimming our way and Mira asked if she could wade into the cold water and try and catch it. I was surprised at her request because most of the time it’s Grandma who catches them as she watches.  So I answered, sure, go ahead.  She waded in and in no time had grabbed up that small turtle.  She proudly held him aloft, watching his tiny, webbed feet claw the air as we got a closer view.

Mira ate her breakfast after the bread had been dispersed and then the owner and her large, red cat came by for a quick visit before she headed out to run an errand.

When getting Mira ready to go that morning we chose the new shoes that I had recently bought for her. She informed me that one of her heels had a blister on it from the shoes and that she only needed one sock because the other foot had no blister.  Okay, I agreed, only one sock for the one foot.

Early afternoon as the sun began to heat up, we headed back home and stopped at the swing that hangs from an ancient oak across the dirt road from the pond. We swung awhile enjoying the shade and quiet breeze under the tree.  For once, I had brought my phone with me and asked Mira if I could take a photo of her.  Many times she refuses, so I was happy when she agreed.  This time too, she said wait a minute Grandma, and then posed with her eyes shut and her palms pressed together in pranam, her legs crossed in lotus pose.   This is a reverent salutation used in Indian cultures.  The photo is charming not only because of her reverent pose but because if you look closely you’ll see only one foot is with sock, the other without.

Mira Rose;
Photo by Gayle Walters Rose, All Rights Reserved

Kali

Where did you reside before
you made your entrance here?
Was it in the darkness beyond the sun?
Did you dance within the Milky Way
and skip among the countless stars
that crowd the cosmos far and wide?
Did you slide down moonbeams
and have the glowing dust of
nebulae sparkle through your hair?
Did you sit at the feet of the Masters
who meditate in the ethers
to raise the vibration of all existence?

An astral body was your vehicle then, created
of light and prana that you transported
effortlessly between the myriad
planes of existence. Nothing hindered
your explorations and curiosity of
All That Is. You dwelt there in a state of
Connection to Every Thing with joy and delight.

O, Tiny Giant, now you have taken a human form
and chosen those who will guide, teach and protect
you as you journey on to continue your adventures.
What path will you seek to take?
Follow your light.
Follow your breath.
Ride the waves of nature and learn from the wind,
the water, trees and animals. They teach freedom.
You need nothing else but belief in yourself.

O, Divine Kali Devi, I hold you in
light and love as you expand
in consciousness
during your stay in this
Earthly realm.
May you be surrounded in love.
May you always feel safe.
May you live in peace.
May grace and acceptance be yours.

The Wheel of Becoming
continues its spin
throughout your
comings and goings.
 Its energy
propels you
ever forward
toward your
Knowingness and Ease.

Join me today for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub at 3PM EST.

Mystery of the Traveling Dad

There were a few occasions that I can remember vividly when my father went out of his way to let me know that he was thinking of me. He and I were alike in that we both loved to read. He was proud of my ability and that I enjoyed a good mystery like he did.

He was a traveling salesman for most of his working career. He loved to be on the road and chatting people up and I’m sure it was a relief for him to be away from home for a couple of days at a time and be on his own away from the duties of husband and father to six children.

Once, after being on the road for a few days, he returned home with a gift for me. He had brought me two Nancy Drew books. Nancy Drew was my idol and I had been reading the mystery series, written by Carolyn Keene (now whom I know is a pseudonym), for some time. I was thrilled at this gesture and have never forgotten the feeling of being singled out to receive this generous attention from him.

swallowtail kite swoops
golden rays light up the sky
moon glow calms the night

Join us at dVerse Poets Pub for Haibun Monday hosted by Lady Nyo, aka Jane Kahut-Bartels.

Yoshiwara

Yoshiwara girls in their brothel; photo Wikipedia

Yoshiwara girls in their brothel; photo Wikipedia

Yoshiwara red-light district

Yoshiwara red-light district

Japan’s floating world
once known as Yoshiwara
city of desires
created and ruled by men
where girls were procured
tutored and groomed for service
to high-ranking courtesans
and one day replace
educated in the arts
writing of haiku
performing in kabuki
coached in seduction
of coy looks and expressions
and language of love
to gain favoritism
hair, makeup, clothing
a countenance of façade
to lure, please, flatter
this world depicted in art
romantically
glossed over illness and pain
many died young through
disease and botched abortions
life spent indentured
women and men both
existing in the sex trade
captive behind bars
ugliness hidden
for gratification’s sake
and to stave off loneliness

Join me at dVerse Poets for Meeting the Bar as I introduce the Choka.  We would love to have you join us!  The bar opens Thursday at 3PM EST.

How to Explain

how to explain feelings that wane
when once they waxed in fiery flames
our breathing ragged gasps untamed
 
sweating bodies now arid strain
love’s a languid mess entangled
how did it come to be this stain
 
searching not where to lay the blame
how to explain feelings that wane

Bjorn hosts one last Open Link Night before our winter break.  Please join us in linking any one poem of your choice at dVerse.

Miami Night; a Haibun

I was living in Miami during my ashram days in the early 70s. After having dinner out one evening my husband and I decided to take a walk down on the beach by Biscayne Bay.  The moon was out and it was a balmy, breezy night in summer.  We reached the beach and walked hand-in-hand along the shallow tide.  There didn’t appear to be any other people along that stretch of beach and it was especially nice to have it to ourselves.  We walked further along when we made out a large, dark shape about mid way between the dunes and the water’s edge.  As we drew closer we realized that it was an enormous sea turtle who was returning to the water after laying her eggs in the fine, white sand.  She lumbered along and soon met with the lapping waves that took her out to sea.  We watched as she disappeared.  I’ve never forgotten my first encounter with one of those amazing animals.

the depths harbor life
dunes provide incubators
sea oats sway greetings

Join us at dVerse Poets where Toni presents our latest Haibun Monday beginning at 3PM.

How to Cultivate Compassion

Take a childhood of abandonment and mix that with equal parts of anxiety and panic.
Fold the child within herself and leave her ashamed and confused.
Have her cry every time you leave her, ignoring her pleas and staying out extra late.
Add to that alcoholism and narcissism and beat well into a frothy mess.
Top this off with screams of hatred in the middle of the night, waking the child.
Send your child out into the world fearful and insecure yet expect the best from her.

Take a now, young adult who follows her own path and add self worth.
Stir in copious amounts of sensitivity for those who suffer.
Enlarge her already sweet heart and add two darling girls of her own to love.
Give her a voice.
Give her a stronger voice.
Add courage, strength of survival and allow her to find joy again.
 
Mix well and let her compassion flow out into the world.

Join us for Poetics where Mish prompts us on writing recipes of life, love, misery, compassion…what have you.

Life Without Regret; A Sijo

The elderly Samurai’s katana had lain unused for decades
His weapons now displayed prominently honoring his ranking
Stern eyes reflect his pensive memories—lives taken

Grace hosts Open Link Night over at dVerse Poets Pub…join us and choose any one poem to share.

Standing Post: Trees in Practice

“For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers. I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves. And even more I revere them when they stand alone. They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche.”

Hermann Hesse, Bäume. Betrachtungen und Gedichte

No hard benches for me, or pulpits, altars or holy books,
give me skies of blue with cirrus wisps that scribble truths.
Gatherings of trees are my sangha, age old wisdom expounded
from the roughened bark and steadfast trunks that abide in calmness.
Their messages aren’t harsh and do not tell of hell and brimstone death
but instead teach trust in their brethren and nature as teachers.
Leaves and boughs happily greet as the breeze gently lifts in a
tender, quiet song of connected joy that is shared with those below.
Peace and harmony reign here in this sacred space of believers.
For me, trees have always been the most penetrating preachers.

Their serenity is multiplied when gathered in great throngs.
There is no jostling for favoritism or pushing aside of others
so that they may be held in higher esteem; trees teach humility.
It is hallowed ground that supports trees. I whisper in their midst.
You, I venerate as I sit at your feet and feel your gifts permeate my soul.
Quiet, meditating in one place…be still, find earth’s hidden treasure troves.
Strong, yet yielding in the face of seasons’ harshness; I bow O Masters.
My heart is restored and a reverence is imparted to me that uplifts.
Mystical beings dance and play among your holy, secret alcoves.
I revere them when they live in tribes and families, in forests and groves.

Isolated or living apart from one another, trees lift their limbs in resilience.
Though alone, rooted to the ground, they are visited and inhabited by
birds, animals, myriad bugs and even air plants that join them.
Stoic and steadfast is the solitary sentinel.
When separate and alone they stand like quiet beacons in the fog.
Having no others to entangle their branches, they sometimes feel unknown.
They stretch and reach out and up, vainly feeling for a neighbor.
But do their hearts languish or brood when kept to themselves?
O lone willow whose drooping branches caress a pond, here you are sown.
And even more I revere them when they stand alone.

Patience and endurance rule in the heart of the ancient oak.
Wisdom reflects from her heart where the Great Horned Owl resides.
Distinguished, with ancient ties to Vikings and Tigers, she rests.
These Masters of Stillness have taught contemplation since millennia.
Like the Crane poised to strike a fish, they wait in silence.
They draw strength from the community of all species.
Their brilliance is oftentimes overshadowed by their infinite modesty and grace.
The hum of om strums through their leaves gaining strength on the wind that then plays out into the universe.
These stately, wizened beings spend their lives in harmony, no need for treaties.
They are like lonely persons. Not like hermits who have stolen away out of some weakness, but like great, solitary men, like Beethoven and Nietzsche.

*Standing Post is a martial arts form based in Chi Kung.  This Glosa was inspired by a dear friend who has mastered this form.

Grace is our host this evening for Open Link Night at dVerse Poets Pub.  Come join us and share any one poem that you would like.

Moon Rise From the Sea

One of my sisters and her husband love going to the beach. They don’t need any occasion to go, they’ll just drive the hour or so to get there and he’ll either surf if the waves are accommodating or they will sit on the beach under their canopy watching the waves or walk along its lengthy shoreline.

Several years back, the invitation went out to the family to join them one evening to watch the full moon come up at New Smyrna Beach. My boyfriend at the time and I drove over and joined the clan.  My brother-in-law had a fire pit going and as the sun’s rosy glow dwindled behind us, the full moon rose up on the far-off horizon of the Atlantic before us.  It was enormous.  It was so large that it took our breath away.  Ivory colored, with craters shadowed on its surface, I will never forget that humbling, overflowing moon on that chilly, fall night.

endless breaking waves
sparks fly against silhouettes
full moon’s ascension

Toni returns with Haibun Monday at 3PM EST.  Read her presentation at dVerse Poets Pub for all of the details.

The Alouette; Meeting the Bar

Victorian Scrap Art; Bing Images

Victorian Scrap Art; Bing Images

skylarks flying high
scatter dreams from sighs
catch them as they drift to earth
from all daydreams spun
choose the happy ones
of starlight, moon beams and mirth

sprites and elves play here
in streams crystal clear
fireflies glow like small green orbs
cast tiny shadows
of days long ago
captured in dim woodland garb

~~~~

numinous children
of indigo send
vibrations of empathy
for love’s benefit
transcendentalists
hold this planet preciously
 
riding the current
of energy, urgent
messages relayed along
cosmic connectors
sending protectors
to dwell among the earth’s throngs

I hope you will join with me at dVerse Poets Pub where I present The Alouette.  The doors will open at 3PM EST Thursday.

Diversion

As if on cue,
in the same
whirlwind in which
he had arrived,
he departed.
I was the target
of his need for
diversion.
The opening of
emotions and
shared laughs
were deep.
Amazing
how quickly
your heart acts
to secure you
to another.

De is our host at dVerse for our Quadrille prompt.  Read her presentation for all the details.

A New Revolution

SCCRRRAAAATCH
the past revolutions!
Our rhythm heralds
a different way.
Perhaps we won’t
be so peaceful!
We’ll run amok
and churn up
the muck!
Change will
come, Oh Yes!
Starting with
YOU THERE, all
cushy ensconced
in your lifelong
tenure of perks!
Public “servants”?
MY ASS!
Your time has come
and you are gone!
The future belongs
to us all now, not
just a select few.
We RAGE at paths
lined in blood!
We are damning the
torpedoes that lay
waste to countless
innocent lives!
Link arms and
put up a united
front to end this
insanity that is
rooted in politics.
It’s a ruse DON’T YOU SEE?
We’re being royally
BAMBOOZLED!
Nothing is untouched
by the ravages of this
cesspool of corruption.
We’re pulling the plug
and letting the sewage
be absorbed into the
void that it deserves.
Slate clean lies our future.
Lay down your pens
and put aside your
intellect and FEEL
GODDAMIT!!!!
If we lose our hearts
we lose everything.

Victoria is our host at dVerse Open Link Night but couldn’t be with us today because of a family emergency.  Our hearts go out to her.

Wild Flowers

sizzling word play
zings back and forth
playful, sexy sparks
combust our hearts
and ignites our blood
 
wild flowers calm
but not our ardor
a breeze gently
ruffles the petals
 
I accept your offered
arm and pledge steady,
soul-melding hugs
that sustain us both

The Quadrille is our prompt today and is presented by De at dVerse Poets Pub.  See her presentation for all the details and join us for one of our most favorite prompts!

Wightrabbit

Words and Pictures from The Isle of Wight

writing in north norfolk

Writer of children's literature, short stories and poetry

Lady Nyo's Weblog

A woman writer's blog with invitations to other writers

Poetry Breakfast

Beginning March 20th, 2016 Poetry Breakfast will once again serve a little poetic nourishment every morning. Start your day with our new expanded menu. Poems, of course, are our specialty. But we will also be serving a fuller menu that includes poetry related creative non-fiction such as letters to and from poets, essays on poetry, and anything else that might feed a poet and poetry lover’s soul.

Mithai Mumblezz

Thinks and again mumbles!!

findingtimetowrite

Thinking, writing, thinking about writing...

mindlovemisery

"We're all out there, somewhere, waiting to happen."

NavasolaNature

Nature needs Nurture

Whimsygizmo's Blog

poetic ponderings...parenting...procrastination...

Tao of Scrumble

A freeform way of life, love and everything

Tournesol dans un Jardin

Waka & Micro Poetry

Sharp Little Pencil

Amy Barlow Liberatore... stories of lost years, wild times, mental variety, faith, and lots of jazz

silentlyheardonce

A Silent poet shouting to be heard

generaliregi

Romance of Five Clouds and Magical Poetry

kanzen sakura

South meets East: Poetry and Musings - words of the seasons

Poems, stories, paintings and more by Sharmishtha Basu

(Agnijaat, Agnishatdal, Agnijashatadalama, Indie Adda)

This, that and the other thing

Looking at life through writing and photography

jaywalking the moon

poetry by claudia schoenfeld

She's Writing

Poetry and Prose

Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple

Growing older is inevitable. Growing up is optional.

everyday amazing

spreading good cheer, fun & love for life

Michael's Lair

Just Write WordPress.com site

Björn Rudbergs writings

Poetry and fiction by a physicist from the dark side

The WordPress.com Blog

The latest news on WordPress.com and the WordPress community.

THE BeZINE

Be inspired...Be creative...Be peace...Be

bardessdmdenton - author- artist

Historical and Literary Fiction / Essays / Poetry / Reviews /Book Cover and Interior Illustrations / Pet Portraits and Other Commissioned Artwork ... "Life can't ever really defeat a writer who is in love with writing, for life itself is a writer's lover until death - fascinating, cruel, lavish, warm, cold, treacherous, constant." ~ Edna Ferber, 1885-1968, American novelist, short story writer and playwright

Soul Dipper

Spirit Builder by Design

Contemplative Moorings

The official blog of unofficial author Michael Marsters.

Ramblings From A Mum

This is my journey, my thoughts, my views, plain and simple and from my heart. Please travel with me and share, hopefully it will be an interesting trip.

bwthoughts

copyright 2013 - no reuse without permission ( see bwfiction.wordpress.com for fiction and fantasy )

"On Dragonfly Wings with Buttercup Tea"

All Is One With Our Creator

MyHeartBlog

Take Control of Your Health

The Daily Post

The Art and Craft of Blogging

Wanjiku

poetic inspiration from life's simplicity

k8edid

Mumblings of a Middle Aged Madwoman

IN MY NEXT LIFE

if I go around more than once then ...

I Rhyme Without Reason

I live in words

Soul Speak

'You may say I'm a Dreamer, but I'm not the only one' ~ John Lennon

~ Dragon's Dreams ~

Carpe Noctem Quod Tempus Fugit!

Dreamwalker's Sanctuary

A Sanctuary for Enlightenment and Peace through Poetry and Inspirational Thoughts as we go through Life

Lafemmeroar

laughing at the malfunction of the universe is better than crying about it

Lorna's Voice

Finding ways to make words sparkle

Olivia's In- Mind Whirls..

"It's all in my mind"

dVerse

Poets Pub

Leslie White

View artwork by Leslie White

jgavinallan

The best time to love...is when it is impossible///Stories of the heart-broken/shattered and sometimes mended

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