“Come As You Are” by Carol Orsborn

You have only one sacred duty: to make your spirit available to others. You do this by sharing what you already are in this and every moment. If you are loving, you share your loving. If you are suffering, you share your suffering. If you are healing, you share your healing.   Why waste precious energy arguing with God about what it is that is yours to share right now, worrying how your broken bit could possibly be of use.   Trust that however unlikely it may seem, without your piece, the universe would be incomplete.   Carol Orsborn, Nothing…

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Tender and Warm

She is tender and warm. Arrives on a morning fresh Without light knock or bell Like a whiff of tea and toast Upon a hot summer breeze. She is tender and warm. We perch on auburn-dabbed cliffs, shoulder against shoulder Study each other sideways. Relax, with breath abated An odd-looking pair, yet Somehow finely matched. She is tender and warm. Our bodies crumple in a fit of laughs. With our heels, we plough small Rocks along and off the dusty edge. Languish in and read saucy prose Savour a bookish kind of bliss. She is tender and warm. Inside, I…

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‘One Art’ by Elizabeth Bishop

The art of losing isn’t hard to master; so many things  seem filled with the intent to be lost that their loss is no disaster.   Lose something every day. Accept the fluster of lost door keys, the hour badly spent. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.   Then practice losing farther; losing faster: places, and names, and where it was you meant to travel. None of these will bring disaster.   I lost my mother’s watch. And look! my last, or next-to-last, of three loved houses went. The art of losing isn’t hard to master.   I…

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“Personal Ad” – New Blog Post by Terry Gibson

Multi-faceted, passionately aloof woman, lover of foreign accents (or bad copies of same), known to do stand-up comedy in front of dozens, and then be dubbed the ‘quiet one,’ seeks a fellow human being to adore or enjoy the following: Silence for days on end. Then, without warning, I will burst out singing. Who knows what and who knows when? Still laments a long-gone and sordid affair with–yes, I’ll say it–the common daily mail. My pupils still dilate and hands shake at the thought of each single piece. Envelopes were big and bright—canary yellow, green like lime, crimson red or…

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The Eye-mote by Sylvia Plath

  Blameless as daylight I stood looking At a field of horses, necks bent, manes blown, Tails streaming against the green Backdrop of sycamores. Sun was striking White chapel pinnacles over the roofs, Holding the horses, the clouds, the leaves   Steadily rooted though they were all flowing Away to the left like reeds in a sea When the splinter flew in and stuck my eye, Needling it dark. Then I was seeing A melding of shapes in a hot rain: Horses warped on the altering green,   Outlandish as double-humped camels or unicorns, Grazing at the margins of a…

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Cafe Paranoia – Terry Gibson

What do you want? What is it you want? As your amethyst eyes Slither over my face Paw my neckline Denting my nonchalance My demeanour so cool – You’d swear I drank milk. What do you want? What is it you want? Do you assume me Your answer, so easily? Nanny, lost sister, Your ‘other half’ gone missing So vital but unnoticed Till you’re about forty-three. What do you want? I must know what you want! As you approach me with gall, Crossing unspeakable lines– At last the secret spills From a so-kissable mouth What is it you want? Aw,…

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Birthday Poem For My Grandmother – Sharon Olds

I stood on the porch tonight–which way do we face to talk to the dead? I thought of the new rose, and went out over the grey lawn–things really have no color at night. I descended the stones, as if to the place where one speaks to the dead. The rose stood half-uncurled, glowing white in the black air. Later I remembered your birthday. You would have been ninety and getting roses from me. Are the dead there if we do not speak to them? When I came to see you you were always sitting quietly in the chair, not…

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After A While – Veronica A. Shoffstall

After A While After a while you learn the subtle difference between holding a hand and chaining a soul and you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning and company doesn’t always mean security. And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts and presents aren’t promises and you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and your eyes ahead with the grace of woman, not the grief of a child and you learn to build all your roads on today because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans and futures have a way of falling down in mid-flight….

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“Glass” by Takako U. Lento

They were dancing as if swimming among the rocks. We stood by the wall, drinking beer out of the green-labeled can. We talked about shadow plays, operas and how your friend’s father witnessed Caruso break a goblet by his forceful voice. I laughed, wishing I could break the thin but inevitable glass between me and your world.   Takako U. Lento  

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