Reblogs – Penny Wilson & VJ Knutson

As writers and poets, our work reveals our response to the people, places, and things we encounter. Sometimes, we provide wisdom too. But mostly, we unveil who we are.

Who You Read On the Page by Penny Wilson

Who you read  
on the page  
is a process  
of excavating  
one’s mind  
not your  
the writer’s  
to unveil  
the meaning  
the intent  

Facing Truths by VJ Knutson

I am gregarious 
eagerly anticipating 
the unknown 

But the subconscious 
alights on old stories 
gathers sanctimonious 
rumours of unworthiness 
spits out shame 
and rage 

Reveals the truth – 
I am vulnerable. 

Reblogs – Anonymously Hal & Penny Wilson

I realize that our struggles will affect us differently, but perhaps we keep in the back of our minds to not let the darkness color our hope. Of course, we can’t always control our biology by instinct alone. Do whatever it takes to find your peace.

Viridian by Anonymously Hal

I never settled on gray…  
I settled on viridian.  
I settled on a  
romanticized intensity  
seeped in tender  
in hopes to cloak  
the darkness and  
cravings for desolation…

H.O.P.E. by Penny Wilson 

H.O.P.E. = Hold On. Pain Ends. 

Reblogs – Candice Louisa Daquin & Ramblings of a Fragile Mind

There’s always the hope that relationships will burn with passion and not strife. Yet, sometimes what began as intense disintegrates us until we become something unrecognizable, ensuring walls are built to protect us from the next. The process to love again is an arduous one, requiring a great deal of understanding, patience, trust, and acceptance.

Flaming without fire by Candice Louisa Daquin

I tore myself on you, baby, I tore myself 

until there was nothing but dust and tension and madness 

I tore myself on you, baby, I tore myself 

until daylight proved false and we entered eternal darkness 

where only the grift of each other’s angst 

could sooth the thunder 

of those wasted years 

flaming without fire 

Ignorance by Ramblings of a Fragile Mind (Little Charmer)

You think you know me so well 

Yet you haven’t got a clue 

For if you did 

You’d see how I hid 

All that I was from you 

Reblogs – Paul V. Cannon & Stephen D. Allen

From beginning to end, life is to be lived. The fuller the better, with no regrets left dangling when our time comes. Not everything will be charming, nor will it all be devastating. Take the good, accept the bad, alter what you can to achieve more comfort.

The Blurred Horizon by Paul V. Cannon

Putting our fingers in fires 
we rolled down mountains 
eagerly consuming ego paths 
of reason and invitation, 
traversing fences, leaping gates, 
chasing balloons and butterflies 
of promise while toasting sunsets, 
weeping over mortality and pain, 
there is only ever the blurred  
horizon of experience. 

In Kindness by Stephen D. Allen

The world is full of wondrous hope 
If only we could see it and touch it 
Kindness that can create and heal 
Gives life, and helps another feel 

I lost my mind and found out who I am 
If I were to say the words on my mind 
Would it change anything at all? 
I have grown up and I found out 
How to feel, and what life is about 

Reblogs – Paul V. Cannon & Ruth Klein

What is life if you are not moving beyond your comfort zone to take risks? You’ll never know what awaits unless you challenge yourself, or?

The Unknown by Paul V. Cannon

If I remain as I am the
boat will sail without me,
past the shallows I wade in,
near the reef I have only
transcended in my wintry
dreams, uncertain of the
clearance of my keel which
has kept me even for so long,
and now, looking at the vast
horizon with anticipation,
knowing that I risk more by
not plunging into the unknown.

Twitter Poetry by Ruth Klein

The world ends
On the horizon
Dreams begin

Reblogs – VJ Knutson & A Faded Romantic’s Notebook

So much poetry, and so many people tell us about “finding the one,” which makes me wonder, is there such a thing?

Love Keeps Pace by VJ Knutson

Anfractuous connotes
splintered, yet you and I,
never broken, dance
a circuitous route
lost in personal reveries
interlocking threads
solid as the symbols
adorning ring fingers.

What more? by A Faded Romantic’s Notebook

A beauty
that inspires,
a body
that thrills,
a mind
that stimulates,
a soul
that feels.
What more
can a writer
wish for?
What more
can a Dominant

Reblogs – N0tyetforgotten & Candice Louisa Daquin

What is the purpose of life if it hurts so many to live?

As time dwindles by N0tyetforgotten

Burning beneath times wick

A cesspool of options

Crippled by fear

Too long until the ends near

Fresh air but a mile away

Nothing and nobody is permanent, start the timer for their great escape

Anxiety cutting deep

Wounds unable to heal

How can something so beautiful be so grim?

Nothing Left to spare

A diamond in the rough, or a ruby coated disguised as bare?

Effortless wakes going beyond where the sun sets

Dawn breaks- alas the day sets again

Modern tides in a world so cruel

So little time, so much to do

Dreams are but figments of what could come true

Until next time,


Thursday’s Child by Candice Louisa Daquin

Whatever you do

don’t feel sorry

things roll like flashing dice, casting fates

they do not require apology

she is the one on social media

who has no family

no one with the same last name

an orphan of surname

she pretends joining, thou her joins are frayed

there is a lock where her expectations meet

the silt and sloth of each long day

her heart spends most of its time

caring for others the way she wished

she were cared for

giving into a void, it can feel at times

like pouring water into sand and scooping it up

thirsty and forbidden to drink

her goal, to rectify through action

the irreducible inequity

we all suffer under

sometimes without blow

other times seemingly, beseiged

the wax and the wane

she used to believe love was the cure

for every malaise or grief of soul

but with time, even that slouched away

a disappointment within a broken egg shell

we choose scars we recognize

and sometimes they scald us

with their knowing …

one day when she dies

she will not be celebrated or recalled

never wanted commemoration but to

matter when she lived, no after life necessary

her ashes scattered by nobody in particular

to the wilds of the wind

where she will at last be free

to climb to climb to climb

Reblogs – Murray Robertson & Goff James

Every decision we make and every path we take is in our hands, except the outcome. Like the seasons, we have no control over the changes that occur.

Bright October by Murray Robertson

yesterday’s flower 
at the north end 
of a sunbeam, 
some things  
seem never  
but yesterday’s 
sunshine has 
lost its meaning, 
relevance and  
colours fading now. 
as i look out the  
window, i see  
winter approach. 
a chill already 
blights the  
morning light. 

Turning from the past by Goff James

Reblogs – A Faded Romantic

I rarely post two pieces by the same poet, but whether recent or older, these seemed to mesh well together. They made me think that those people who are purposefully unique tend to end up being a beloved someone. 🙂


There is always 
who is our weakness 

Always someone 
who breaks through 
all our defenses. 

Always someone 
who leaves us 


Do not allow yourself 
to be defined 
or guided 
or labeled 
or maligned 
by your sexuality 
your age 
your birthplace 
or your race 
or the proud colour 
of your face. 

Do not allow yourself 
to be judged, measured 
or explained 
by the dead hand 
of tradition 
or by the racist misogyny 
of religion 
or by the empty 
of others 
and what they want 
to see. 

For you 
are you 
and only you. 
and free. 

Reblogs – Tien Skye & The Blighters Rock

Both pieces are exquisitely short but pack brilliant messages about the things we love, enjoy, pursue, engage in, and adore. Ultimately, my point of putting these two together is that we, as individuals, decide what ecstasy is to us.

6WSP by Tien Skye

Photo by Janko Ferlic on

locked in a library of freedom

Oracle by The Blighters Rock

in pure ecstasy
the priestess of the serpent
gave destiny pause