Thanks for this invitation! And thanks for your site here. I've begun a publication where I post my poems and reflections on striving for an attentive, creative life. https://hoppingoffhere.substack.com/
@augmented man, In lieu of a poem — for now. Just a heart note to you, in deep appreciation for the way your writing always opens up more space. What is truly impressive is your generous reading of each poem shared here, honoring the specificity of each voice. As I am struggling now to write amidst the destruction engulfing our worlds, thank you for this hopeful community building vision🙏♥️
🙏🙏🙏♥️♥️♥️💪🏻 As we used to say during the 2019 Democracy protests in HK, yes. Add Oil! 加油And we didn’t mean “ drill baby drill” but the fuel of our human spirits and actions!
May we continue finding the courage to write through these tumultuous winds, and in doing so, discover again the warmth of community and the promise of what we can build, side by side.
This is one I wrote in mid May of 2024. I read it, I stumbled upon it today, and it reads, as all things do, as a new perspective that feels much like looking back upon a chapter year just as I begin the next. In a sense, it is a commemoration of the space between us, the last time, the first time, and the next time, and the ever present hope that it will one day realize that it does not exist as an x-y plane, but rather, as a drop of blood, dropped swirling into an ever shifting ocean of perpetual motion. In order to stay afloat in any flood, you have to be willing to become the water itself, as even the strongest of ships will one day wash ashore like any other driftwood, and become something new. Again
Famine and Fiend
When Famine and Fiend
Reconvened
At The Feast,
Each recounted their efforts
From greatest, to least.
The Fiend, deftly grasping at
Straws to do lines
Of the last one it crossed
To invade the sound mind.
While The Famine explained
What succumbed to its will,
Was withdrawal of the brain
from a powder or pill.
When examined at depth
That has known ocean floors,
Fiend looks just like Famine;
Both dying for “More.”
Yet the inverse of that,
Undefined by a name
For the sick fearful lust that began as a game.
In a physical sense:
The inevitable fate
of the weight
of the want
of the thing
that we hate.
Famine and Fiend
Finally clean
Picked the bones
Of the unwary weary ones
They had called home
Ever-driven by want festering into need
That evades principle,
Is mistaken for greed,
Is a plague on the lives of the ones it observes,
While considering which hors d'oeuvres they should serve.
Lilith, your piece holds a raw view of how craving can devour from within. It reflects on that delicate shift when a want becomes an urgent pull. Truly striking work.
I love the “feel” of poetry and the compression of meaning at times. I am working on a collection of poems celebrating all the aspects of yin yang. Here is one called “Meet Yin Yang”:
Thanks for including me in this community. I'm about to launch my community on Monday and I was cruising the site to feel the vibe when I came across your community ;)
These are a few lines I wrote while thinking about what it means to be connected to everything and how I can relate to that as a (creative) person. It is now my life motto.
I am reading at the moment a number of poets. Fleur Adcock, Abigail Parry, Fiona Bennett, Sylvia Plath, DH Lawrence and listening to various Poetry Podcasts
I totally agree with you. I love the feeling I get when I lock into a poem and relate genuinely to its emotional resonance. Thanks so much for replying.
Charlee, thank you for sharing this deeply moving poem. I am struck by your courage and honesty in illuminating an inner experience so many struggle with yet hide in isolation.
Perhaps within revealing shared frailties lies community's seed; in naming darkness comes light.
Larry, might I ask - in your envisioning of eternity glimpsed through ever-changing landscape, what thoughts surface on our small yet steadfast role amid impermanence?
Your gentle prompts give much to lift the mind. Thank you for the gift of verse and the gratitude it sparks within this reader.
Dear Lucy Mary Ann, thank you for sharing your poem.
I'm left wondering - as truth contends with crowd-din, how might love's integrity guide the way through inclusion? Conversation, not confrontation, often opens new understandings. Again, thank you for the thoughtful lines - may writing continue to reveal life's deeper meanings.
I am the accumulated swarming of infinite movement delivering me to this single point of evolved profundity.
I, and everything within me is the service and the splendour of countless miracles all within one extraordinary, innefable dance of immaculate proportions.
It takes nothing to arrive here,. Yet I am lead to believe that I am required of, to lift heavy weight and drive myself harder towards an obvious end.
However, I am always at the end, as I am always at the beginning. The only question is, which way do I look? One leads to the inevitable, and the other to that which is no longer available, to that which will never be available again. Lost in the empty, contagious continuum of memory. Sustained only by an attention to it.
I am the arriving and the arrived. I am the becoming and the become. I am the Full Stop, directly positioned and secured in time. I am the Comma, paused and surrendered. I am also the TBC, longing for the the story to continue.
I most certainly will, good man. If you feel prompted to offer me a first line from your creative peophery, then I'd be excited to continue it. Think Mr Squiggle lol 😄
Thanks for this invitation! And thanks for your site here. I've begun a publication where I post my poems and reflections on striving for an attentive, creative life. https://hoppingoffhere.substack.com/
@augmented man, In lieu of a poem — for now. Just a heart note to you, in deep appreciation for the way your writing always opens up more space. What is truly impressive is your generous reading of each poem shared here, honoring the specificity of each voice. As I am struggling now to write amidst the destruction engulfing our worlds, thank you for this hopeful community building vision🙏♥️
🙏🙏🙏♥️♥️♥️💪🏻 As we used to say during the 2019 Democracy protests in HK, yes. Add Oil! 加油And we didn’t mean “ drill baby drill” but the fuel of our human spirits and actions!
Sharon, I hold your heart note gently,
May we continue finding the courage to write through these tumultuous winds, and in doing so, discover again the warmth of community and the promise of what we can build, side by side.
This is one I wrote in mid May of 2024. I read it, I stumbled upon it today, and it reads, as all things do, as a new perspective that feels much like looking back upon a chapter year just as I begin the next. In a sense, it is a commemoration of the space between us, the last time, the first time, and the next time, and the ever present hope that it will one day realize that it does not exist as an x-y plane, but rather, as a drop of blood, dropped swirling into an ever shifting ocean of perpetual motion. In order to stay afloat in any flood, you have to be willing to become the water itself, as even the strongest of ships will one day wash ashore like any other driftwood, and become something new. Again
Famine and Fiend
When Famine and Fiend
Reconvened
At The Feast,
Each recounted their efforts
From greatest, to least.
The Fiend, deftly grasping at
Straws to do lines
Of the last one it crossed
To invade the sound mind.
While The Famine explained
What succumbed to its will,
Was withdrawal of the brain
from a powder or pill.
When examined at depth
That has known ocean floors,
Fiend looks just like Famine;
Both dying for “More.”
Yet the inverse of that,
Undefined by a name
For the sick fearful lust that began as a game.
In a physical sense:
The inevitable fate
of the weight
of the want
of the thing
that we hate.
Famine and Fiend
Finally clean
Picked the bones
Of the unwary weary ones
They had called home
Ever-driven by want festering into need
That evades principle,
Is mistaken for greed,
Is a plague on the lives of the ones it observes,
While considering which hors d'oeuvres they should serve.
Lilith, your piece holds a raw view of how craving can devour from within. It reflects on that delicate shift when a want becomes an urgent pull. Truly striking work.
Today I heard you humming
Your private little hymn
I marvelled you were mine
In the beam of light
As it washed you out
A glow that warmed my eyes
And warmed me from within
This moment
This memory
That moved me so
That I'll miss you
This
I surely know
Now all I have of you
Is now and then
If I caress you in my mind
The scent and sight returns
I catch a crumb to savour
When I think back on the time
When I heard you humming
Your private little hymn
And I marvel you were mine
Otto, your lines brightened my day with gentle grace.
They lift the spirit, stirring reflection and gratitude in equal measure.
Thank you.
I love the “feel” of poetry and the compression of meaning at times. I am working on a collection of poems celebrating all the aspects of yin yang. Here is one called “Meet Yin Yang”:
A hill, any hill
anchored solidly
upon this spinning earth
Its side facing east
yang side
full of light
Its other side
yin side
full of dark
The hill remains
the hill
its shades
its light and dark
defines it
The daily rotation
earth toward sun
reverses the hills
yin and yang
Each side contains
the potential
of its opposite
yin in yang
yang in yin
cycling each day
with earth spin
its base mobile
all in balance
You may find more about me on my blog https://stacesplace.blog/ and my Substack here,
Thanks for sharing, Mike, this piece beautifully shows how dark and light shape each other, keeping us all in motion and balance
Not much to say about my poetry. But I enjoy sharing it, and you can find it on my Substack posts, if you're interested or curious........
Your poetry always warms the heart, Leon. Thank you for sharing!
Thanks immensely for the response! I’m looking forward to exploring yours…
Thanks for including me in this community. I'm about to launch my community on Monday and I was cruising the site to feel the vibe when I came across your community ;)
These are a few lines I wrote while thinking about what it means to be connected to everything and how I can relate to that as a (creative) person. It is now my life motto.
"Between the line of my pencil
And the stroke of my brush
There is no difference.
Between the gesture formed by my hand
And what is not yet expressed
There is no difference."
Between gesture and silence, the essence of all that is unseen flows freely. Beautiful words, Maryan, as if the soul murmurs through the void.
Thanks for your comment!
I think striving for that is the growth path of “living beings with reflexive minds” ;)
So beautifully put, Maryan! It warms my heart
Am writing a haiku book….slowly!
Haiku remind us with their brief crisp wordings, that we are merely visitors on our swirling planet Earth
Thank you for your thoughtful reflection, Terry
My original poem
Out my window
Ice held tree
Captives of the season
I am reading at the moment a number of poets. Fleur Adcock, Abigail Parry, Fiona Bennett, Sylvia Plath, DH Lawrence and listening to various Poetry Podcasts
Poetry enriches our shared language and thoughts—thank you for sharing, Charlie
I totally agree with you. I love the feeling I get when I lock into a poem and relate genuinely to its emotional resonance. Thanks so much for replying.
Thank you for this opportunity to share my work and read the truly lovely words of other writers!
I write haikus and free verse in my notes and long form essays and stories in my posts - Ellie Thompson - Everyday Adventures
Soft, sweet waves today
Catching the sun with each rise
Geese swim in a row
https://substack.com/@elliethompson/note/c-69669107?r=tvyhb&utm_medium=ios&utm_source=notes-share-action
What a lovely and calming piece, Ellie. Your words create such a serene and gentle scene.
She sits in her room after school
Thinking about how she wished she could be cool
Nobody cared about her
She was just another person, another blur
She hides deep inside
She can't find her way out
She constantly tries
But she constantly fails
Not knowing when this will end
She keeps going
Staying strong for her friends
Hiding her true self
She always comes to school with a smile
But she feels like she's walking miles
Nobody cares
Nobody listens
She screams inside in pain
She won't reach out for help
Her mom slowly dying
But she as well is dying on the inside
She doesn't have a purpose
She is constantly feeling worthless
It feels as if she lives in a circus
Everything and everybody going a thousand miles an hour
But sometimes she wishes she could jump from the tower
Scolding hot showers
To burn away the pain
Chewing gum to feel less hungry
She wishes she wasn't angry
She hates herself
She was only twelve
Twelve and diagnosed with something that isn't scared to affect many others
She's now fifteen
She wants to feel like a queen
But everybody was way too mean
She has a guy that likes her
She is constantly asking why he cares
He said "because I love you"
Those words hit her hard
She has never heard them before
Because her heart was always being torn apart
Depression kills
Anxiety scares
She wishes she was normal
But she will never change
Charlee, thank you for sharing this deeply moving poem. I am struck by your courage and honesty in illuminating an inner experience so many struggle with yet hide in isolation.
Perhaps within revealing shared frailties lies community's seed; in naming darkness comes light.
Your gift is a gesture of healing.
PASSAGES
Come with me to view the sea
to wonder at its eternity.
We’ll leave our sinking morass
for freedom from class against class.
But the ocean’s beckoning bright
now gives us cause for fright.
The warming waters are rising fast
and our golden coasts cannot last.
Maybe to the hills we go,
avoiding forests with fires aglow.
Or maybe go to the polar climes
warming to pleasant summertimes.
But when life is almost spent
we realize nothing is permanent.
If we could wind back time
could we create monuments sublime?
History hardly remembers and
its errors are but glowing embers.
We will slip from history’s grip
as we embark on dawn’s bright trip.
© 2024 Larry Kilham
Larry, might I ask - in your envisioning of eternity glimpsed through ever-changing landscape, what thoughts surface on our small yet steadfast role amid impermanence?
Your gentle prompts give much to lift the mind. Thank you for the gift of verse and the gratitude it sparks within this reader.
In the depths of my entire being
I cling to truth and wisdom
Shivering, flailing, engulfed in hesitation
Tears flood my goose-bumped skin
Mortifying echoes of non-existent
Crying out as my heart beats hard
Against the rib cage received from Adam
Not an appendage to be cast out
But a fruitful, loving, caring human
Who won't be silenced by the noisy crowd
Of MAGAs, or Donald, or JD
It will not be for I stand as a testament to better things
Values, Love, Integrity, and Inclusion instead of
Stolen Valor, Lies, Implosion, and extinguishing of human will
Dear Lucy Mary Ann, thank you for sharing your poem.
I'm left wondering - as truth contends with crowd-din, how might love's integrity guide the way through inclusion? Conversation, not confrontation, often opens new understandings. Again, thank you for the thoughtful lines - may writing continue to reveal life's deeper meanings.
I am the arriving.
I am the accumulated swarming of infinite movement delivering me to this single point of evolved profundity.
I, and everything within me is the service and the splendour of countless miracles all within one extraordinary, innefable dance of immaculate proportions.
It takes nothing to arrive here,. Yet I am lead to believe that I am required of, to lift heavy weight and drive myself harder towards an obvious end.
However, I am always at the end, as I am always at the beginning. The only question is, which way do I look? One leads to the inevitable, and the other to that which is no longer available, to that which will never be available again. Lost in the empty, contagious continuum of memory. Sustained only by an attention to it.
I am the arriving and the arrived. I am the becoming and the become. I am the Full Stop, directly positioned and secured in time. I am the Comma, paused and surrendered. I am also the TBC, longing for the the story to continue.
TBC...
Mattie, thanks for sharing this poem. It made me think about the bigger questions about our lives, and how we can make the most of the time we have.
I like that you left the poem "TBC," because it's got me thinking about how we can keep the conversation going.
Please continue as inspiration moves you.
I most certainly will, good man. If you feel prompted to offer me a first line from your creative peophery, then I'd be excited to continue it. Think Mr Squiggle lol 😄