When I Sleep

showcase

Billowing cloud formations in tired pristine shades, glide
as comforting pillows dressed in satin’s sheen, and come to rest
over the young growth of feathery down; tremulous and tender,
they warm their feet in quilted beds of mother’s earthly brown.

A patchwork cloth spread forth tells of a sad love story
in the arid fields of wheat and hope and uninterrupted glory. Woven
threads of green and gold – embellished thoughts of rich tapestries,
are delicately edged with the lace of nature’s bold.

Lazy days and ravenous dreams unfold as I surrender my head
to many nights on crisp, dew sheets, where I think of you;
their coldness all but touches the warmer sky, and I succumb
to the wafting darkness of tonight’s lullaby.

Sultry expanses, tinged with our burnished gold, move when wind
swims among the grass, and their ripples wash away the cobwebs
of a dark summer’s night… I remember you and the autumn leaves
as we lay in fields of barley…

will you come to me while the straw remains untouched, and lay
with me in my field of dreams?

Daily Post prompt Clouds

Jitter #28

Education is key today. Armed with knowledge they would soon discover that they are rebelling against themselves ironically, hating themselves in the process, and hurting the rest of us.  On the bejitters blog there are other fascinating insights of the everyday, take a look, and ask that you make yourself known so that a reciprocal thang be formed  with you lovelies (and not so much leave a stamp here for me), but ty.

bejitters

The man gazed in amazement at the sight before him.

“I will grant you three wishes,” the genie said, his arms crossed, floating in mid-air as genies have been known to do.

The man looked around him, at  the rainbow of skin colors and ideologies surrounding him. There was a young woman wearing a hijab. There was a man with dark skin waiting for the bus.

“My first wish,” the man said gleefully, “is for all immigrants to go back where they came from.”

“Granted!” the genie toned in a loud voice, and in a flash, a small percentage of people disappeared from the streets. The young woman remained. The man waiting for the bus remained.

“What?” the man asked, his pale skin turning slightly red. “Why are they still here?”

“They are citizens just as you are, born in this country.”

The man was visibly struggling with his emotions. “All…

View original post 168 more words

For Marc Ching and the Yulin Animals

‘American activist Marc Ching risks his well-being to save dogs from the Yulin dog meat festival in China.
About 10,000 dogs are expected to be killed during the controversial event which started this Tuesday.’
I will not place an image because I am too considerate, and do not want to upset anyone – a huge part of me really wants to.  The news is out there if we wish to find it. Thanks to the tireless risks taken in his selfless endeavours, the numbers are slowly reducing… this year.

 

Yulin

on the inside they weep because
outside we cannot hear
on the inside they hurt because
outside we’re strangling them with gripping wire
on the inside they are petrified because
outside we don’t care about menus of ancient tradition
on the inside they are suffocating because
outside they stack wooden crates and metal cages, piled on top of death
on the inside a broken paw is nothing because…

…to those on the outside, waiting for food to cook,
it makes less work.

Singularity Markets

pople.png

Degeneration lines the inside
of a  whirlwind
falling into a cesspool
vortex –
a cesspool of
xenophobia, deflation,
unemployment.
As breakers we can resist
with words and heart and
even with vague utopian criteria,
not as individuals or retreating nations,
but as a whole and at the same level,
to make us a worthy opponent –
a force
to end
contempt for democracy.
Volunteer a voice worth listening to,
find out what it is we are agreeing to –
cut through opacity by piercing the closed
off shuffling of decision makers
and posturing on our behalf –
disrobe the silent decisions
hidden under secrecy’s shrouds –
balance sheets that shield
them from accountability.
Dismember ultra rightwing ideologies
that will rip apart all our festering
wounds – if we collapse it will rise.
Capitalism is colliding with democracy
and a centrifugal force at work
will tear us further apart,
unless we act together.

 

my life as a piece of string

... from a silent space

Letters on my Heart

The Broken Cannot Rise Alone...

Discarded Recollections

A Repository of Discarded Poetry, Story Prompts, and Memories

Lluís Bussé

Barcelona's Multiverse | Art | Culture | Science

The Lonely Author

Pain goes in, love comes out.

Light Touch

Just wondering at the miracle called LIFE .

The Stories In Between

Author River Dixon

Wezzlehead

poetry by Robert Ford

Rachana Trp.

Optimism is the faith that leads to achievement. Nothing can be done without hope and confidence.

Story Of The Footloose

In the end all you want is a pen that writes well and a life that you've lived well.

Megha's World

A potpourri of emotions

pouringtruth

Poetry and words

The Bouquet Gallery

A collection of beautiful things and thoughts

Stuff and what if...

Exploring writing and the creative randomness of life. Snapshots of moments.

Just Brian

"Not all who wander are lost..."

newtoneapblog

A Discarded Plant

A Cornered Gurl

I am more than breath & bones.

MY VALIANT SOUL

My poetry is my religion.

A Blooming Scribe

Poetry, short essays and other work showcased by a Scientist, Philosopher, and Adventurer. Posts on Monday and First Fridays.

Everyday Strange

Dark Writing and Strange Inspirations

The Broad Spectrum Life

Exploring Rhymes, Reasons, and Nuances of Our World

Elan Mudrow

Smidgens

David Redpath

We're all on a road to somewhere.

Seductive Darkness

Provocative poetry and musings on life

The Renegade Press

Tales from the mouth of a wolf

MYMonkey MIND

Your Brain is a Radio that Does What its Told

SentientVoice

Encouraging animal advocacy and compassion

Mark Deeble

A wildlife filmmaker in Africa

vividlyfoxxy

Just another WordPress.com site

Hearing The Mermaids Sing

At Least Trying Too

michnavs

Poetry by Mich

Frank Solanki

If you want to be a hero well just follow me

ALEX MARKOVICH ART

MarkovichUniverse AT gmail DOT com

johncoyote

Poetry, story and real life. Once soldier, busnessman, grandfather and Poet.

Musings Of An Autistic Mind

Channeling my thoughts about the world outside, and inside, into prose and poetry