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Search Refresh Sep 11
Read today's Poem-a-Day: Ricardo Alberto Maldonado's "A Few Things Are Explained To Me."
Reply Retweet Like Sep 6
My sister does not understand that there is too much to overcome between them— always the memory of the black dress grandmother refused to wear on the day of her husband’s funeral— the way she turned to my mother and said, I am not in mourning. —Hali Sofala-Jones
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Sara Sep 7
I listen to language to sing songs and you listen to me. The words I don't say, biting my nails till they bleed. I listen to music, lost love makes me cry but the tears don't belong to my eyes.
Reply Retweet Like Sep 10
Read today's Poem-a-Day: Margo Tamez's "Father replays the funeral in Dream #28."
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Quixotic Poems Sep 12
My heart aches for the past But I’ll stay hopeful. I’ll keep searching for you. •••
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Quixotic Poems Sep 12
When I wake up In the middle of the night I imagine that you’re by my side Whispering everything will be alright. •••
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Rebekah Webb 5h
Don't feed the eyes You find on the back Of your head Starve them
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bashful dragon 21h
I feel strange tonight memory drops trail my face Warm salt water taste
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Old Woman’s Chair 3h
Replying to @JustCanadianGal
Always a stop sign then church or two Sometimes the strips. Wendy Micmac timmies and home hardware ctc stores Go through Algonquin park and there is a stretch of just trees and lakes. Prettiest. Highway seven east it is
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carpenocta-m Sep 7
memoriam dolorum- "power was abused, the strong survived"
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They taste the edge Of August, they need No more: they have rose vapors, flushed silence, pulpy milkweed. —Joseph Auslander
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Melisa Quigley Sep 8
Write a or a about this picture. Here are my attempts: Yelling Fist clenched Holding bet Horses thundering Around the track Did it win? Do I collect?
Reply Retweet Like Sep 12
The things we see the other do collapse words into yucca bone. The Navajo word for eye hardens into the word for war. —Jake Skeets
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Sara 6h
1/2 She breathes in whispers, exhales stardust. One willow the wisp away from home. Her feet sing, dancing past hedgerows ripe with bulbous sloes. Tonight she doesn't stop. Her path, familiar from crossroads to barn. The nights merge into one, a journey
Reply Retweet Like Sep 10
Father points: “in this empty space” he twirls his fingers a slow spiral. I nod to him: “I see. I’ll remember this for you.” —Margo Tamez
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bRyCe A cReAtIvE Sep 14
breathing carefully a house of cards stands next to two piles of dust of course, I've missed a few days
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Slade Meadows 9h
500 Maybe the stars traded places, Or maybe the moon Shed a cycle, But ever since that night I haven’t been able to see you Under the same light.
Reply Retweet Like Sep 13
| climbing down the drainage of red rock | sweet minted plants | Robert | my father | father of five all born in Arizona | Robert stops to catch his breath then rips bamboo from root | clouded red dust clumps dropping | this is where he was born —Steven Alvarez
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come in all are welcome who believe —Aria Aber
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As if some patient peasant God had rubbed and rubbed the Alpha and Omega of Form into a lump of metal A naked orientation unwinged unplumed —Mina Loy
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