I cannot see the bird that sings Only hear its tune, threaded into the quiet. It comes at dawn a soft call to the sun, a hymn to light, then silence. It retreats. Not for fear, but for fullness. Its work is done. And in the hush that follows, I remember: Creation does not exist […]
And the trees begin to whisper like they are sharing a secret that only they can hear But if I’m very quiet And very clear I can hear it too *In silence, nature, everything becomes clear, it’s as if we too become our natural selves and blend into the breath of the earth, the breeze. […]
There is the head With thoughts that churn This world turning, spinning. All. Everything . Thoughts. Feelings . Regurgitation and recycled meanings No morning will ever exist that I don’t wake into it Thinking And feeling Vibrating butterfly wings momentarily beating against the walls of my existence Yet|and |but |and I The sun warms my […]
Shadows appear as the sun rises to light their dark form Delayed reality The thoughts were there before dawnFrom the time I woke upThey circledlike the crows I now observeBlack as pitchThey kettle boilCryingArk Ark ohhhI send my rumination to their wings“Take them flying” I singAnd the crowslaunch into the sky.The sun risesThe world tilts […]
Singing up the sunThey comeBlack and white birdsMonochrome coloursSinging mellifluous wordsThat I hear from beneath my covers
by Anne R. Allen This week I’ve been hit hard by signs that publishing industry bloggers are disappearing into the Substack world of “become a paid … Bloggers Are Still Important to the Publishing World, but They’re Disappearing I read the above post today and wondered, “are blogs dissipating into SubStack? As a person who […]
The revolution of a spiral. A circle. The wind-chime sound of movement. If all we are doing is constantly changing, who are we to claim authenticity? What does authenticity resemble when the self is disassembling daily? Somewhere in all the motion — the incomplete decisions, the conflicting inner opinions — is a small, anchored “I.” […]
If I take this story in my hands It is less than perfect The steps that get us to where we are Are rarely beautiful They look quirky Different lengths Patterns Some will leave splinters in your hands As a warning Don’t do that again Behind every masterpiece Is a dumpster Full of rubbish But […]
Cradling the warm bowl of soup I sip palms tingle as I hug the bowl Heated liquid slides down my throat and starbursts fill my chest All I have I offer to you and my hands are no less warm my heart no less heated for what is shared becomes multiplied *Care is more than […]
Writing with Kate @athousandbitsofpaper YassyInk runs from my soul Spilling liquid vocablesEnduring Silently coming undone kate Thought runs to … An Inked Universe
