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Prompt for 12 March
-Vast expanse-
Spread out, covering a great distance, like the sea or depths of space, the span of time, or the distance felt between hearts and souls.
From the vault: Second thought
The #vastexpanse
of the cosmos
so wide and
encompassing
how can our minds
comprehend such
far flung majesty?
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Chasm between us,
A vast expanse that mocks what
Closeness we might share.
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on the #fringe
of society
looking from
the outside
sees all the
mistakes
yet set apart
an objective view
yet villified
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Crackpot theories on
The fringe of science, applied
To statewide healthcare.
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#rustling leaves
in the autumn
as a cold wind blows
they hang on
as long as possible
but lose their grip
and float down
to the earth
to land softly
before being
swept away
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Prompt for 10 March
-Rustling-
A soft sound, wind blowing through leaves or tall grass. Cloth or paper caught in motion.
From the vault: Uphold
Sultry syllables sway through my insomnia like a hung-up jukebox in a chintzy bar -- veilmotion rustling behind yellowed curtains. Why is it that I have to be an island, and can't engage? Those bricks, once serving as a defence, have now become my prison. As sleep won't come, I sift through my brain for a solution. I'm scared of love. But now, I'm even more scared of not being able to love you the way you deserve it. I wish, I'd find the harmony you need. And while I heal myself, there is another fear, I face, and I pray to fate that my tenderness won't show too late. © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree
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Sultry syllables sway through my insomnia like a hung-up jukebox in a chintzy bar -- veilmotion rustling behind yellowed curtains.
Why is it that I have to be an island, and can't engage? Those bricks,...
1/3
Rustling bushes,
Tiny bird turf war among
Thickets and hedgerows.
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#OurPoetryX #Prompt #engage @ourpoetryx.bsky.social
bell hooks (1994) asserts creative expression is practice of freedom,
way to make oneself legible in the world while simultaneously asserting autonomy over one’s body and mind. The author’s hands exemplify this principle: by creating [we engage].
What time is breakfast? I could go about it like a hard-wired predator, and get something to eat in an instant. Or, I could stretch out a bit longer, like the queen of a silver-rose throne. Then you could let go of your restraint, and paint your passion on my skin with your bristle chin, your gentle lips, your tender tongue, turn my words into moans, as your fingers whisper along my... And when the light still lingers at the sight of dusk, I would sift cinnamon hearts onto our breakfast lattes, while you pop fragrant, freshly baked rolls out of the oven. © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree
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What time is breakfast?
I could go about it like a hard-wired predator, and get something to eat in an instant.
Or, I could stretch out a bit longer, like the queen of a silver-rose throne. Then you could...
1/3
#Stretchout
the weekly funds
to cover
the necessities
of life
as prices rise
and promises
echo hollow
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You can stretch out
and reach past
the stars and planets in the sky,
beyond infinity itself,
until nothing is left
but
unanswered questions.
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Taking a moment
To stretch out my emotions,
Seizing up from use.
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Prompt for 9 March
-Stretch out-
It’s easy to pull in tight. We focus, tend to our needs, defend ourselves. But this all creates tension. We need to stretch out our muscles, emotions, thoughts to let them breathe anew.
From the vault: Engage
He's rambling
needs to stop
#pauseforbreath
and goes on
but never notices
his audience has
long tuned him out.
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#sharpintake
of breath at
the discovery
of an incriminating
fact that could be
used against
an enemy
the smirk says
volumes.
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Little kitten
headbutts
your hand
wanting to be
petted
a little #whiskered face
a plaintive meow
tugs at your heart.
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Prompt for 8 March
-Whiskered-
Whether a cat or your particular fox, silver or otherwise, the brush of whiskers can send chills as they find their way around in the dark.
From the vault: Restrain
The far side of the moon -- I wonder what it looks like as I feel whiskered lips on my neck Whisky breath moistly whispers "Trust the warmth you can't yet feel" But I feel fingers peel away layers of my clothes as if they had an appointment with piquant bogland The far side of the moon -- Are there boglands? I wonder as garments are scattered haphazardly over the floor the whiskered whisky breath now whispering to my breast how it adores such innocence as it moves down towards my frostline -- chills move up my spine The far side of the moon -- I'd rather be there, now, than here in this nightmarish somnolence where gentle gesture is flipping the bird on me and whiskered whisky breath is spellbound by the fact I neither gave assent nor consent to its explorations Afterwards, I feel like garbage But it's not me, it's he who is the POS © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree
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The far side of the moon --
I wonder what it looks like
as I feel whiskered lips on my neck
Whisky breath moistly whispers
"Trust the warmth you can't yet feel"
But I feel fingers peel away layers
of my...
1/4
My whiskered little
Friend whispers a meow, a
Cute way to get treats.
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Prompt for 7 March
-Sharp intake-
That gasp of breath meant to flood your body with oxygen to help it act, think, and react. The suddenness hits me… how quickly the subconscious awakens, how quickly we become hyper-alert.
From the vault: Adore
Wordle 1,722 4/6
⬜⬜🟨⬜⬜
⬜⬜🟨⬜🟩
⬜🟩⬜🟨🟩
🟩🟩🟩🟩🟩
Freedom starts at the foot of my bed. It could just as well start at the other end of the world. The raven flies through the room and lands on the head of my prison made from blankets, and pillows. This foul fowl is staring at my eyes as if they were precious pieces of jewellery to steal. Her enchanting voice echoes through the cave not found on any map, alluding to what once was love, when she calls me 'honey' with aculeate aggressions. Cold mornings still sting. A seasonal sensuality that matches the sharp intake of poisoned honey she forces down my throat, every day. Enough to make my intestines scream, but not enough to end this torture. I hear sand crunch beneath her steps, as she circles in on me. Something shiny flashes in the candlelight. If I only was strong enough to move. Instead, her merciless retribution slowly washes over me, each steady wave carrying me closer to my grave. I have no idea if there will ever bee a chance to get out of this. My eyes wander to the empty suitcase to my left. Probably not alive. Her athamé cuts through the skin on my chest like a quill that scratches over paper. I can't even scream, any more, as my blood starts flowing onto the sheets. Just like my tears. My gaze turns to the tiny floret growing inside a dark nook above me. I don't know how it can survive here. It might be the last thing I'll ever see. I shouldn't have forced myself on her, that night...
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Freedom starts at the foot of my bed.
It could just as well start at the other end of the world.
The raven flies through the room and lands on the head of my prison made from blankets, and pillows. This...
1/7
Head down, stinging sand,
A sharp intake of gritty
Air, praying for rain.
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She's never lived inside a box, nor has she ever fit inside any drawer. Yet, the world had got out of kilter, and this went beyond intentionally walking the cutting edge. Up was now down, and down was up, right was left, left was wrong, and wrong was right. Gums were crawling on floors, while heads were carried under arms, replaced by buttocks on top of necks, where shells softened, and cores hardened. It was like she was reading a boldly bad Picasso painting, fomenting urges, nocked, and shot directly from deranged, fishnetted hips. Suits didn't suit such screaming scum. The masks had fallen, and covert coats were no longer needed. Not for her, anyway. She paused for a deep breath. Her eye caught a greenflash. Then she watched in awe a four-leaved clover unfold, levitating in mid-air. It made her smile for a while, before it dissolved into golden dust that showered the floor, which was still crawling with gums. No need to be magnanimous, she thought. She'd simply opt for counting her blessings. © Stefanie Neumann - @KokopelliBFree
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She's never lived inside a box, nor has she ever fit inside any drawer. Yet, the world had got out of kilter, and this went beyond intentionally walking the cutting edge.
Up was now down, and down was up,...
/1
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Prompt for 6 March
-Pause for breath-
A moment before action or following too much excitement, a chance to think before speaking, or settle the nerves. Relax, breathe deep, and get back in there!
From the vault: Precious
A stream of consciousness
#pauseforbreath
and look around
to see if anyone is listening.
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A pause for breath, this
Relentless threat takes a toll,
Burdens of the soul.
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Lying
#inwait
to take
an opportunity
to exploit
the vulnerable
weak spot
in someone's
armour.
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