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#Poem
Latest posts tagged with #Poem on Bluesky
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They never showed me the photo of me, just glanced down, spoke as they looked at their screen, and said I looked “really, really happy.” Was it them, them wondering aloud, hinting they couldn’t work out why. My hair had been braided by a sister’s hands: two neat partings, black‑tinted plaits, the kind that make you feel immaculate. She’d given me a lift, promised to pick me up again, worried about me in the dark, even in a taxi, among all those trees. It could have been a celebration post, a birthday moment, a best‑of‑me snapshot, but it wasn’t.
#poem #poetry
They never showed me the photo of me,
just glanced down,
spoke as they looked at their screen,
and said I looked
“really, really happy.”
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Re lambing & castration on #CountryFile 15/3/2026, my WalkaboutsVerse #poem, with #photos, "A Good Life" walkaboutsverse.blogspot.com/2011/03/walk...
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LABOR POEM OF THE WEEK
Excerpted from A Woman’s Labor by Geraldine Connolly
Read more at tinyurl.com/2cwjhbms
#Poetry #Poem #workingwomen
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Why hurting yourself?
Why being addictive then?
you replace true love...
#love #haiku #vss #poem #poetry #writing #amwriting #micropoetry #poems #jkpg #mpy #nassjo #ormaryd #allyouneedislove
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#vss365 #poetry #poem
74.1 ONE FINAL FIX [snippet]
tasted
the indecipherable
and something inside
#assured him it was
home
◾◾◾
Full text on the blog:
grimeandshadows.blogspot.com/2026/03/one-...
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Unanswers That Explain Why
© Surazeus
2026 03 15
#Poetry #Poem #Pastoral #Necropastoral #MetaModernism #Transrealism #NewSublimity #NewRomanticism #AmericanDream #Cinemism #Existentialism #Surrealism #NegativeCapability #NewGnosticism #MetaRealism #NewTranscendentalism #Astarism
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#poetry A dialogue full of great still-to-be-realized promise. 20 years ago, 2 N. American poet/ translators sat down to talk about #RUMI & #HAFEZ in #Tehran #IRAN 🙏https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0Ekl0vejJNI
Remembering Robert BLY (1926-2021)
& Coleman BARKS (1937-2026)
#poem #Sufism #Persian ☮️
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What's Julia's deal?
When she isn't pouring drinks
Is her sofa warm?
#poem #poetry #haiku #haikuoftheday #poemsky #haikusky #arethoselasttwothings ?
#thischarmingcaramel
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My final submission
for the Foolish Thoughts Almanac
2025
got gazumped
by a writer with an ordinary mind.
I cried into the night,
words turning around,
no peace for a loser,
no vision for the blind.
#WeirdMicro #FinalSubmission #poem #writing #writingcommunity
@weirdmicro.bsky.social
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That wintered snow‑scene sky was not as hopeless as I thought. Watercolour pencils, layering and building texture, shimmering its moon, smudging shadows into existence. But I saw that too late, realised it only when I was happy with the results of it snipped into a vase, its blue as relevant now not as sky but as water. And that robin I made, the one I promised I would teach children to make too, shaped from a bank’s green‑brown leaflet and a scrap of red card, found a place in their newsletter. I want to be a watercolour painting left unshown, one I think nothing good can become of any more, snipped into pale, bright, heart‑tipped tulips and buds until you cannot see my original attempt, set again in an abandoned, coloured‑in sky that becomes water for a vase.
#Poem #Poetry
That wintered snow‑scene sky
was not as hopeless
as I thought.
Watercolour pencils,
layering and building texture,
shimmering its moon,
smudging shadows
into existence.
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“This place is crying out for her; waiting / for that quickening step again.”
~ A #poem by Ruth Carr in memory of Mary Ann McCracken (1770-1866), one of the foremothers 🍀
irishpages.org/product/afte...
#MothersDay
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Here's my latest published poem at Dissident Voice:
dissidentvoice.org/2026/03/the-...
#poetry #resist #poem
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My Name Is… My name is… Daughter, sister, mom, grandma, friend and confidant. Shy child, evolved into a strong-willed woman. My name is… Former Republican and Independent. Now a Democrat. Liberal, woke, so called “radical left”, with an empathetic heart. My name is… Gemini—an air sign. Curious and expressive. Sometimes restless, and definitely a procrastinator. My name is… Brenda— Writer and poet.
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She arrived blue, with a midwife alert to a nuchal cord, her cord looped once around her neck. Grandma would say she must have danced in the womb, turning to her mother's love of music and radio, and that was how her life began, to be one day a more and most musical one. To be someday sure of telling her children they were an almost rare caul birth, an amniotic sac of fortunes and folklore to arrive in. And I, her sister, was the first born child, a late child, due in July but lingering as long as allowed into August. The consultant, Dr Davies, whom Mum said looked like the actor Adam Chance in Crossroads, told her he had never seen so much hair on a newborn, likening mine to Shirley Temple’s. And Grandma, out in the garden, held me up to the light, wanting to see the auburn in it.
This piece began as a response to a James Berry prompt at Marjorie’s Table. It grew into a Mother’s Day poem about the stories my family carried. #Poem #Poetry #MothersDay
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REAL YOU -- a poem and song by BBB
#Poetry #Poem
REAL YOU
by Bill Kochman
https://www.billkochman.com/Poetry
12-07-2023
Once you peel off all the layers,
So I can see who you really are,
Then I will make a determination,
If you truly leave my mouth ajar.
There's no need to hide yo
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From Tom Leonard’s INTIMATE VOICES 1965–1983 (Galloping Dog Press, 1984)
#poem #poetry #smallpoemsunday
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Cumbersome arrangement of ships
subspacewagon.systems/cumbersome-a...
#Poetry #PoemADay #PoetryCommunity #Poem #TodaysPoem #WritingCommunity
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“If You Still Have Your Mom TO HUG Tell Them You Love, PLEASE DO IT NOW! I Miss you, Mom #RIP” -Aspen @AspenBrave at BlueSky @Write2Fite X (Illustration of a mother figure drawn on wall & a little girl hugging the illustration)
six years yesterday
a global pandemic declared
little did I know
my beloved Momma’s days
would not even see March go
it #assured I’ll be
staring at death’s date I hate
I am her baby
missing the #warmth of Mom’s way
& her love every second of everyday
#BraveWrite #vss365
#Poetry #Poem
#RIPMomma 🕯️
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The inspiration mostly wants nothing to do with me today, so I’m borrowing this one and using it twice. It’s a blend of bad science and mediocre poetry. Enjoy!
#poem, #poetry #nonsenseftw #youveneverseenyhishashtagbefore
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Re "This Land is Your Land" (Woody Guthrie), my WalkaboutsVerse #poem, with #photos, on "Land Rights" walkaboutsverse.blogspot.com/2011/05/walk...
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3-line poem entitled "Breathe": Deep breaths, thoughts controlled– rescue me from the weight of our collective grief. Chandra Tyler Mountain iamchandralynn.com
Breathe...
#poem #micropoem #haiku #smallpoemsunday #skypoets #BlueSkyPoetry #poetrycommunity
@blueskypoetry.bsky.social
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The Mother George Mackay Brown On Monday she stood at the wooden wash-tub, Suds to the elbow, A slave among the storm-gray shirts and sheets. Tuesday, she pegged the washing high – The garden a galleon in the gale! Then lamplight, the iron, the crisp sun-smelling folds. The rooms thrummed with Gaelic rhythms A low monotone, on a Wednesday (And every day), ancient Celtic work-spells. She was never free like the lipsticked shop-girls On Thursday afternoon; all her tasks Were like bluebells in a jar on the window-sill. On Friday she rose above textures of oat and barley Into the paradise of cakes. I licked cream from the wooden spoon. Saturday night, I followed her basket and purse. The grocer, silver-spectacled, was king Of the apples, cheeses, syrup, sweetie-jars, cloves. We sat, seven, in the high pew on Sunday. After the psalms, her paper poke Made sweet thunders all through the sermon.
On Monday she stood at the wooden wash-tub,
Suds to the elbow,
A slave among the storm-gray shirts and sheets…
—George Mackay Brown, “The Mother”
published in TRAVELLERS, Hachette 2014
#MothersDay #poem #poetry
www.hachette.co.uk/titles/none/...
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sparse minimalism empty space filled with money wealthy aesthetic
#haiku #poem #poetry #book #BlurbBooks
Minor Transient Documents of Everyday Life are three line recipes, short stories, jokes, riddles, science projects, love notes, horrors, confessions, and memories. A collection of haiku written between the years 2022-2024. buy it - www.blurb.com/b/1242...
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For My Mother Iain Crichton Smith She is tougher than me, harder. Elephant body on a miniature stool keels when rising till the drilled stick plants it upright. Rock fills the false room who has more air about her. Kneaded life like good butter. Is at seventy not afraid of the perished dead who spit and rear snarling at me, not her, though forty years younger. Not riches do I wish me nor successful power. This only I admire to roll the seventieth sea as if her voyage were to truthful Lewis rising, most loved though most bare at the end of a rich season.
She is tougher than me, harder.
Elephant body on a miniature stool
keels when rising till the drilled stick
plants it upright…
—Iain Crichton Smith, “For My Mother”
from New Collected Poems, @carcanet.bsky.social 2011
#MothersDay #poem #poetry
www.carcanet.co.uk/978185754960...
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This is so good:
the sore of her scalp, I could
only think of how mothers
and daughters ladder, egg grown
inside egg, stretching backward
#poetry #poem #splitlipmag @splitlipthemag.bsky.social
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