The springtide wakes up not only in dreams. The snowdrops blooming in the moony garths. One listens to propitious paradise. The dearest graylag geese coming in flocks.
I think of genus Primula from afar. The wild boar piglets were born in a grove. I feel springwards the warmness of a soul. Native dreameries are fulfilled galore.
Springtide be primeval home of Naiads! I taste the verdure of some climes. You are dreamy like fairy-like bouts. The friends of springy morn – are tender owls.
I can praise, bewitch Ovidianly. Thus, I am able to enchant peaceably.
Naiad – definition through the haiku:
The tender Naiad a merest-guardian from the Dreamiest Greek stories
You can find more of Pawel’s work here on Ink Pantry.
What you want from me is something that I can’t Give you You want us to be together as one But that is something that I don’t want I just want to keep the sex and that is it You want to treat me like a lady but I like My life the way it is having indifferent men in my bedroom I am all about spreading the love I don’t want to give my love to just one man I want to give it to every man in Detroit I like to be wild and free between my sheets I told you when you came on I love convicts busting down my door I got a client tonight, he is a big shot lawyer, I am booked tonight so I ought to move some appointments around You want a woman that is only going to be with you only I told you when I met you at the club That my business and my clients come first I tried the romance and the faithful thing for years And I either got abused mentally and physically You say it will be different with you But I have heard that line before from different men Sorry I just can’t take that chance You’re a great guy but not for me I love my love in the microwave, not cooked from scratch
Latoya Kidd has been writing stories since she was in high school. She met a student who inspired her to become a writer and he is her inspiration. When Latoya graduated from Central High school in 2000, she enrolled in Prince George’s Community College. She met a man who was also her instructor, Barry McCalla. He helped shape her writing and the result is that Latoya got her first fiction story published called ‘Waiting for my African Prince to Return’. Latoya has published other fiction stories like ‘Backdoor Woman’. All of these fiction stories were published in Reflection magazine at Prince George’s Community college. Latoya has also published fictions, non-fictions and poems in the Amulet magazine, Conceit magazine, Ultimate Writer magazine, and the Spiritual Magazine.
Part of me stays in the damp office that smells of keyboards, printers and an admin who smells like the machines.
Another part of me wanders with the last autumn raindrop and slides to the earth, relishing the mud, grazing the worms and inhaling their earthy scent.
This vagabond further wanders and breathes with the tiny heart of a red Lacewing pauses by the burning redwood, shelters in a shaking palm leaf before turning back to the office, awaiting the return of my lifeless part.
Trees and Rain
The clouds pucker and upon meeting no resistance, pour down. The ridges in the pine loosen, listening to the thunder. The maple displays its rich red skin, glistening with water. A winged Samara detaches itself from the maple, teases the closest leaf, spreads its papery wings and lands on me, as I huddle in a corner near my window. My eyes are glued to the red delicate bark and I inhale the mild odour of the misty pines, finding my paradise at last.
Padmini Krishnan was raised in India and now resides in Singapore. She writes free verse poetry, haiku, and short stories. Her recent works have appeared in the Ariel Chart, Mad Swirl, Page&Spine, The Literary Yard, Spillwords, and World of Myth.
Winter approaching, the elk will retreat. The flames are burning in luxury. Embrace virtual warmth, It is a designated action for those who lack love.
Drink this unforgettable ice spring. Practicing giving up is more dangerous than rock climbing. Forget the monopolized narrative, No matter how many devices are installed in the world.
The shadows overlap, and the dream is on the verge of fragmentation, Broke into the heart of the planet. Why treat snowflakes as imaginary enemies, loners?
Such is life in the voter’s booth Hurry up, there is a line NO! The time is mine Prop. Three is uncouth I need to move to Duluth No more TAX! Underline Don’t forget to sign Truth is not Truth I am headed to the door Three hours grave yard dead No to, Pollsters ambassadors Going home for beer and bread Vote here nevermore Shave shower and bed
Lauren
Washington the place of her hart Heavenly beauty happy hunger Running for Utah Bar’s gossoon out cast man Deep velvet Azure of the sky Zig Zag maze of dark Clambering for help White Ivory crucified in a car Death Pew for the guilty Brief gestures haunting remorse
On the Fifth Day
Blessed are Dogs that smile and wag their tail. Blessed are Cats that climb trees to the top. Blessed are Birds that sing at dawn and dusk Blessed are Turtles that never stop walking. Blessed are Squirrels that gather nuts. Blessed are Gold Fish that swim, swim, and swim. Blessed are Horses that let you ride them.
A Little Drunk
I am always a little drunk I feel too much Even as a child Perhaps the opposite I remember how at Eighteen The price fell to the floor At afternoon coffee I eat Easter eggs Perhaps the opposite Healthy robust and subtle I feel too much
Euclid
I wake at Cockcrow Burning still is Venus Gait to antecedent Java Precipitating Euclid Ave. Gamble a crosswalk traverse Initial stride ceased Snot-green conveyance Truck Malaise my Death Bed Scrotumtening the Cross walk Florin Ghost Candle Light
Terry Brinkman has been painting for over forty five years. He started creating poems. He has five Amazon E- Books, also poems in Rue Scribe, Tiny Seed, Jute Milieu Lit and Utah Life Magazine, Snapdragon Journal, Poets Choice, In Parentheses, Adelaide Magazine, UN/Tethered Anthology and the Writing Disorder.
You can find more of terry’s work here on Ink Pantry.
