lichtbringer

🐻

Oh this is adorable 😭😭😍❤️

Thank you so so much, that really means a lot!! 🙏🏻❤️✨

“Trying to love myself / The way I thought you did” — Oh this is heartbreaking 💔 And what a brilliant line and ending for your poem 👏👏

I hope you’ll feel better soon, sending lots of positive energy ✨❤️

Awesome rhyme scheme in this piece 👏👏 Very well done!

Thank you so much, Jan!! 🙏🏻❤️❤️

storm-salted ocean
spinning her hair to seaweed
selkie woman

#haiku
#DailyHaikuPrompt

Morning @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk
In 2016, Scientists at Liverpool Uni worked out that the genetic mutation that led to the peppered moth having black wings, took place in a 10yr window around 1819. Darwin was born in 1809. #PoemsAbout #breakthemould #naturalselection #poetry

This may sound weird but I found the brevity so fitting because it reminded me of a moth’s lifespan, which is also pretty short! So in other words, I loved how the form of the poem complemented and augmented its content! A brief flutter of little wings.

This is again so profound and powerful, your contributions stun me every week! 👏👏

You have such a huge knowledge of culture, the arts, science, history, everything! — it puts me to awe! There are so many layers of meaning & allusions! I found this piece to be a little time machine, transporting me back into Emily’s world. Wonderfully elegant writing! ❤️

Wow, so much beautiful language throughout this wonderful poem! Especially the second stanza overflows with gorgeousness. Just a pleasure to read! ❤️

“when they were pried from their molds / at the same industrial complex / as red lights and stop signs” Really, really loved that part! The whole piece is dark & gritty but also powerful and vivid, I can imagine each of these characters in my mind like some ominous figures drawn by Edward Gorey

A really creative take on the prompt and a great poem, so much brilliance in such few words! Every word sits and fits perfectly!

Welcome to #PoemsAbout Jen!! 😃 Yes, you absolutely did everything right! A stunning piece!

That first stanza is just utter perfection and so is the ending! You really wow me every week!!

The fourth stanza!!

“where that’s-hard-to-believe is real”

Absolutely brilliant! 👏👏

Light // Lemur He certainly broke the mould, the way he perched away from all of us; us seagulls and him the pelican on a cliff that only knows down, only knows how to feel in jaggedness and steep stone, resurrecting some storm or another, nourishing his fear with his own blood like a god-fearing child at Sunday school, discovering that yes, to go to heaven, honey, you must die. I offer him a cigarette, he declines; his sand-colored cap so low in his face as if shielding his eyes from a sky that has always been a little too bright for him. He hasn’t cut his hair in months and now it is shaggy like the fur of a homeless dog, matted with loneliness and collared to no one. His best trick has always been disappearing, it seems. In the mornings when I am still too drunk on the pills to be much of anything, I stumble my way next to him to where he huddles in the doorway like a heap of bones that the gravediggers forgot. I ask him how he feels and wordlessly, he retreats from me like a tide, inwards to where, I am guessing, there must be a maelstrom pulling the water, the threads of kelp and floods of fish and all words with them underground. I give him money to go to the zoo with me, to see the lemurs, with their tails striped black and white like swirls of Zebra laugh, ivory and licorice, monochrome candy canes, because I know that he likes those and has nowhere else to be. Between aviaries and cages, he suddenly gets excited about shooing owls and birds hidden behind foliage and bars, just like he is, too exotic for anyone of us to know his name or whereabouts or the voice in which he might still sing when no one is listening. In the evening he sits on the dilapidated sofa in the cold-floored foyer, drawing graffiti, while I have to fill out some test that they gave me, combing through the silt of myself for personality disorders; it’ll be the only test I will ever score in high. He asks me if he can paint on my hand with his Chinese ink pen and whil…

too low and the highs too sick, drifting out of time and world and grasp like the blurred incense of fever. At night we slip off to the men’s bathroom like foxes or thieves to smoke in secret, sometimes just the two of us, sometimes ten people or more, and between talk of our least successful suicide attempts we extinguish the stubs on the window sill, leaving long streaks of spit and ash, like some crude sort of cave painting, we were here we were here we were here. Sometimes, there is an emergency in the hallway or a warden on the prowl and we are trapped in that bathroom suddenly scared of discovery like a giddy flock of little girls. 3am is either a congregation of ghosts or of psych ward patients exchanging memories like the rarest kind of black market cigarettes. We watch Silent Hill on his world-weary laptop in the dingy curtained stillness of his room and finally he unfurls a bit like something that is not quite sure if it should blossom or wilt. He was born prematurely, he says, and would not have survived without a C-section, but, looking back, he thinks the doctors should just have let him die, then and there, a peaceful little pile of nothing, way before he knew the gunpowder tang of violence, before he could fester into too much of everything, a constant war. But they took him out of his mother, unasking and unapologetic, and placed him under a battalion of red hot heating lamps like a frightened worm-starved chick or a calf too weak to grow on its own, catapulted him into a life he did not think he deserved and that he did not know how to love or to make sense of. Because of the constant crimson glare, his first word had been light, he tells me, and in that moment I know that my first word will forever be the way I stutter his name when he kisses me right on my dumbstruck mouth, as I fall silent, for the first time, as if life itself had struck a match in the dark.

A photograph of the person this poem is about. He holds his hand in front of his face and the rest of his face that was still visible I have crossed out for privacy reasons. I asked him for permission to share this picture and he said sure, since you can’t see my face anyway. He doesn’t like pictures of himself existing on the internet, he’s very particular about that. The photo was taken on the grounds of the university hospital complex where we were both patients in the psychiatric clinic at the time & where we met for the first time.

For #PoemsAbout #BreakTheMould ✨

for @thebrokenspine.co.uk
& @alanparrywriter.co.uk

A poem about a person who has always been a little different, difficult even, but is very very dear to me and will probably always remain so, even if things did not work out the way we wanted them to.

sparrows
#photography #monochrome #classicmono #b&w #nature #experimentalphotography
#photographersofbluesky #birdoftheday #birds

with the ease & grace
of a steel locomotive
the bear’s winter flab

#haiku
#DailyHaikuPrompt

Ah, the #simplepleasures of watching the behaviour of the birds! One from a short while ago for @dragonslayerma.bsky.social and this week's #PromptCombo

Hahaha omg that is brilliant! 😂 Love it! ❤️

Thank you so much! 😃❤️🙏🏻🙏🏻

I am so glad! Thank you so much, Emily! 🙏🏻❤️❤️✨

I am so glad to hear that! Thank you so so much! 🫶🏻🖤✨

Yes, just like a cold autumn breeze, Eduard tends to bite! 😅🐈‍⬛

Exactly! ❤️🐈‍⬛✨

Thank you! 🙏🏻❤️

Wow thank you so so much, Stefano, that makes me so happy to hear 🥹🫶🏻❤️🙏🏻✨

Thank you so much! ☺️🙏🏻❤️🍁✨