Last night I fell asleep before you came home. I dragged the dog out for a walk but he hates the cold as much as I do. He pissed all over the kitchen floor, he despises being alone. He ate snacks before bedtime wallowing in loneliness. You wanted to have sex while I had creative writing on my mind. My blue journal sprawled between my … Continue reading Woodnotes
Inside my chest is a raging child she buckles up her seat belt and waits for the accident it is coming it always does. I remember her at six how the piano freed her soul and anger burned her wings in burial grounds where her mother met her fate. This storm inside her at sixteen tore apart all her friendships these addictions to people taught … Continue reading The Fire of my Storm
“the difference between Art and Life is that Art is more bearable” – Charles Bukowski I want to keep all the seconds minutes, hours to myself. I want to revel in the magic of two glistening bodies. I made a list of things and created poetry from chandeliers and hotel lobbies. Pinot noir and club sandwiches with no tomatoes who would believe the poem? … Continue reading Le Club
The most important part of poetry is how it makes you travel through time and place. I have my spacesuit on ready to touch stars. meet me at the ocean. you’re so ridiculous, did you see i did the dishes for you love me now fill up my glass oh, how i love you now the way you come through the door and kiss space … Continue reading Chasing Wanderlust
I wrote it on the beach while staring at the ocean but forgot to send it deleted it somehow and poetry faded into the sand under my feet. I hear what you say but I’m nodding at the sky it’s talking to me so be silent. listen. i told you to stare and you did, listening to the wind and how the earth moved with … Continue reading Freedom
first it’s my eyes then it’s your heart pounding. your kiss lights my soul. my love for you empties the darkness. what’s left of us? you ask. the lust. the desire. your arms around me, drowning my river turning me slowly into all you crave. love and lust me. my body and soul and mind are waiting. as are my legs ready to wrap them … Continue reading Love or Lust
the lights are red, but i want to go up into the sky. drive right through the pink and purple all night long. this is my porn. you text me your naughty, i’ll dream in the fucking clouds. it’s june second, two thousand and fifteen, remember the 80’s? i relive them. another full moon? do you really care all that much? stop howling. i feel … Continue reading June second
you should not have let me in. i will eat you alive. and you will want more. while i run in the opposite direction. dive into all the oceans. list of highways. skip crossroads. until i stop in front of the moon. and close all the roads that lead to you. you should have known it would come to this. i can’t wake up at … Continue reading Piling mistakes like old poems
I’m just a tad more romantic hopeless (to be exact) the two combined leave vomit on my shimmery and shine same pants you rubbed same sex you craved and then the boxing bell rang loud while we were in the bliss of all that fun time to pack the bags I have my train ticket do you have the time? I have my thongs with … Continue reading The Sea
where tales and verses live
Blue Fences
a personal living and style journal discussing creatives
Inspiration to lead you back to Soul
A POSITIVE PERSPECTIVE TOWARDS LIFE!
From soul to soul
Aakashsoyanthone
When the green woods laugh with the voice of joy, And the dimpling stream runs laughing by; When the air does laugh with our merry wit, And the green hill laughs with the noise of it.
We are talking about something we know nothing about.
Writing poetry on the nature of humanity ...and vise versa.
The Pieces Of a Pisces Woman
Book Reviewer, Avid Reader and Bookworm. Campaigning to link more readers to writers. People do not forget books that touch them or excite them—they recommend them.
helpful writer ramblings from a disturbed mind just like yours
The Diary of a Late-Blooming Romantic.
In the kingdom of life, with the strokes of the brush, the bow and the pen, artists have sowed their hearts to contrive, fields rivalling in beauty the Garden of Eden.
