Poetry Blogs (prose)

I was an adult before I realized that barbed wire is not called Bob War, because that was how my grandfather pronounced it, and he happened to be the person who mentioned it to me most often, as he was the person who would always tell us kids that we needed to help repair the fence. Some concerned neighbour would call to tell him some of the cows were out, and he’d tell us to grab some Bob War and...

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It’s been three days since we’ve met and talked again, four years since I grew fonder of you, five years since we first met. 

For six hours that night, we both poured our hearts out because we owed each other time that we never had. 

Two hours before, you could hardly imagine how many times I tried on different clothes because I badly wanted to look good for you but not wanting to look despe...

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She'll take them back

The stones cut carefully and stacked against her

Her winds find ways through the cracks

She'll take them back 

All content property of Chandra Mossine

*This original poem was published by the Columbia Art League in their 2014 Interpretations collection

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This is the way the world ends.
Not with a bang, but with a whimper.
Do not fear the light of the dying star for it will yield no pain.
It is mortal, it is ended.
Fading out like the dimming of the candle, then extinguished, forever.
No light shall ever again grace these barren lands
As dust forever billows across its scarred surface
And drinks its voluptuous seas.
Like a standing ovation,
...

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The world is mysterious but really so simple...the meaning of life is love...and to love is to create...when you begin to love something new takes form...billions of people and creatures and we are all here together with this connection...the axis mundi...the stem of the lotus...the cosmic connection of heaven and earth...we have that...in Hinduism every god/goddess has it's counter goddess/god......

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The swallow kept my eye,
for a sixth of an hour,
before observing a cat
with almighty presence and power.

This feline affected me also,
making me an eternal predator.
Showered in blood, that of its victim’s,
Proud, purring, devouring torso. 

It was proud of this blood,
as far as I understood anyway.
Like war paint.
A declaration.

I enjoy the kill.

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