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About Us

Passion consumed 
eventually fades.

Passion capped 
pursues us 

beyond the grave.

This revelation 
helps me understand,

our encounter was 
never about us.

It was about our muses
intertwined in the 

world of words.

We were denied 
the lasting passion
we searched for

so we could write 
our soul songs

for seekers 
to see

the ectasy 
and despair

that accompan...

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despairectasyencounterseternityGhostslovelove poemsMusepassionsoulmatestwin flamesunrequited love

Forever

Forever ago may seem 
like 20 years of gray,
but I live forever every day.

There is no escape.

It's not the passion I miss,
I keep that memory sealed 
in a concrete kiss.

It's the lyrical 
soul connection
that went on months

before our egos
got in the way. 

In the forever between
tears and heartbreak, 

we managed 
to find ourselves 

and our destiny, here 
on this pag...

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connectiondestinyforeverheartbreakkissesmusepassionpoetrypoetsstar-crossed loveTearstime

True Love

Have I loved?
Yes, on the spectrum,
towards the sacrificial side.
Silencing my soul,
losing my identiy.
Endless nights
crying myself to sleep.
I sometimes think I would have
preferred an easy love
bouquets of rainbow colored daisies,
sparkling teeth,
a passionate love,
French kisses in Rome,
ruffled sheets,
a forever love,
hugs, holding hands, 
finishing each other's sentences...
...

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blank pagekisseslovelove poemslove poetryMuseRomeSilencesoulwriter's groups

Amused

In my life of lost love
I gladly relinquished 
the most cherished
earthly pleasure 
for one wish
that I have shared 
with no one 
until now...
to be a muse
one with a wayward quill
that makes scholars question
a hundred years hence
if it's true, souls recognize each other 
in this wordly dimension.
Dare I believe my one wish
has come true with you?
 

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loveLove lostMusequillsoulmatestwin flameswish

My Dopamine

Your words flow 
though my veins 
and light up my soul 
like nothing 
I've ever known.
Chemical alchemy.
Cosmic destiny.
Beyond comprehension.
From another dimension.
Steam. My dopamine. 
 

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addictionalchemydestinydopamineloveMusepassionpoetrysoulsoulmatessteamwords

The Bleeding Edge

The razor thin space between 
stimuli and response 
is decision. 

I decided to put a  
romcom relationship
where love never ends
and be, just friends. 

It was a defining decision.

He decided that without 
certain stimuli, there would be 
no response, just an end.

Tempting as it is to give in
to conditioned responses,
I'm riding the razor's edge
into a new frontier...

A pla...

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choicefriendshiplovemusepoetsrelationshipsromcomself-respectwriter lifewriting

Naked Souls

Poetry is a 
refuge for 
a lonely life

the antidote
for pain 
and strife

warm words 
blanketing
a frigid night

tonic for thirsty sailors 
drowning in an ocean 
from which we cannot drink

To our deserted island we go 

while the world 
casts us loners, 
introverts, quiet
weird, crazy...

Let them judge 
as they wine and dine 
in crowded rooms 
on cell patrol

while w...

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cell phonesintrovertlifelonelymuseoutcastspoetryprisonsoultruthwriterwriting

My Muse

You have come to visit me. 
Welcome. I have missed you. 
I often see you hiding behind the laundry, 
patiently waiting until the neverending chores are done. 
Then, when I finally sit down to talk, 
you disappear like an unwritten dream, 
leaving me speechless. 

Today, for the moment, 
you are here 
and I have so much to say. 
Won't you stay 
and be my friend?

My Muse Replies:
"Yo...

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blank pagehabitsjust writeMusewriters blockwritingwriting life

The Image-Nation

The Image-Nation

 

In this place lives the Jabberwocky

                Roaming free find Skimbleshanks

Through the mirror, Alice takes tea

                See the burning Tygers symmetry

 

Where daffodils become the host

               Things insignificant mean the most

As images flash through your mind

                A nook or cranny there to find

 

When settl...

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jabbrwockymusePotygerWilliam Blake

Twisted Irony

I knocked on the door,

Not expecting an answer

Much less to be received

 

So when he opened up in contour,

Spoke with me without waver

I conversed to be believed

 

Me, nothing less, nothing more

Me, not me minus the stutter

And if not all of me, still, me

 

Should he shut the door,

I’d think, “it’s what I would prefer”

For I knew not of joviality

 

T...

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muse

I an Not his Muse

I’m not his muse, and I can never be.                        

No time, circumstance or chance will let me.                       

 

After all he gives and gets, loves, regrets,                 

he remains my teacher and I, the taker.                    

He is anarchist and challenging creator,                   

who advocates the belief I have no need

to be seen and posed as a...

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KatypoetessMusepoetry muse

A Tree In The Elephant's Graveyard

entry picture

A Tree In The Elephant’s Graveyard

It began with a pen
and paper,
beneath a tree.
Carried here
upon a rat
to rest awhile.

The paper was white
and stared at me
insolently.
The pen hovered,
dripping ink
like tears.

A serpent
coiled itself
around My neck.
I thought of stars
and dreamt
of gouache landscapes.

Still the paper
would not
fuck the pen.
My thoughts
were clear,
...

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deathelephantGaneshahindu culturemusemythParvatisrichpixtreewriters block

breathe

rendering you invisible by simply

breathing onto the glass

or drawing a heart around you as though

it might last

longer than a fairground fish

I could do either

but I spend my days

chalking my guts into the paving stones

and piling them like papers,

professionally bound

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drivenmusespite

Insomnia (unamused by a whitling muse)

a night too quiet

yet, even in it’s silence,

not quite enough for me

now in my head those words were read

by Richard Burton

but then she came calling in the hours

when there aren’t yet enough digits on the clock

and I ignored the advice of William S Burroughs, or some other I forget,

and told her to fuck off, leave me to the monotone

test card transmission, t...

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driveinsomniamusepolicesleepless night

Cinderella Dreaming

entry picture

`

 

 

 

The birthing of articulated expression
will always find its means of entering
into the world outside and beyond
the inner recesses of our awareness.

I love the wee and trippy hours of the
after midnight when the glass slipper
lay glimmering aloof in the moonlight
and the weary dreamer sets some
ink of thoughts onto the parchment
of a woozy head - too ea...

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CinderelladaydreamfairytalefantasyMusePoetry

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