Joe Hesch
@jahesch.bsky.social
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I'm back after recovering from poem-a-day April and something strangely resembling Covid. This failed sonnet was supposed to be a "picture" poem. As ever, I leave that judgment to you. (He said bravely.) I Never Painted You Any Picture
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I Never Painted You Any Picture
I never painted you any pictureexcept maybe with these silly old words.Not old ones like you would find in Scripture,just the same la-la tweet-tweet like some birds.But if I did a picture one day pâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4AO
4 days ago
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Glad I could hitch a ride on today's
#NaPoWriMo
prompt. I might have tumbled off along the way to the end of the climb, though. The title? If you know, you know. At Last
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At Last
The strings beneath my fingers bite like February would my ungloved paperboy hands. Lost my calluses like memories of those days, when I had more hair than sense instead of less of both. Trying to âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4Al
24 days ago
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On Day 17 of
#NaPoWriMo
, my speedy take on an ambiguity poem. Or is it a lengthy take on whatâs true? Another Ambiguous Statement of Love, Loss and Hopeless Hope to Everyone But You
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Another Ambiguous Statement of Love, Loss and Hopeless Hope to Everyone But You
If it was fun, you might be rightin saying âWhereâs the fun in that?âIf it wasnât fun, youâd also be rightsquinting over my shoulder asI tap away here and whispergasp,âYou canât be serious!âSâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4A3
about 1 month ago
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On Day 16 of National Poetry Month, a new "new" poem. Shiny and New
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Shiny and New
Sometimes I wonder what weâd be like, if once again we were shiny and new.No new burdens yet to be carried on the still-unknown road ahead. No this way or that decisions yet. Just humming along shaâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4zP
about 1 month ago
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On Day 13 of NaPoWriMo, a "problem" poem. And yes, this is the first after a bunch of missed days. But that's just another of my problems. Problematic
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Problematic
The list would be long, if Iâd stop to count. Some are big and weigh me down to my knees, others I trip over where I used to leap. I wish I could rid myself of them because they poke and prod me whâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4zD
about 1 month ago
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Day 2 of Poem a Day April 2026 ~ An "express" poem that includes some childhood memory that made me who I am. Or at least who I am⌠Always Sometimes Almost
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Always Sometimes Almost
The words came easier to me than the others, but by then, Iâd translated so many letters into mind-pictures from the bubbles above the costumed crime fightersâ pulp-pictures in my uncleâs comic booâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4z9
about 2 months ago
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On Day 1 of 2026's National Poem Writing Month and Writer's Digest's Poem a Day April, I combined their respective prompts and grew this odd bit of philosophical bonsai. Perspective -- A Tanka
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Perspective Tanka
A seed doesnât know what it one day will become once it falls to earth. So a tree fallen beside,knew not it was born a seed.On the first day of 2026âs National Poem Writing Month (hereaâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4z3
about 2 months ago
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New poem of the season. Which one I won't say. I sense you'll know. Like Your Hands on My Face
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#fourseasons
#hope
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Like Your Hands on My Face
Vivaldi gave it voice with birdsong violins and four-stringed snow melttumbling down musical staff streambeds on the way to April.This I recall because I would listen to it over and over again,â¨my âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4yI
2 months ago
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#Spring
snow just doesnât want to give up around here, so it hides in the shadows while morning sun rises to stalk it and melt it away. Tricky old snow. Relentless (I hope) old sun.
2 months ago
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A new, quick poem, just to feel what I cannot touch. Maybe tomorrow. I'll Never Touch Tomorrow
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#poem
#hope
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Iâll Never Touch Tomorrow
Tomorrowâs coming whether I want it or not.The next dayâs just tomorrowâs tomorrow.Yesterday was once a tomorrow, I recall.The day before that day, as well.And though I cannot touch any tomorrow,I âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4yB
2 months ago
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A new poem about that old subject again..."What if...?" Let's Do (And Say We Didn't)
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#poetry
#hope
#dreams
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Letâs Do (and Say We Didnât)
Letâs do (and say we didnât.)Would this small world even care?I know, tâwas never in the cards,but what if I took your dare?What if I stepped out of shadowsinto sunlight with my eyes shaded?Who wouâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4yt
2 months ago
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My thanks to
@siobhanmuir.bsky.social
for the wicked prompt and
@purplequeenpub.bsky.social
for selecting my story as this wkâs
#ThursThreads
#flashfiction
winner. And congrats to all the other writers who joined in this week. This means the world to this stuck writer.
add a skeleton here at some point
3 months ago
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I've been too long away. So today I squirmed out from under and found these words I wished to give you before it happens again.
#poetry
Sadness Is Invisible
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Sadness Is Invisible
Sadness is invisible and weighs not a thing, but it holds me face down like some bullying Goliath. And I am no David. All that I can sling are words with less gravity than sadness, and if ever theyâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4yb
3 months ago
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reposted by
Joe Hesch
Siobhan Muir
4 months ago
#ThursThreads
Week 692 Winners blog is up. Congrats to Nine Time Winner
@jahesch.bsky.social
and Honorable Mention
@sterlings-son-2.bsky.social
. Great thanks to Silver James for judging this week. Check out the winning tale.
#FlashFiction
#Writing
#WritingCommunity
siobhanmuir.com/thursthreads...
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Sometimes I get conflicted when the wind howls and the snow flies. Thatâs when I need to be reminded how once I loved flying on... The Warmer Wings of Winter
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The Warmer Wings of Winter
My cheek sizzles where the wind slapped it. This complicated duetI share with winter reachingits crescendo, both of ushowling, and only one using words. No one can hear them above the roarfrom the âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4xr
5 months ago
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Alone in the night, save for dreams, wishes and... Shadows of Solitary
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Shadows of Solitary
Each day the window frames the same picture â three slender oaks, five stout pines and sundownâs slice of western sky.At night, moonshadows of the trees crawl up the side of the house to your windoâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4xd
5 months ago
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Another new
#poem
for my lost poem-a-day November. Itâs Really the Waves
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Itâs Really the Waves
They say if you squint you can break this shattered world into basic shapes. A field of dandelions could seem an expanse of green sea all aâbubble, roiling and boiling, searching for some shore to âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4wH
6 months ago
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A poor pass at a "trope" poem. A Hallmark Christmas film it isn't. Theyâve always gone to the fridge for beer at two minutes to the end. The Best Thing Weâve Never Done
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6 months ago
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Supposed to write a âdialogueâ poem, but Iâm feeling kinda introspective and missing something on Day 13 of my
#PoemADay
effort. I think an odd metaphoric
#flashfiction
story snuck in. I See
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I See
I knew we had to talk by the way she wouldnât talk. The only back and forth sheâd share were glances. But I could understood what she wanted to tell me.âDonât look at me like that,â said Glance 1. âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4wp
6 months ago
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Today, a quick color poem. Probably colors that only I could see. Okay, with its meter and rhyme, maybe Dr. Seuss. The Color of Nothing
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The Color of Nothing
Forever they sang all about it being blue, that feeling one gets from missing someone like you.But I can tell all that itâs simply not true.Blue is the color of that Carolina sky,or maybe the oceanâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4wf
6 months ago
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This flop's a Day 7 gluten-free "dreamâ
#poem
for poem-a-day November. While not an expert baker like my daughter, I'm a very patient
#poet
. So I expect I'll get it right someday. Still Waiting for a Taste
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Still Waiting for a Taste
I guess you must have dreams before any of your dreams can come true. Though there are such things as flourless cakes, which seem pretty sweet.Sure, Iâve had dreamy hopes and aspirations beneath myâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4w2
6 months ago
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Supposed to write a
#poem
whose title starts with âHowâŚâ As in âHow Am I Ever Going to Do This Poetry Thing Anymore?â But I chose to borrow pieces of my nascent newspaper days and those Wâs I was supposed to answer. How Did We Get Here?
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How Did We Get Here?
How did we get here, ever heartbeat close yet worlds away?Where I see you as you mightwish to be seen, but feel youâre notand you hear me how you wish you didnât, but are glad you do?Do you look baâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vX
7 months ago
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Supposed to be a âdescription poem.â It turned into something that is not a poem, prose nor prose poem. But here it is, with my usual array of descriptive nonsense, like a Temu Raymond Chandler. What Is Jeopardy?
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What Is Jeopardy?
I canât recall if her eyes were blue, they mightâve been gray, but her hair was legit blond. She was kinda skinny. But warm from her laugh to her toes when sheâd come sit by me in the TV lounge mosâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vN
7 months ago
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My Magic 8-Ball muse dropped this for me (not for Them) somewhere between the Q and the M on my keyboard. No, I don't write poetry with a pen on paper. I'll never be one of Them. I Belong to Me
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#poetry
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I Belong to Me
Why should I care if I belong with some macro or micro âthem?âI wasnât some preteen girl sighinginto the mirror, clouding the viewof what makes her Her behind those sad eyes. And Iâm no longer the âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vB
7 months ago
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Yeah, finding one of my books in a public library is some wild fantasy. But a poet can dream. Obviously. Maybe someday youâll find us... Between Heaney and Hughes
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Between Heaney and Hughes
I dreamt I was in the library, a pleasant enough locale. Up and down the aisles, I wandered, just observing the thickness and colors of the thousands of volumes. Not once did I stop to read any of âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vv
7 months ago
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So much of writing really is sitting alone and⌠The Search
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The Search
Iâm searching for a word, one thatâs lost to me. Didnât fly off like a bird,nor head out to sea.But this word has some weight, itâs anchoring my heart.No, itâs nothing like Fate, though determines âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vp
7 months ago
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I was tired, sore and empty of words for a few weeks. But I felt not so tired and sore while I raked up these words in todays sunshine and autumn breeze. Where I Found Them
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Where I Found Them
I tried today, I truly did,â¨to find the words inside to tell you.â¨But I guess I must have misplaced themâ¨in my move from youngheart to oldsoul.â¨Been searching for weeks and weeksâ¨and all Iâve foundâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4vc
7 months ago
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I skipped the reunion, though I doubt I was missed. You see, I lettered in introversion and aced invisibility. And you know whatâs changed since then? not much
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not much
âso what have you done with your life?âand my answer would tumble in a mumble ânot much.â because recalling would be lifting more than my ragged memory could heft.i knew i wâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4uY
8 months ago
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Like the title says, this was supposed to be a âsmallâ poem, like maybe a micro or
#haiku
. But the 5-7-5âs ran away with me. So we got this Wednesday poem. This Poem Is Small (Sad But True)
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This Poem Is Small (Sad, But True)
This poem is small,much like the start of it all,when I wrote haiku,not yet secret odes âbout you.They had no rhyming,just beat counts, soul, some timing, and nature, to start.But then soul gave waâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4uR
8 months ago
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This is what happens when too much time passes between poems...or warm touching warm. We Go By Time
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We Go By Time
The time doesnât go by so much as we go by time, staring at it like we expect it to fly when it can barely crawl. Youâd come by, sit at my shoulder, sharing a stare with me until you needed to go. âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4uK
8 months ago
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Want to thank Gordon Lightfoot for the title, from his song, "Looking at the Rain.â Maybe my favorite. The rest of this pile of not quite poetic enough leaves are all mine. Waiting for a Line to Fall
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Waiting for a Line to Fall
The leaves decided to test gravity today, the still-greenish scouts launching themselves into the September breeze.And for a while, they broke laws that Newton enacted, since nobody then wanted to âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4uE
9 months ago
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Sometimes the writing is as hard as the sleeping. And the sleeping comes hard most nights. To Sleep, Perchance
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To Sleep, Perchance
Cracked open the blinds across my bedroom window last night. Since some invisible thorn was jabbing my sleep-craving mind. Thought I might as well see what stories the moonâs light might carve behiâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4ux
9 months ago
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You might be one of the gritty city bards who say Iâve no standing to tell you about the slums and shadows I never told you I grew up with. Well... the truth is in the scars
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#poetry
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the truth is in the scars
the neighborhood was tough enough as i dragged myself across its asphalt six afternoons a week. i saw the sinas we each shed our skin and allfacade was lost. you can read the scars, if i let you. yâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4um
9 months ago
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Writing
#poetry
isnât supposed like breaking wild 2x4s into saw horses or building a barn in rural Pennsylvania, but it kinda is. Waiting to Measure, Willing to Cut
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Waiting to Measure, Willing to Cut
In the washing machine-broken silence,Iâve waited hours for inspiration to call.But inspiration ghosted me years agolike you did once and everyone else has since. Though I was really the ghost.FunnâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4uh
9 months ago
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This feels like one of my old
#poems
. Not one I already wrote, but something like the ones I'd sleep with and hold gently all night, warm and safe next to me on the pillow. I Remember You and Blue Flowers
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I Remember You and Blue Flowers
I remember the day you let me in to see your new situation and I was so nervous Iâd say the wrong thing, I just ahhhâd dry anxiety out my throat. You still believe I have a way with words. Besides,âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4u5
9 months ago
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Sometimes, when the good stuff feels out of my reach, I still try making diamonds for my special audience. Magical Hoping for an Audience of One
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Magical Hoping for an Audience of One
I like to think itâs magic Iâm making, right here for my rapt audience of one.My kid would think the same of her baking, but who doesnât love a warm cinnamon bun?Watch, sheâll mix ingredients in meâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4u1
9 months ago
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I sometimes wonder if it's worth it, these blind faith dives into the unknown. But, for better or worse, they're my only true adventure. Tomorrow I'll be swimming back. What I Found in the River on My Way to You
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#poetry
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What I Found in the River on My Way to You
Iâve been avoiding it,jumping in the river again. The waterâs frightful cold and the punishing current swift and strong.Iâve seen it carve itself new blue line paths, taking great bites from âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4tU
10 months ago
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Back in the saddle after much too long in the emotional wasteland. A new
#poem
. Admission of a Certain Guilt
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Admission of a Certain Guilt
I donât think youâll ever admit it,fear tangled over admission like a net, but you doâŚor didâŚwhile lives changed with the years and all those passings.Iâll not engage with that old trope of two shiâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4tK
10 months ago
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Sorry for the absence, but 3 deaths in the family within a weeksâ time tends to focus a body on things beyond need to bleed black and white. I had to write today before I forgot how. I hope this is how. Messages in the Morning
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#poetry
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Messages in the Morning
I held my breath âtil Iâd read it all, not knowing if Iâd make it all the way.It wasnât so much that it was long, but so I mightunderstand your meaning.Punctuating the final line with a gasp,I lie âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4tD
10 months ago
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So I spent 20 minutes free-writing something about this dark, sorta stormy Saturday, because I felt the urge. Never fight the urge, even if it feels like... skipping six-letter stones in the rain
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skipping six-letter stones in the rain
the day has not dawned, clouds holding back the sun, rain anchoring them to the flooded slow lane east.in the distance, the grumblestormy cumulonimbus stomachs make when theyâve consumed too much sâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4tj
12 months ago
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Itâs been too long since my last
#poem
. Maybe Iâve been posing too many question of myself, of us,
#poetry
canât answer. Probably because we donât need an answer. Inexorable. Us
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Inexorable. Us
How is it, we come from different worlds, yet understand each other so well?I think you know.And who in whatever world are we to deserve someone like each other,our sins and sorrows included,our scâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4tf
12 months ago
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A new
#poem
. Maybe I didnât say goodbye because I wanted to stay with them but didnât know how. How to stay or how to say goodbye, Iâm not sure. Never Said Goodbye
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https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4t4
about 1 year ago
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A new
#poem
that ponders, âHow much love?â. None? Any? Some? Enough? Too much? More? Or maybe just the question of... Whatâs Just a Little?
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Whatâs Just a Little?
It seems a waste to hope for morewhen moreâs always been less than enough.But I donât know much about thatsince all my life I hovered around any. But Iâd always scramble for some, which is moâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4sX
about 1 year ago
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Just wait, youâll see how that quality of life criminal trashes the temple of your soul. And most every other part of the vessel you call you. But I fight back. Just not how you might. time is a vandal
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time is a vandal
time is a vandal, i said to the face i no longer can hear. run your finger over the cracks and sags iâve found in the face i havenât seen sinceâŚthe last time i dared take a close listen.timeâll leaâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4sR
about 1 year ago
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The Vermeer sisters werenât born when we had Instagram, but maybe they were born FOR it. A â¤ď¸ for the Rebel of Vlamingstraat
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#poem
#art
#150words
#painting
#TheGuitarPlayer
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A â¤ď¸ for the Rebel of Vlamingstraat
The Vermeer girls should be more famous,since they grace so many of their dadâs paintings. As she sits there at that bright east-facing window, every boy in Delft could stroll by like theyâd scrollâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4sk
about 1 year ago
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A âmemoryâ poem. Afraid I took the prompt too literally. Just flip through the other 1,800 pieces of me on my site and youâll see more memories than you might care to. I canât remember which off the top of my head. I Forgot Where I Live
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I Forgot Where I Live
I forgot where I live, the memory slipped from my mind like the coverlet off the end of this bed. But I didnât get lost.That map rests on my pillow.I forgot where I live when I awakened at 3:00the âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4s8
about 1 year ago
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A âmemoryâ poem. Afraid I took the prompt too literally. Just flip through the other 1,800 pieces of me on my site and youâll see more memories than you might care to. I canât remember which off the top of my head. I Forgot Where I Live
wp.me/p1AR9N-4s8
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I Forgot Where I Live
I forgot where I live, the memory slipped from my mind like the coverlet off the end of this bed. But I didnât get lost.That map rests on my pillow.I forgot where I live when I awakened at 3:00the âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4s8
about 1 year ago
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Some Day When youâre a wisher like me, thereâs always a day out there youâre hoping will come. Letâs call it Some Day.Some day some something will come, will happen,will make all of this worth it. But, more often than not, Some Day doesnât come.Or worse, maybe once, it did, which isâŚ
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Some Day
When youâre a wisher like me, thereâs always a day out there youâre hoping will come. Letâs call it Some Day.Some day some something will come, will happen,will make all of this worth it. But, more often than not, Some Day doesnât come.Or worse, maybe once, it did, which is counterintuitiveuntil you think that some sweet lightning struck once, …
https://athingforwordsjahesch.wordpress.com/2025/04/21/some-day/
about 1 year ago
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From my archives, when I still believed in Joe the Writer. On the 250th anniversary of âThe Shot Heard Round the World,â a first and only draft of a story peering through the smoke of centuries and imagining who actually fired first, and why.
wp.me/p1AR9N-2PA
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Whispers on an April Morning Breeze
âWhat if the world is holding its breath â waiting for you to take the place that only you can fill?â David Whyte The standoff had not gone on for long, just after the sun began coming up over the âŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-2PA
about 1 year ago
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Day 19 of
#NaPoWriMo
was a combo platter of two prompts: a poem as another persona and a poem as another cultureâs god or goddess. Hereâs Saturdayâs creation. Thank you, Muse. (And Erato.) Erato on Line 2
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Erato on Line 2
Zeus help me, but this man just wonât listen,Iâve left him clues to follow like spotlights.Iâd give up if it wasnât my mission,but he thinks his own muse lights what he writes. Heâll just sit thereâŚ
https://wp.me/p1AR9N-4rH
about 1 year ago
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