microscopic muses

the longer you are  pursued  the further you will go to  exit your breaths existence 

Have you ever found a yesteryears memory in a todays dream ? If so, you will know how my wounds weep and sleep with histories scars

Forgive  me for losing your syllables and causing havoc with your consonants. For erasing your ‘Hellos’ and polishing your ‘Goodbye’ , so it would shine brighter (still) through your sentences. But most of all forgive me for putting a full stop * to loving you *

  Winter will come too soon And then, all I’ll have left is My ‘Jack Daniels ‘ and a view * of you *

Death becomes you, you know? It even makes your prettiness; pretty  

  emotionally endorsed  by evocative emotions, through a sacrificial strength of profoundness and where your world is renovated on a daily bases

Did you look for me amongst the crowds, that came to worship your beauty? Did you recognize my smile on the face, that was not mine?

You would of been sixty nine years old, today Sixty nine years young, in my eyes For the Sunset, we never shared  For the kiss you never dared For the time; I never cared  *enough* Until …….

Footprints in the snow  Left reminders to show  You were once here Finger marks on our hearts: the art of love living and breathing,  in life’s life * and death *  

A gardener surely knows where a bloom blooms  And if he doesn’t ? What will happen to the rose, that grows next to a peach tree ?  

  lies don’t help you they just help the liars (damaging deeds) the same way ……. fences  don’t keep people out, they only keep you in  *even broken ones* So you end up being kept (strangling freedoms flight)

Writing only those letters That THEY want to read Death of my breath; Publisher  *pleasing*

  two variables parallel corresponding ink collaboration of words

  LITERARY HUB Just Because Walt Whitman Self-Published, Doesn’t Mean You Should, Too On Self-Publishing, Vanity, and the Need of a Good Editor By  Nick Ripatrazone September 9, 2019 “I decided to have a book of poems published at my own expense.” It was 1909, a year before William Carlos Williams would open his pediatric practice in his hometown of Rutherford, New Jersey. A friend of his father owned a local print shop, so Williams paid for  Poems , his 22-page chapbook, to be produced. Epigraphs from Shakespeare and Keats led the earnest little book. Williams brought a dozen copies to a local stationary store to be sold. “Sold” might be a generous word: Williams only sold four copies, and made one single dollar in profit. He gave the unsold books to his family. The printer stashed away his own remaining copies, which “were inadvertently burned after they had reposed ten years or more on a rafter under the eaves of [the printer’s] old chicken coop.” Williams wasn’t alone: there is a t

  News Opinion Sport Culture Lifestyle Show caption Poetry The best recent poetry – review roundup Thinking With Trees by Jason Allen-Paisant; The Craft of Poetry by Lucy Newlyn; Brilliant Corners by Nuzhat Bukhari; Forty Names by Parwana Fayyaz; and Auguries of a Minor God by Nidhi Zak/Aria Eipe David Wheatley Fri 9 Jul 2021 07.00 EDT Share on Facebook Share on Twitter Share via Email “Who wanders lonely / as a cloud / with three golden retrievers?” wonders  Jason Allen-Paisant , retreading Wordsworth. The answer, where he is concerned, is “Not me no not me / I could never understand this poetry”. In  Thinking With Trees   (Carcanet, £10.99), the Caribbean-born poet meditates on the Romantic inheritance while inserting himself, often uncomfortably, in the suburban pastoral spaces of dog walkers in Leeds. Nature must be internalised to become poetic currency (“All I can handle is the landscape within me / not secrecy / spread out on a canvas”), and the framing of the landscape is drive