Spiro Keats

  Originally published in Rejection Letters

 

  Originally published in Synchronized Chaos

  Originally published in Cold Moon Journal

  Baby Dalí  I do not have a hut  at the edge of the sea nor a family nor their ire; but, I have the freedom to dream the dreams  of a madman in shabby thrifted attire. Originally published in Five Fleas

  Originally published at Cold Moon Journal

  Originally published in Synchronized Chaos

  Originally published in Synchronized Chaos

 

  *Originally published in Cold Moon Journal

 

visiting my true self it is late. i am in a quiet spot but my mind is racing. it seems like forever since i had time for myself. all my time is given freely but sometimes i am too generous with others so here i finally have arrived. sitting quietly and taking in some sandalwood incense. everything i have done has come to this moment. my face relaxes into a smile and i know everything is just right. to myself i say, i should do this more often. fingerprints in the hummus likely my own Prose by Mike Rehling Poem by Kelly Sauvage Moyer

  Teardrop Wine Once upon a time in a land far, far away, there lived a king whose daughter was very sad and lonely. She hadn’t always felt this way. Before her kitten, Mandu, was hit by a runaway buggy, she was full of song and smiles. Her eyes twinkled from the moment of waking until she closed them for the night. Yet, with the passing of Mandu, she lost her best friend and had no one to know her heart the way it needed to be known. She kept all of her dreams, her fanciful ideas and boundless wonder to herself. By the time she reached the tender age of five, her light had begun to dim. The glow left the peach of her complexion and an emptiness filled her gaze as her once plump cheeks grew hollow. On the cusp of her sixth birthday, the king put out a call to all the land, challenging vintners from far and wide to make the most exquisite wine from his daughter’s salty tears. Whoever could produce an elixir that would return the smile to her lips and the sparkle to her eye could hav...

 

 

 

  *Originally published in Five Fleas

∴ moonlight, soaked in sweat— aching seeps within the bones mojo darts through gloom ∴  https://poetryandphoto.wordingway.com/mojo/

Time and Again . . . I mistook the lover for the love, the honey for its sweetness, the starlight for its shimmer. If there be grace, may I, at last, distinguish the Divinity within my perception of god. *Originally published within The Braided Way .

 

 

 

 

 

∴ gridlock grip radios rage harsh horns  blameless invisible hitchhiker riding shotgun with their baby’s spirochete-shaped toys  no hoarder of keepsakes yet these toys remain unbidden, in the car’s confines  navigation fogged voices speaking foreign lost in tongues unknown  a throng of commuters thundering past a stampede of haste  temperature spikes engine protesting overheating in defiance  tires wearing thin tread fading fast inch by weary inch  angry gestures fly as vehicles creep by their impatience palpable  brakes fail a screeching wail sqreeeeeeee head-on collision  a breath. a release  a moment’s caress of this chaos a minor delay  homeward bound. soon i’ll be on my way ∴ https://poetryandphoto.wordingway.com/?s=Spiro

 

 

 

Once upon a time, in the very heart of the Village of Greenwich, there lived a performance artist, known for her vision, manifested in striking stage pictures and bold feminist statements. She would tell you that her art was not just her work; it was a calling, emerging out of her journey from small-town midwestern girl to tour de force, with periods of victim and survivor somewhere in between. Having lucked into a rent-controlled apartment in the ‘90s, she kept her needs modest so that she might enjoy every bit of serendipity that came her way. And, oh, did it ever. Learning early on that she could give herself a fuller life than “a good man” might, she relished in her freedom to travel the globe, staging performances, be they sanctioned or rogue, speaking her truth in a manner so memorable as to land her on the cover of many a magazine. Then, there came a time she found herself sidelined with mysterious symptoms that no doctor could diagnose. Thus, the hours that were once spent bene...

 

 Are you living with Lyme Disease? Do you feel dismissed by medical professionals, family and friends? Of course you do!  Thank goodness we've found one another! This is a place for you to be seen and heard. This, my friend, is a space where you can connect with others as you journey through each challenge and triumph. This is a gallery for the sharing of your creative expressions. So, what are you waiting for? Send your poetry, prose and art to me at unfazedmoon@gmail.com.