RSS Feed

Third Of A World

At night, lost in the dark,
our dreaming selves wander long hallways
trying every door till something opens.
All night, we step in and out
of so much already in progress
with those particular and mysterious
hidden origin stories.
Any night, every night, the tiniest details
tether us to our ordinary days now
turned fantastic or gruesome
melancholy or hilarious.
Often, there is rain in the night
a staticky presence masking
the dreamer on the other side who keeps
tapping on our shared window
knocking hard to get our attention

One response »

  1. Thank you for the beautiful and haunting poems you create. They are food for the soul.


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

A Hundred Falling Veils

there's a poem in every day

The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Ronka Poetry Practice Since 2014

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

%d bloggers like this: