Torches light intersecting lanes: moments of clarity from above illuminating dull bright beams off hoary eyes. For some, this is enough to see the next path their feet must follow, despite striking toes on stones in puddles of midnight. But others seek the hermit for hire with his swinging lantern, portable lighthouse ever-shining for ships…
A decapitated doll’s head Discarded fifty years on whims of a child Drifts down a river of sludge. Entropy of flight set in long ago — Oaks home to birds without wings Sliced off and songs silenced During the polystyrene invasion. New toys, faulty toys, metal boxes in transit: Timed to fail, this throw-away culture.…
My soul soars past mountain peaks, finding new latitudes to chart, yet symbiosis I refuse to seek. Polluted petals drift down drained creeks and crows caw to my lacking heart, but my soul soars past mountain peaks. Oak leaves fly wildly across my cheek, willing we shall never part, yet symbiosis I refuse to seek.…
National Poetry Writing Month
Keeping the world immersed in stanza.
About fantastical places and other stuff
"The silence of the night awakens my soul"
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Saralyn Caine Poetry 