Damnation for the Lost

Damnation for the Lost by Mick’s Neon Fog. Beautiful landscapes that beckon and make me question my life choices. Hauntingly familiar.

Mick's Neon Fog

I’d placed my faith in the wisdom of famous nomads, taken flight from safe restraints. Gone were the dreams of childhood, the joy of birthdays, familial affection. Hunger for the sun-bleached highways and the beauty of unwalked streets; afternoons of careless horizons. The college dormitories, the dust of traditions, tuition and careers and the map of a future planned by a degree — oh how sweet the heat of lost hills when the dogwoods are in bloom. How at peace the heart can be when it wants nothing but the lonely road, and has it. If only for a moment. If only for a moment to wake in that Carolina field and feel the peach sun drying the dew in your hair: the new day pregnant and unknown, beckoning with sunshine on the backroads and strangers, fast talkers, heavy drinkers, kind souls who drive you fifteen miles and maybe stop…

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Time & You by myvaliantsoulblog. This is what love and understanding looks and feels like. Heartfelt beautiful!


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I was the one
with bruises and stones
in my mirror-eyed reflection
a reflection of you, mother
the cacophony of time and hours
floating inside your eyes,
the heaviness of pebbles and rituals.
Your arm mocked your cerulean breast,
with its swollen stigma of memoirs
and some pictures, vintage.

I combed your concave mouths
of dripping forlorn fractures,
like a staircase bleeding
or a topology reversed and processed.
I am a soft song in your black-knitted bun
a piece of your chipped nail,
a sunflower, kissed and harassed
inside your turbulent head.

A cauldron, and a day full of nights
hid beneath your muffled chin,
a mole hanging beneath your shouts and dim- dreams.
Mother, you are a pool of madness
and a point blank.
Obscure, shadowy your tongue knits tears
and a sweet thread of touch, impeccable.

Sometimes, I glint in your orange censure
a pattern of love and…

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I love to hold your eyes in mine, like hands

I love to hold your eyes in mine, like hands—by Lois E. Linkens. It feels like a wonderful love song, sung in the summer, while dancing about the maypole. Beautiful!

lois e. linkens

Image result for couple abstract painting

I love to hold your eyes in mine, like hands.

To count each blink and keep mine very few.

I see myself, a pale pepper-pot girl

Who made a home within the sight of you.

I love to hold your hands in mine, like jewels,

Skin as cotton, brown like rum. Warm as June,

I would I’d wear you through the yellow months,

Take you off on white wintry afternoon

To have you by me. Darling, think we thus;

We are milk and coffee, cream and rum. Oh,

What a mix of luxuries, what great wealth

Does mingle when this trembl’ing close we come!

I love to touch your face to mine, like birds.

A gravel nest atop a city church

Does seem a sweeter home than that in which

Our hands and skin are pulled beyond one hair.

‘Tis mine own selfish Soul that thinks it fair

In asking…

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Howling Down Hallways – Matthew D. Eayre

Howling Down Hallways by Matthew D. Eayre at Sudden Denouement. A gripping and insightful character study! Really great!

Sudden Denouement Collective

Greedily this heart reaches
and none may sway its purpose
in pieces, or complete
a want becoming need
will sustain until the night feeds
burning hunger,
churning thunder,
turning and tearing asunder
what God has gifted

Pointed looks and double-entendre
hang heavily over the top of eyes
too honest, much too open,
no secrets will be kept

Voraciously this mind seeks to consume
hearts and hands and skinned knees
yes and now and yes, please
give and take and
oh goodness gracious, me

Memories of desires left unfulfilled
echo meaningfully in salacious reverberation,
if nothing else keeps the road vanishing then simple lust
might fill the tank

An older man,
but still a man.
The term ‘pervert’ has been used.

Perversion is a matter of perspective
and understanding of physical existence,
what is perverse to the fly
is commonplace to the spider
and the robin notices only in passing


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Grope-Introducing Basilike Pappa

Grope—Introducing Basilike Pappa at Sudden Denouement. Wonderfully fragmented imagery and an inescapable mood. Fantastic!

Sudden Denouement Collective


Doubled over

curled up

drained down to my secret nerves

I grope for


Just need to close this window

the wind must never see me

cuddle dust bunnies

Under the bed

I’m an old diary

the wind must never read me

                                                            (even rats are ashamed to be in your woodshed)

Doubled over

curled up

melted down to asymmetries

I grope for


If I were a fairy

would anyone steal my wings

Hold me steady


commonsense me


                                                                        (what would the neighbors say)

The fortunate, the meek!

How fast they dream

If only they could tread – what’s the word

                                                                        (softly: like ghosts wearing slippers)

Softly is the word

No doors banging

no phones ringing

no laughter creeping in this cellar

where half a century is turning to sour grapes

(melancholy is a bad performance)

Kindly shut up

You know I love roses and wet…

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Across the Street- Georgia Park

Across the Street by Georgia Park at Sudden Denouement. A wonderful vignette of verisimilitude.

Sudden Denouement Collective

Is it my tendrils of smoke, the scent of my shampoo

or my dog’s panting that rises up to the third floor apartment

of the brick building across the street


where you poke your head out of that window

to ask me if id like something to eat,

something specific, always;

pizza, a meatball sub,

or something else entirely

as when you inquire if im dirty

and would like the bath with bubbles

you’re already drawing,

would my dog like to come with me?


and I know it’s not just me.

that alleyway’s past was marked

by heavy foot traffic

before your inquiries,

and it’s not just women;

a fact that comforts me.


You are well taken care of

attired in bright sweaters,

warm and clean.  And gracious

enough to always offer something

i catch you alone sometimes,

bent forward and whispering


It’s clear that you…

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