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I put a sardine in a mud puddle,              
My Grandma must not be told.
I would have fed it to my dog,
But it was too salty and so cold.

I would have ate it with my eyes closed
If it wasn’t so slimy and gray.
Grandma doesn’t know it’s been floating
In a mud puddle half the day.

The sardine may come to life and swim,
Or some boys will use it for bait --
If Grandma ever finds it,
Her white hairs will stand straight.

The secret of the sardine is safe so far --
Where I left it I’ll never admit.
It can stay forever in its muddy home,
With a butterfly attending to it.
Tryingsomethingdifferent
Let me go for a gleeful ride on the rainbow
Or sit on the moon to watch the stars put up a show
Put on my wings and light up the night with fireflies
Or just calming the earth as the wind in disguise

Sometimes it seems to me that all I do is dream
Try as hard as I might by any ways and means
Please don't force me to face reality
When all I want to do in life is take the time to dream

Be it floating on the clouds admiring the beautiful sight
Or dancing with my love in the snow showers
Little fairies hold buckets to collect my tears at night
While I dip into a pool filled with my favorite flowers

Because to me inside a dream is like a playful tune
That I love to sing by any means letting the dreams loose
From the middle of the imagined to the very edge of time
A steady stream I hope to dream forever in my mind

Strolling through a delicious tunnel of sweetness
Savoring the generous free flow of chocolate fall
The trees humming melodies, they leave me speechless
As curly vines of mixed berries crawl up the wall

Using life as the reflection inside of my dream scape
Moving further in the direction of the dream for the dreams sake
Where in time I hope to find what all along I have believed
That the dream I'm in at this moment is in fact my reality

Eudora*
*Mike Hauser
A big thank you to the lovely Mike Hauser for this wonderful dreamy piece! Truly humbled to be able to write with you again, Mike! You are incredible. :)
Some place where fame

holds no sway

Some world where violets

never fade

Somewhere someday...

Lies a dream reborn within a dream


Dreams overturn reality

When your thoughts flare with the stars

It's impossible to be an artist

With your feet on solid earth


In all the antiquity of art

we live in a time that barely notices

that while our ideas may levitate

the course world keeps our feet pinned down


We can try and float above the expectations

But the tyrant label will tie us to the earth

Shamed with the name of “struggling artist”

Which you don’t rise above



Instead you sit

With a copper coin cup at your feet

Selling your soul daily

In the torments of time


When I look into the deep eyes of art

I see this lack and struggle and longing

and I am thrown back into despair,

into the starved storms of any fading morning


The best we can do

Is turn the despair

Into something worth admiring

Take the past

And display it

On our present-day canvases


The world is stacked against the very idea

of taking creativity seriously,

except as a hobby,

yet we try anyway

although we know this from the start,

because the alternative,

Conformity,

does not satisfy our restless minds  


I clench my fists in the corner of the room

As the eyes stay fixed to silicon screens

Everything turns a hazy shade of blue

As social media fills the air


All I want to do is write a poem

One filled with imagery that contains no character limit

About how the eyes of the lonely

Stay glued to phones

Dominating our reality


But is the scene truly filled?

Or is it a vast emptiness?

How real is real?

That tells me that we, the sensitive different types, need one another

Or they will surely clone us

In their own image


So I encourage you

Breathe poetry

Cry paint

Do not let the world turn you monotonous

for the second we lose

Those colorful tears

And those darkly beautiful words

We lose something more than a hobby

We lose a life worth living


Or else it's a black and white reality at best

Although some see style in the monochromatic

I prefer colors and light

Enough to see

It's a black and white world without you,

It's a black and white world without you


Sarah Kersey
Joseph Paris
I tried to write a sonnet once
But only wrote twelve lines.
With number I am ever the dunce,
Make errors of all kinds.
Ten syllables is what’s required
Repeated fourteen times.
It makes me oh so very tired,
Before I find those rhymes.
And now I need a turning point,
A solution to the problem.
It’s time for me to rock this joint
From Cleethorpes up to Rotherham.
It looks contrived does each old poem,
So back to the drawing board I am going.

Paul Butters
Just musing....
High upon this hill, blue an green
My heart races in balm of drizzle,
I taste the seas' shimmers, crofts,
The turf and tobacco betwixt rain
Travel from my village to mind me
That this be an ancient landscape,
I inhale deeply damp Clannish air,
Have come to know winter peace
And all is golden in fey softy days,
In the scours of lamb scented sun.
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