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Eight legged beauty
Spinning your web architect
Stare in amazement
Haiku
Spiders are so industrious
Unwritten lines upon a pristine page
waiting for a hand to bid them speak,
muted wings of tawny hunting owls
swift soft and to feed a midnight beak,
a peal of screaming bells
which have no tongues to sing
is this silence, waiting to be filled
or is a nothing held within these things
The forgotten book—
a dusty shelf, tucked away,
had so much to say.
Writer's Digest Poetry Prompt PAD Challenge of the day, "Write a book poem." I wrote this about finding/coming back to/making time for one's own creativity. Even in small, but purposeful ways. Writing is important to me and even within the busyness of my own world, it's necessary for me to make some time, each week, to do the things I enjoy doing.
 May 8 sacred slop
Nev
When the road gets rough and the nights get cold,
When the weight's too heavy and the fear takes hold,
Stand your ground- don't run, don't hide.
There's fire in your heart and steel in your stride.

Bruised and battered, bent but proud,
Still you rise, still you're loud.
Let the doubters talk, let the storms all rage,
You're more than a chapter- you're writing the page.

So tighten your fists and lift your chin,
The battle isn't over - you're built to win.
No matter what, you have to have that positivity and that belief in yourself. What good is another person's belief and support if you don't have any of that for yourself to start with? It all starts and ends with you.
I want to unplug
sever all connection
I’m long overdue
for a period of reflection,
time to spring clean
dust my mental shelf,
remove all the cobwebs
and try to find myself
Robin, butterfly, chaffinch calls
wisteria climbs on ancient walls,
magnolia, daffodil, snowdrop scramble
carrion crows parade and amble,
in the garden near the maze
early spring brings warmer days
 Apr 22 sacred slop
Liana
I want to hug a tree
But my backyard
doesn't have one anymore
My old house that my father kicked me out of and is now destroying had a tree. I need a hug, and there was supposed to be a tree in my backyard and there wasn't. For some reason this broke me. I am currently sitting in my backyard crying.

I want my tree...
Rough wind on my lips
but no words will stay
I think my poem blew away
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