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Daniel Tucker Jul 2017
He travelled to Canada's west coast
To sit in fields of Mushrooms Magic.
Psychoactive effects created rooms
Filled with white cognitive static.

He returned to his hometown small
In Boreal forests of Ontario's Northland.
Beyond locked doors now unhinged
He sank deeper in grey matter quicksand.

No one quite knew Joshua anymore.
Disturbance eclipsed his passive way.
At the local pub he told Ed and me
He was being followed by the C.I.A.

In one weeks time he picked up a knife
And stabbed his father and mother.
His father lay dead on the kitchen floor
She played dead and tried not to shudder.

Joshua was found just sitting in their car
When police came to the scene of the crime.
In a hospital for over thirty years now
His room has been a static void sealed mind.
©2017 Daniel I. Tucker

Someone I knew a long time ago.
With flour, you can make dough
With tomatoes, you can make sauce
But top them with cheese
And add a little heat
And you can make magic
There's food, there's great food, and then there's pizza.
QueenOfTheAshes Aug 2024
Blank page, I lost the mage
I didn't get to tell him to light his sage
Powerless cries, I turned to muffled lies
Saw the truth in his eyes, the ego dies.

I put on faces and covered my traces
I searched myself in too many places
Died on the hill of pain and fell
And found myself fueled by the fires of hell.

I came to light a candle on the mage's table
But he didn't back down from giving me a label
The child I thought I was turned into a crow
I actually thought I could put on a show.

And now we're both sad and disappointed
Cause my sweet child's love's been tainted
By death's touch and empty soul
I'm afraid now, he'll always be alone.
Juliana Aug 2024
It’s kinda weird to think about
Because sometimes I’m living so far in the past
And it’s almost like you’re mine again
And then suddenly I open my eyes
And ****
Just like magic
You’re gone again
Her brown eyes are like polished
mahogany, their rich hue deepened with a subtle glimmer, lacing beauty into every flower bed they touch. They hold an irresistible warmth and clarity, reflecting a depth that's both inviting and enigmatic—like the first sip of coffee on a quiet morning, awakening something deep inside. They shimmer, soft as stardust, each glance revealing a gentle spark, as if they're harboring a soft, unspoken magic just for you.
Scarlet McCall Aug 2024
Changeling, sprite,
loose-limbed motion
as you fly in the night.
Rub your wings together;
create a cascade of sound
that drenches our ears
as you fall to the ground.
Gossamer beauty,
so delicate yet strong--
Fold your wings around me;
I belong in your song.
Just something I tossed off tonight
Lyla Aug 2024
Sidewinding out,
past oaks with fractal branches,
graceful drooping bower-isles
in seas of summer-blond grasses.

After asphalt gives over to reddish dust,

a metal gate shields the road from a spindly goat path,
                                                       a suggestion of a passage,
                                                        ­                      a treacherous
                                                                ­                           scratch
                                                                ­                                     on
                                                              ­                                        the
                     ­                                                                 ­                 steep
                                                           ­                                            hillside.

Peer out the heart’s window,
only scree and visions of tumbling down, down greet you.
Move the chain and open the gate, but don't get back in.
It’s time to stretch and let the driver pick their own way through.

Down, down the driveway we walk, don’t run it's steep!
and we are met with a circle of deer-cropped grass,
a curious shed claiming itself a cabin,
and a wooden house.

From the house comes a woman,
laugh first,
to teach you how to crack pine nuts,
in spite of a squirrel’s scolding.

Garlic-kitchen, rustic room, quiet in its quality.
A phone that works often enough.
A black and white tv, grey today
in favor of a window full of deer.

The dainty pink-soap bathroom tells you
a proper lady lives here.
Tole paint cheering every surface tells you
a joyous heart dwells here.  

Drowsy sunny table chatter stretches out the time.
Wooden pegs turn fidgets into solitaire.  
Veneration by languorousness compleat;

it’s

time

to

skip.

Out the door and to the right,
stop by the small pond to see water skippers dance.
Then down the path to the swinging bridge,
a slender suspension of disbelief.

Walk across the boards; you’re an explorer.
Walk onto the metal grates; you’re a spider on a web.
But try telling that to self-preservation,
balking at every jello-wobble step.

The bold bounce like astronauts on the moon.
The wise linger to look for turtles far below.
Fortune favors them both,
as all ways lead to Camp Secret.  

A worn trail threading the brush,
opens to a ferny dream.
A small stream dibbling its way to the creek,
has left behind a paradise.

Trip-trap over a footbridge
to the shelter of a grapevine canopy.
A fairy’s kitchen with a green enamel sink,
tractor seats and a *** rack tree.

Ancient stone building with a door aged shut,
On one end a cheeky wall-less loo.
Dormant spring beds in the clearing,
waiting for sleeping bags to bloom.

Craggy fruit trees form an orchard
gothic as an old graveyard.
Inviting, elegant in desolation,
but we push by undeterred.

Tracing a deer trail up the ridge,
keep clear of the poison oak.
A soundless becalmed summer day.
Perfect for a visit to the dam.

Concrete distaff, copper spindle.
Magic spun from a captured creek.
Flowing through fossily tunnel
to power the electric trees.

Winding ‘round to the other side,
a second bridge but this one still.
Wooden boards in a rusty frame.
More perilous than its swaying kin.

Hold on tight, don’t trust your feet.
Then meander with a streamlet
to the garden just beyond
the mossy, reedy muskrat pond.

High charged fence to keep deer back
from sweet roots growing deep.
Doe barn, buck barn is their place
with tools, dust and memories.

Back by the house, we slide to the terrace
where ladybugs shelter in soft mullein leaves.
The washboard shale is sprouting sedges,
a water snake kingdom by a saltless sea.
This is dedicated to Hammer's Camp with its hidden gem (accessed by a hand-crafted suspension bridge) Camp Secret, a wonderful family cabin owned by my father's godmother. It was a magical place, but sadly has since been completely destroyed by a wildfire.
Abi Winder Aug 2024
my soul is made of
moonlight and pixie dust.

i find myself in them.
i see the way the moon changes me
and how magic brings me to life.

my heart is made of
fine art and scented candles.

i see myself in the strokes of oil.
feel all my emotions poured out in perfect pigment,
feel my soul storm soothe as i trim and light the wick.

i hear my inspiration
in music and nature.

i listen to my thoughts in song
as if someone has dug through my mind,
and i see leaves as a reminder that change is good.

isn’t that beautiful?
to find yourself in all of the smaller things?
to be everything all at once
and still feel free?
Sofia Aug 2024
The first strawberries bloom
Growing in the green room
Like babies in the woomb

While kids start playing in the outsides again
The strawberries grow their green beard again
Waiting for the kids to come to them, again

Kids start picking the blooming beauties
Not just girls
But boys aswell
Even if they don't like each other that well

Starting to play
And play again
Until the magic rewinds again

Oh april you're teasing the kids again
Bringing them together
And seperating 'em
Once again
Let me be honest this was something I once wrote in a discord group lol
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