Records of AnOther World

I was listening to music, when Ofelia K’s “Another World” played right after Elle King’s “Wild Love”. The combination reminded me of one of my old poems. I’m re-sharing it with you, of course. Because, well… you know my thoughts on sharing.

Jump in bed with me,
my love; let’s
kiss music between the thighs,
chant of songs over the sheets,
count sheep into leading men.

wear matchless boots
that grow well together,
be mANY in action
but One in thought,
sing of you and me
and dance of us…

Let’s birth records
of AnOther world.

– Linked to Poets United ~ Poetry Pantry 363.

“Passion”, by Leonid Afremov

Sharing Is Magic that Grows…

A poem is a gift of wonder, one that never stops giving itself, that never stops growing, that never stops evolving with the love that feeds it…

Those were my thoughts after reading Victoria Patella’s latest post, which includes one of my stitched poetry bits—“I am made of wild”—and a delicious poem by her.

see how Victoria made the poetry grow for her

Victoria’s words, her way of digesting the piece, the way in which she relates what she sees… helped me answer a question I hadn’t known I was asking: Why is it that the word “ink”, in a page I’m blacking out, is so difficult for me to resist?

My last three blackout poem bits (after I crafted the first one, a friend challenged me to create two more using the worlds “love” and “ink” *like that’s a real challenge*):

“I art my love in ink.”


“I live for bold ink
‘n’ cheeky love.”


In the sun,
love her eyes,
her cheek…
in ink.

*to see the first two on Instagram, click here and here*

Photos evolve, too… as you share them and re-experience them with others. When I first saw the picture below, I thought, I really love my t-shirt, and, I so love seeing a bit of urban wild in the middle of New York City, and Goodness, I could cut worlds with that jaw. Hey, I think a lot. Anyway, then someone described what they saw in the picture, and added at least 13 more thoughts to my list.

Sharing is magic that grows.

You Must Taste the Thorns

“…it is true, poetry is delicious.” ~ Virginia Woolf

I know love works
not like a machine. Still,
its parts must
be handled with precision,
touched only by a heart
that understands how
love truly works,

when artistically twisted;

you must taste the thorns,
if you wish to eat sweet fruit
from lips worth your while,

you must

birth wild things—
moons, succulent cackles
and belief-made rainbows,

you must

be the story
that inspires you
(and your wants)

to dream tangible realities,
you must be you…

always you.

the wee notes…
– The 1st, 3rd and 5th stanzas of this poem were birthed separately. You can glimpse the originals on Instagram: 1st (handwritten on a coffee filter), 5th (blacked out from quotes of mine), 3rd (inspired by the thorny blood orange plant *see below*).
– Linked to the Imaginary Garden with Real Toads ~ Tuesday Platform.