synapse home

Exley sheep coma dream

birds hand-hold squirrels  

someone named Hilda

someone called Whoopsie Daisy

someone

taste of uneating

reminds of hating

compensatory Goldberg   

if

if only

one thing to must learn

count to the number oops  

cease crying nowsie cogito  

retaaardo 

olivetti womb

squeak ribb on

crab thread rod

age 18 book ray pipe

[lunar co click

lunar pi cup

lunar lee pappy]

Fripp make   down bolt

  bag econ   mall court risk   19[manohman]88

pocket wellek

ex plod flow flower                                plunk

damn blake pod hard   slip

things done night night nought

history concludes                                    why not

drunk history friend                                why not

drunk history bomb                                why not

collusion unto cha-ching

degree dunk slow bing

upset so high baby king

struggle era detect click click

live lonely little mysticism                      phut

no books

english likely unworded finn ly

drama boy slugfest ly

patch of grass mostly

formality spirit restrict

bitter joke darko

lamb to orgy class attention

class modification agnostic corporate

working under paternity blade

morning spirit tone   redeems

redemption body movements drill press home heart maternal ring

indentured standing drub

indentured standing stab

standing cockamamie

cuisine laughter better

one glass stomach

every turn attack turn solicitor

current cold kill whiskey blub

face derma play pick pace trad

symbols upon walk upon Frye book   home

copy anno anon non espresso grit   future fossil flip hurts now change

want change want   if means

MY ABSENT PRESENCE

People will weep.

Maybe they’ll pray.

They’ll likely say

nice things – Oh, Christ!

–When I met them.

–Where we took care.

–How I look now.

Then all my friends

will become still

as our whole past

binds up their minds

and that’s my brand.

ANOTHER YEAR ENDING

The geese are gone.

Another winter’s coming on,

and then a sound sleep

before we wake and leap.

Another year’s ending,

and then a new beginning.

Because life needs a frame

every year’s the same.

DUCK TAPE AND CHICKEN WIRE

A man can fix any part

with duck tape and chicken wire

except for a broken heart

and a field of wheat on fire.

The crop will grow back again

but the heart will never mend.

TONY

My first dog taught me justice,

mercy, and forgiveness.

When I pulled Tony’s tail

he bit me without fail,

and then he’d lick my face.

And thus I learned ‘bout grace.

God gave a dog to Adam

both as consolation

and as compensation

for the loss of Eden.

773౺

I’m upside down in Hell deeper than a dry well.

Oh, but why am I here with crooked financiers,

blasphemers, murderers, thieves, and adulterers?

The Devil came to me and he grinned wickedly.

“You’re here because you failed to live a life unveiled.

You had your mortal faults and kept them in your heart

instead of admitting, instead of correcting.

You, no self-inventor, just let your failings foster.

You never tried to move, get better, or improve.

If you’d been more driven, now you’d be in Heaven.”

And then I woke in sweats,

aware of mortal debts.

EXACTLY!

Eggs white, eggs brown.

The yolk is the same,

exactly the same.

Albumen’s the same,

exactly the same.

White ones, brown ones,

their soul is the same.

The Snow

Snow has 

Really hit DC

For the first time

This winter

His London

Would have hated

This weather.

Taylor Dibbert is a writer, journalist, and poet in Washington, DC. He’s author of, most recently, the poetry collection “Takoma.”

Geography of Home

I am a refugee

of my mother’s womb—

I fled the war

of her heartbeat

but still I return

to the borders of her love

to the warmth of her arms

where I am safe

where the sound of her voice

is a lullaby that soothes

the scars of my past

and the weight of my future

in her eyes, I see

a reflection of my own

strength and resilience

a reminder that I am home

my mother’s arms

are a place I can be

broken and still be loved

her touch is a whispered

promise that i am safe.

I LIED ABOUT EVERYTHING.

In my first encounter with your eyeball,

I saw a fire that water cannot quench.

I became water to your fire, though it burns deep in my heart.

So, when I said I want to be far from love’s garden,

when I said my heart has no home for yours,

fear echoed in my voice.

I lied about everything.

Grace Olatinwo (she/her) is a dynamic writer, poet and voice-over artist. Her life and passion revolves around art.

She is a lady with the never say die attitude. Hence, she believes greatly in her creativity and how much it can positively influence the world.

She tweets @Graceolatinwo1

Dialogue with soul 5

In this life, each one of us has a different purpose

You can be inspired from the idea of someone…but the Idea belongs always to creator

Let’s see about how the Idea is coming to an artist…

We are millions and millions minds in this beautiful planet, we called it Earth …

But what is really amazing, is the fact that we don’t think the same way.

We are so many creators, artists and poets and painters and dancers, even if we leave in the same place, we will not think the same and that because we come from different backgrounds religious or social even economical one.

This is the most amazing thing…

We have so many different experiences and of course we must write down about all our personal thoughts and feelings.

I believe only if we share our deepest thoughts and feelings we can know our true selves and become a better version of him

Because in the end we will be always alone with God and our dreams….

EVA Petropoulou Lianou 

Official candidate for Nobel Peace prize

2024