wordspaceMaelstrom
20260325
Into the maelstrom once again;
that’s how it is
whenever you are here.
If only I could find
some way to thwart the pull
you have on me
whenever you are near.
David FranksMy #travel #poem, from WalkaboutsVerse, with #photography, "Irony in #Lancaster" http://walkaboutsverse.blogspot.com/2010/12/poem-121-of-230-irony-in-lancaster.html
Rob Bignell, Editor/Author
GerdesiletsCher complotiste / Dear conspiracy theorist #poem #lies
toi mon complotiste bien aimé-des couleuvres je te fait avaler-sur le net tu vas les y recracher-après les avoir vite retouchées-tes followers vont les reposter-partout elles y seront diffusées-là leurs faussetés ainsi répétées-en deviendront donc des vérités- You, my beloved expert in conspiracy-so I'll feed you some lies for my gain-on internet, you'll spit them out again-
https://gerdesilets.wordpress.com/2026/03/27/cher-complotiste-dear-conspiracy-theorist-poem-lies/
RkristufDer Künstler, der die Maschine als Pinsel nutzt,
wird vor das Tribunal der Reinen gezerrt.
Man fragt nicht nach dem Bild, nur nach dem Werkzeug,
und nennt die Freiheit eine Frage der Herkunft.
Meister Jeder, Dadaist und Kubusdichter 3/26
#dada #Kubus #Wortkubus #Poem #AIdada
Jester
WetdryvacDisrespection
March 27, 2026
in the sandpit with entirely too many firearms
we’re holding a wake in two stages, the first
setting up targets for Big Jim against dirt wall
full size cardboard picture stand-ups, extra kudos
if the kids manage to tag upper femoral, or
as they’re saying, getting lead inseam-personal
second, once the boom’s packed, locked cases
stacked, plywood sheet placed atop, then meat
we lay out effigy, because that hard son
sure better not be coming back, couple graves
down where quicksand stopped digging sand
we sink the rest of him, what we could find
no-one taking credit for getting all chop-chop
but all of us, come dusk, pretty good with it
* * *
#poem #poetry #writing
March 27, 2026
in the sandpit with entirely too many firearms
we’re holding a wake in two stages, the first
setting up targets for Big Jim against dirt wall
full size cardboard picture stand-ups, extra kudos
if the kids manage to tag upper femoral, or
as they’re saying, getting lead inseam-personal
second, once the boom’s packed, locked cases
stacked, plywood sheet placed atop, then meat
we lay out effigy, because that hard son
sure better not be coming back, couple graves
down where quicksand stopped digging sand
we sink the rest of him, what we could find
no-one taking credit for getting all chop-chop
but all of us, come dusk, pretty good with it
* * *
#poem #poetry #writing
Bruce MacDonaldGood morning from Minneapolis, where breezy is the word of the day.
Mostly cloudy, then gradually becoming sunny, with a high near 38. Breezy, with a light northwest wind increasing to 15 to 20 mph in the morning. Winds could gust as high as 30 mph.
Love the shadow of the forest,
Love the wind among the branches,
And the rain shower and the snowstorm,
And the rushing of great rivers
venetiana 
🇵🇸
Laminar Follow
March 27, 2026
by the birdbath in the shed of unfortunate accumulation
I keep the bronze mirror I inherited from that’s-not-grandma
whose last will and testament bequeathed it to me specifically
thus the letter, nearly discarded, from a lawyer on the far coast
who wrote that I’d missed the reading, but shipping is paid
delivery folks swore t’were cursed, a custom diesel van thing
unloading, scored badly in four different paints across both sides
injuries evident on couriers, who’d taken nap-turns cross-country
which led me to scribbling nonsense on the acknowledgement
because sometimes you just don’t put your name down
my folks, happy to have me back in the basement, no shame
offered up the clutter-shed until I rebuilt a wall to hang it
spring project joining a dozen others, folks getting on, needing
someone handy, or at least willing, as is the way of aging
a tear in the packaging showing my tarnished eye looking back
but it’s not a curse if you’re comfy with it, brown paper burned
trash pine transport frame likewise, three separate days warm
gathered round fire, maple logs on after, mirror braced ‘gainst house
folks sometimes asking why it’s labelled mirror if nothing reflects
my eye joined by the rest of me, other-self also shrugging
in that other place, other me is always other other me, a could be
which I place my hand upon, palm to palm, fingers to cheek
when sun has gone, while I’m loading the furniture dolly
building a ramp for the shed, trading places, bringing treasures
giving talismans between worlds, wearing each other’s kin
shuffling twixt on whim, abrading in, finally comfortable skin
in hard and softer self, scaled kettle and calico acceptance
a manying of alien come upon that so-familiar iterative breath
mirror upon mirror stationed by bike, in bedroom, garage
where no reflection shuffles dew-sheaved worlds but for we
* * *
#poem #poetry #writing #SF #SciFi
March 27, 2026
by the birdbath in the shed of unfortunate accumulation
I keep the bronze mirror I inherited from that’s-not-grandma
whose last will and testament bequeathed it to me specifically
thus the letter, nearly discarded, from a lawyer on the far coast
who wrote that I’d missed the reading, but shipping is paid
delivery folks swore t’were cursed, a custom diesel van thing
unloading, scored badly in four different paints across both sides
injuries evident on couriers, who’d taken nap-turns cross-country
which led me to scribbling nonsense on the acknowledgement
because sometimes you just don’t put your name down
my folks, happy to have me back in the basement, no shame
offered up the clutter-shed until I rebuilt a wall to hang it
spring project joining a dozen others, folks getting on, needing
someone handy, or at least willing, as is the way of aging
a tear in the packaging showing my tarnished eye looking back
but it’s not a curse if you’re comfy with it, brown paper burned
trash pine transport frame likewise, three separate days warm
gathered round fire, maple logs on after, mirror braced ‘gainst house
folks sometimes asking why it’s labelled mirror if nothing reflects
my eye joined by the rest of me, other-self also shrugging
in that other place, other me is always other other me, a could be
which I place my hand upon, palm to palm, fingers to cheek
when sun has gone, while I’m loading the furniture dolly
building a ramp for the shed, trading places, bringing treasures
giving talismans between worlds, wearing each other’s kin
shuffling twixt on whim, abrading in, finally comfortable skin
in hard and softer self, scaled kettle and calico acceptance
a manying of alien come upon that so-familiar iterative breath
mirror upon mirror stationed by bike, in bedroom, garage
where no reflection shuffles dew-sheaved worlds but for we
* * *
#poem #poetry #writing #SF #SciFi