December’s golden glory

Even as silver winds spin cold
Adorning snowy mantle
December's golden glory
Rhapsodizes sky....

Hands cuddle dewed chimes
Warmed by firelight's evanescence;
Flames burned by time leap
Into seasons' embrace

Pensive days cascade
Into destiny's eternity
Twirling, endowing hope
That January will bring 
Interludes of global peace...

Only love endures--
Cries ache in terror's mayhem
Raking in wartime woes...

And now a questionku for you...

December ignites 
Wait of optimism....
Does love and hate meet halfway?

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inside my dreams

Inside my dreams, I drift
I paint myself a gift
Letting my world come alive
Palette of colors that thrive
Spangling dreams with fairytales
Bequeathing warmth to life's trails
My dreams have no illusions
Words fall without deception
Stars tiptoe in with blues
Tides bring in magnetic muse...

I tuck dreams away for a rainy day
My way of keeping sorrow at bay.

Lost Voice – Christine Ray

A Global Divergent Literary Collective

siren’s golden voice
once dropped confident syllables
into air
as naturally as breathing
now stifled in constricted throat
that struggles to swallow
six-sided anxiety
hot, sour bile

college ruled notebooks
once full
of manic scribblings
compulsively captured in black ink
before inspiration could swirl down the floor drain
collect dust
sigh from disuse

pen now held in death grip
fingers have lost their grace
their nerve
fertile mind now an empty room
where silence rings
torturous tinnitus

blindfolded by fear
weight pressing down on shoulders
by the weight of giant
unseen inquisitor’s voice barks
Have you reached the bottom of yourself
are you so shallow
so barren?!
Or is truth so deeply hidden
that you must dive inside
hand to elbow buried into slippery entails
to reach it?

surgical implements laid out
with precision on a stainless tray
slide into view
no hesitation picking up sharp scalpel
with shaking fingers

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sun’s winter trapeze

Merigold sunshine cascades
On meadows that flaunt their green
Frail petals of blossoms trail
Draping perfumed pace.

Butterflies toss the ginger air
Birds, bees sway in ballet hues
Knolls frolic in emerald , olive
As sun drips yellow

Igniting chill
Wind cruises  pearly mist
Chiming encores..





Genuine Fake

Genuine Fake

Daina is one of a kind gal, amazingly talented, she is a braveheart and a true friend ! Check out her awesome blog !

http://ourbeautifullies.com/2017/12/15/coping-skills-vs-life-skills/

Our Beautiful Lies

Who are you? Who am I?

Your name was given to you by someone else. Your gender, your birthplace, and your race were all given to you. Your job is transient at best.

Inevitably, when anyone starts sitting in silence with their eyes closed in meditation, Who Am I? is a question that will arise. If I’m honest, though, it has always been a question for me. It’s one of the questions that made me wonder if I was crazy. Paradoxically, in philosophy and psychology, it’s the very question that keeps you sane.

I am a mother of 3 amazing and frustrating kids, I was working full time, I have a handful of friends, [insert standardized blurbs here]. To each category, I had a different set of filters and personality. People always tell me how much they love how real and genuine I am. At the same time, in the…

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writing

Ebon ink runs down my eyes
Flowing into my lips, it dries.

Lips find a voice in my quill
Words flow off their own free will.

Into a paper that holds
Where my dream unfolds.

Words hang on for dear life
Letting go of all the strife.

Hidden words come undone
Into rhymes and verses spun.

Words endear and endure
That is poetry's allure.

My library of thoughts bookmark
Poesy page turner leaves a spark.

My heart sings as I blow off steam
Cap is off my pen, phrases gleam.