Deseo está muerto

In the soft light
He comes to me
His eyes are bright
With desire

It’s just the two of us
All else has flown
The air is full of lust
And thick desire

As I feel his tender touch
He speaks softly in my ear
Take off your clothes
You are my desire

But sometimes the dust
Of past pain and lies
Cannot be brushed aside
Sorry, mi deseo está muerto

Calling All Poets


For National Poetry Month, NPR is soliciting poetry to help celebrate the “art of the verse.”

They are asking for original poems in your favored format:  haikus, couplets, freeform, you name it.

You can submit your poem(s) –140 character or less– to Twitter with the hashtag #NPRpoetry. You can also send your submission(s) to TikTok using the same hashtag (no more than 15 seconds and radio-friendly).


P.S. You are encouraged to share your compositions in this blog’s Comment section! 😍

Image by Fathromi Ramdlon from Pixabay

Guess Who?

This was written by a poetic blogger I follow. I think she really hit the proverbial nail with this creation.

He Only Plays One

Untouched books crowded his shelves, shiny leather spines and faded first editions, meticulously dusted and never read.

A man in his position had to keep up appearances.  He truly wanted people to think as highly of him as he did of himself.  The bookcases made a fabulous backdrop for his picture to be taken for dust jackets and interviews.  People expected him to be well read and he had, on more than one occasion, stated that he was indeed a voracious reader.  In truth, he was a reader that never cracked a book other than his own.  He needed to be able to answer questions regarding his work after all.

Yes, he was a writer that didn’t write.  He was regarded as a prolific writer though after the fame and acclaim of his first novel he had delegated.  He didn’t have the time or inclination for the tedious process of writing; though he surely had the talent if need be, but he had people for that.  His time was better spent being seen, being heard, being well thought of and sought after.

~Melanie Thomason
Image by Colleen O’Dell from Pixabay

Creativity By Brutus

I follow the blog of a very talented poet who goes by the name of “Brutus.” While Brutus is quite adept at humorously downplaying his own work (as noted in his “comments” section), many people (including me) find his poetic abilities quite impressive.

The main thing I’ve noticed when reading Brutus’s compositions is his proclivity for rhyming. In my opinion, this is a special talent. Speaking personally, I have found it’s very difficult to express your thoughts within a metered format. Nonetheless, he seems to have conquered this ability … and does it quite well.

While I appreciate most all of his work, I was particularly impressed with the following. Apparently it was something he posted earlier this year and I just came across it. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

He’s entitled it “Wrinkles — I Have More Than My Share.”


Don’t trace the lines around my eyes
To see what they have seen
Don’t touch the wrinkles on my feet
To be where they have been
Don’t feel the scars upon my flesh
To understand my pain
Look into my heart and know
I’d do it all again