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I am too heavy for this world.
My heart sinks like lead
through the mantle
I cannot rise again.

The very core should cry out
with the burden,
the weight of sorrow.

Painful scars
line the face of earth
and will not heal
until she is remade.

fine line

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in hands.

feeling thin skin pulled taut over rigid skull.

observing how fine the line
between life and death.

Pay up


You owe me
Eight thousand,
five hundred, sixty-one
back rubs.

But who’s counting?





Seasoned hair,

folds of loose skin

hanging (gravely pulled earthward),

fault lines emphasize years of smiles and sorrow.

We carry our stories here

in our faces.

They read through the language of our souls —

all we’ve seen with these tired eyes,

the melody played to the timbre of our beating heart,

the flavours and patterns splashed across our canvas,

the worn air we’ve inhaled and expelled and shared.



While the world chases youth,

we’ve become earthen pots

cracked by time

seeping the grace of I AM.


I Cannot Find My Heart


I cannot find my heart.

It is not to be located in my flat.
There is nothing in my bed but sheets.
The cluttered bathroom counter holds only oddities.
The kitchen dishes done, drying in the rack;
the freshly baked muffins wrapped and in a tin.
The remotes scattered over the lounge,
the dining room table covered in unopened mail.
Computer desk littered with keys and pens and blank books.

I trace my way back through my day —
grocery store, chemist, post office, work.

Then I walk to your place.
Ferreting the key from my canvas bag,
I shoulder-shove the door open,
the way one must when wood swells in the hot, moist summers.
Slowly I make my way through your life,
uncovering broken crockery,
discarded cutlery,
milk-rimmed glasses and wine-ringed mugs,
holey socks and biscuit crumbs.

Turning to go,
my eye catches a sigh under your couch.
I bend to take a closer look and there it is.
My heart.
Suddenly I remember that I gave it to you last night.
I pull it out and dust it off.
It looks a bit thinner, a lot tattier than it was.
Clutching it tightly to my chest,
I leave,
forgetting to lock the door behind me.


Today Walter presents Grace’s Chat With Laurie Kolp at d’Verse.
He then leaves us with this quote:

“I am cold, even though the heat of early summer is adequate. I am cold because I cannot find my heart.” ~Sebastian Barry from his novel A Long, Long Way

and asks us to draw something from these words, using this inspiration to craft a worded wonder.

I was caught by the phrase “I cannot find my heart” and started there.

Welcome Interloper


The night and the house and my heart are empty.
What I saw as freedom threatens to drown me.
I cocoon myself against the darkness and listen.

From a bar across the street, deep, smooth tones
flow like warm honey under my door — cello, sax
and clarinet spin their magic, seeping into my soul.

Cat leaps onto my lap, glint in his eye, and settles with a purr.



Victoria is hosting d’Verse today and challenges us to write a poem in sevenling form with music as the theme. Inspiration comes from paintings by a co-founder of d’Verse, Claudia Schoenfeld. Come visit to read more about Claudia, see her paintings and read some talented poets.

inevitable journey


you go

too soon
too suddenly
(like spring rain)

you go

after dancing around the world
after dancing across our hearts
(like first love)

you go

where we cannot see you
where we cannot yet follow
(like the north wind)

you go

you go

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