Stream of Consciousness
Twenty-Five
I worried that Twenty-five might come with questions, in a loud interrogative voice the usual racket of my heart's upstairs neighbor: why don't you know just who you are, and why you've been dropped just here? Why haven't you done so very much more, and helped everyone else to, too? But I find that Twenty-five comes to me quietly with morning mugginess by the Delaware shore, and seabirds skating high above a quick call with my brother, across 13 hours difference and the width of the Pacific. I worried that Twenty-five might arrive with accusation's weight but Twenty-five comes to me lightly With only the unwrapped gift and unfinished task of presence. Yes, Twenty-five comes to me quietly and sits in the dew-soaked chair beside and we just exist at this point in time with the trees and the grass and the bugs and the birds.
By Gabriel Huizenga2 months ago in Poets
Birthday Riddle
Born after fifty, add on a one. Closing in on a century, and on the day of this year's birthday, I will be three-fourths of the way. A riddle for people : Can you guess my birth year - August 11 - but in what year? Leo the lion…ess, that’s me. Kind and big-hearted, but don’t make me angry, for if you do, my claws will peel you! Careful, don’t mess with my kids, no, never my family, or my four-legged friends, unless you want it to be your definite end! For sure, I’ll eat some dark chocolate, perhaps gobble a slice of doubly frosted cake, some rich and creamy New York cheesecake, baked just right. These legs have walked lots of miles, My joints are quite creaky, and have gone through many trials of surgeries and remedies, so my feet still move. But the best thing is that my brain is strong. So I wrote about my upcoming birthday in this poem! Copyright © 8/9/2026 by Andrea O. Corwin
By Andrea Corwin 2 months ago in Poets
As I Sip My Vodka. Top Story - August 2026.
As I sip my vodka and watch you tease open your mouth and slip your tongue so effortlessly down against your bottom lip, wetting the ripe painted surface. Is it scarlet or crimson or maybe even rouge? And as you put your fingers down delicately against your tongue and smear them with something delectable, is it sweet or savoury or a little both?
By Paul Stewart2 months ago in Poets
