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A Woman Dances at Her Last Campfire
by Kourtnie McKenzie

She dances as fire
escaping from the wood-pile, as smoke
lifting arms in calligraphic lines;
                                      she’s rising
in temperature, casting shadows 
on earth, till the log snaps, 
                                      and embers fall 
                                      into stillness;

the campground turns to look 
at her mid-song, but she’s in a grand pause
as she scatters 
kindling from her palm,

as she chooses another playlist 
from the cellphone in her 
pocket, another rhythm 
shared between footsteps and her earbuds; 
then she tangles the bright cord
in her curly hair, and her oversized sleeves—even her jeans 
get involved—struggle to whip free, lashing wilder, 
wider, like the universe is ready
to give her more space than her body.

See Ya When I Get Home ~ #RomanticTuesday #Poetry

The gentle kiss of morning
Comes sweetly from above
Sleepy eyed, I draw a smile
Looking up at the man I love

His lips, so very tender… 54 more words

Night Owl Poetry

Pedaled Memories

a found penny
from 1868
in the penny jar

There is no escape from the mist and aroma of the familiar. The clamor of our pots ring the same tune. 314 more words


Goldenrod and History

It has been a least a couple weeks since I have posted a purple lisianthus. I love the complementary colors–purple and gold–pulsing there beside each other. 337 more words


Angie of office 93

She works in office 93,

A third floor view of a parking lot and a tree.

It is nice enough. At least she can see something. 307 more words


I saw hope, lost
On the hills, amnesiac
And she was
Looking for hope.

– Che Chidi Chukwumerije.


Lost And Lonely Boy... (a short poem)...

I am a lost and lonely boy

And someone stole my only toy

My search has yielded little joy

I am a lost and lonely boy… 61 more words