source If it is duly procedured-kind, Then it is not a dink. For that sort, Have multiple tors. For the nature exposes its name, And the elegant isn't put to be mane. Isn't it duly cooked in the pots,

When the night comes there are auroras that weep, the trails smell of pine and departure, the borders of the sky remain wide.

source I am sprung and in it deepened. Nothing much more than, To be in love with the realization plan. Knowing is a different stance, And not knowing makes vigilance. I am sprung, With the golden age

There once was a time when enough was enough, the world was like a cat, curiously content claws in, purring softly it was the simple wants we carried in the way children carry stones, for the weight of

source Privileging... Just like an opportunity, Somewhat of a luck in reality. For something and anything, For someone and anyone, For somewhere and anywhere. Focusing on the present, Rather than what

Before dig-done. source Although it isn't in the rig, Normally, the pig swims in the swamp for the pig, For a longer period worn, As time serves the dig-done, Each embodiment will be a gig, To show each

Mistaking deceit for Love is what we should avoid

Poetry is not dead, my friends. As long as anyone feels that ‘something is missing’, poetry will live on, seeking to be expressed... // La poesía en el Caribe no está en los libros, está en la forma en

source Belated celebratory galore. It is a simple context, Lined in the index. For we all celebrate growth in pounce, For the children that we were once. So it is all about celebrating, And the contextual

This is my submission for the A Picture is worth more than a thousand words prompt IDIOSYNCRASY You see food, I see poison, You see culinary artwork, I see idol food. You're salivating, I want to throw

The senior man who always turns up as human. A self-made, Evolving the world that is full of facade, So congratulations this time, With the equilibrium to balance the rhyme, To the experience that can

𝑆𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑙. 𝐿𝑒𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠 𝑎𝑐ℎ𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 𝑎 ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑜𝑙𝑑, 𝑎 𝑣𝑜𝑖𝑐𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑒𝑐ℎ𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠, 𝑎 𝑙𝑖𝑔ℎ𝑡—ℎ𝑜𝑤𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑡— 𝑘𝑒𝑝𝑡

source The ways of the Umpamugos. Is not to show itself, But to see itself. As to see, Evolves consciousness to be, And consciousness is not imaginary, Which is attached to mental imagery, Consciousness

𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡ℎ 𝑟𝑒𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑏𝑒𝑟𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑜 𝑡𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑡ℎ 𝑔𝑟𝑎𝑐𝑒 ... // 𝐿𝑎 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑒 𝑠𝑜𝑢𝑣𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑑𝑒 𝑐𝑒𝑢𝑥 𝑞𝑢𝑖 𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑐ℎ𝑒𝑛𝑡 𝑙𝑒́𝑔𝑒𝑟𝑠 ... // 𝐿𝑎 𝑡𝑖𝑒𝑟𝑟𝑎 𝑟𝑒𝑐𝑢𝑒𝑟𝑑𝑎 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑒𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑠𝑎 𝑐𝑜𝑛 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑚𝑎...

source Is not the son of none. It is so bright that it clears the route, In a way vivid enough for the foot, As the blockage couldn’t overshadow the sun's brightness, So to say that the entire scheme is

Ridding the B.O.A.T. source So to abbreviate it to the "B" of all time, The word known, So-called the poet. So let's be brief, Tagging on realization, As the blackest days passed. So too the

We’ll weather any stormy sky if we just pull together, with warmth and understanding that outlasts the rainy weather. So chin up, mates! Let’s carry on, with hope that’s bright and new, because a world

source The cat's tale. What did it know, So to show, Than to meow and grow. The one to observe, Staying with its creator as a half. Sometimes alone, Sometimes affectionately in tone. So what cosign it

Here I am entering my third act in much the same way the second one began, Keeping my eyes open for synchronicity, seeking out moments of joy scattered amongst the mounting losses, and melancholy, lingering.

source Leaving it to pile. Turning on the lights, Showing in counting bytes. It is not about fighting, Or to state what is right. It is a plight, Knowing that it is bright. To see the child, Having the