[weak signal]
love arrived
in an unfinished sentence
and a syntax error
no one noticed
but something aligned in the air
like when the radio
suddenly catches
a song you didn’t ask for
love arrived
in an unfinished sentence
and a syntax error
no one noticed
but something aligned in the air
like when the radio
suddenly catches
a song you didn’t ask for
April 24, 2025 at 7:02 AM
[weak signal]
love arrived
in an unfinished sentence
and a syntax error
no one noticed
but something aligned in the air
like when the radio
suddenly catches
a song you didn’t ask for
love arrived
in an unfinished sentence
and a syntax error
no one noticed
but something aligned in the air
like when the radio
suddenly catches
a song you didn’t ask for
[discreet theory of love]
it doesn’t begin with fireworks
nor end with promises
true love
is almost imperceptible
a breath aligning
a silence well placed
the absence of effort
those who seek it in grand gestures
miss what matters
it lives
where no one is trying to prove anything
it doesn’t begin with fireworks
nor end with promises
true love
is almost imperceptible
a breath aligning
a silence well placed
the absence of effort
those who seek it in grand gestures
miss what matters
it lives
where no one is trying to prove anything
April 23, 2025 at 11:06 PM
[discreet theory of love]
it doesn’t begin with fireworks
nor end with promises
true love
is almost imperceptible
a breath aligning
a silence well placed
the absence of effort
those who seek it in grand gestures
miss what matters
it lives
where no one is trying to prove anything
it doesn’t begin with fireworks
nor end with promises
true love
is almost imperceptible
a breath aligning
a silence well placed
the absence of effort
those who seek it in grand gestures
miss what matters
it lives
where no one is trying to prove anything
[Why Europeans Flinch at Indoor Caps]
It’s not snobbery. It’s architecture.
Our ceilings have seen frescoes, ghosts, revolutions.
A cap indoors feels like pitching a tent in a salon.
It’s not snobbery. It’s architecture.
Our ceilings have seen frescoes, ghosts, revolutions.
A cap indoors feels like pitching a tent in a salon.
April 5, 2025 at 2:33 PM
[Why Europeans Flinch at Indoor Caps]
It’s not snobbery. It’s architecture.
Our ceilings have seen frescoes, ghosts, revolutions.
A cap indoors feels like pitching a tent in a salon.
It’s not snobbery. It’s architecture.
Our ceilings have seen frescoes, ghosts, revolutions.
A cap indoors feels like pitching a tent in a salon.
We say we want honesty, but what we really want is flattery with a veneer of truth.
January 17, 2025 at 3:17 PM
We say we want honesty, but what we really want is flattery with a veneer of truth.
rebellion is the moment
when freedom chooses
to trade the stride for the gallop
when freedom chooses
to trade the stride for the gallop
December 5, 2024 at 2:06 PM
rebellion is the moment
when freedom chooses
to trade the stride for the gallop
when freedom chooses
to trade the stride for the gallop
in the cat’s stillness resides the cosmos:
a balance between nothingness and the eternal
a balance between nothingness and the eternal
December 2, 2024 at 2:18 PM
in the cat’s stillness resides the cosmos:
a balance between nothingness and the eternal
a balance between nothingness and the eternal
A flame remembers
not the spark that birthed it,
but the darkness it devoured.
not the spark that birthed it,
but the darkness it devoured.
November 28, 2024 at 11:35 PM
A flame remembers
not the spark that birthed it,
but the darkness it devoured.
not the spark that birthed it,
but the darkness it devoured.
the soul does not break —
it multiplies into fragments
to bear the weight of the world.
each shard is not a loss but an expansion,
a silent act of survival.
it multiplies into fragments
to bear the weight of the world.
each shard is not a loss but an expansion,
a silent act of survival.
November 26, 2024 at 9:31 AM
the soul does not break —
it multiplies into fragments
to bear the weight of the world.
each shard is not a loss but an expansion,
a silent act of survival.
it multiplies into fragments
to bear the weight of the world.
each shard is not a loss but an expansion,
a silent act of survival.
Time does not heal wounds,
it merely teaches them to shift places.
it merely teaches them to shift places.
November 25, 2024 at 8:56 AM
Time does not heal wounds,
it merely teaches them to shift places.
it merely teaches them to shift places.
Reposted by Born To Write, BTW
My fear has been that if I post my own poems, it will feel like a bait-&-switch—like I’ve lured you with luminaries/an illusion of generosity so you’d support my writing. I live by Jean Rhys’s adage: “All of writing is a huge lake. I don't matter…The lake matters.” 🫶🏼
Gentle encouragement to post your own poems a bit more often, bc they are really excellent.😊
(But also, I get why it means a lot when others share them.)
(But also, I get why it means a lot when others share them.)
November 23, 2024 at 4:50 PM
My fear has been that if I post my own poems, it will feel like a bait-&-switch—like I’ve lured you with luminaries/an illusion of generosity so you’d support my writing. I live by Jean Rhys’s adage: “All of writing is a huge lake. I don't matter…The lake matters.” 🫶🏼
Reposted by Born To Write, BTW
One of those days. I have a book review to do (overdue, of course, so I need to finish it) & I have a cold, all I want to do is eat ice cream & watch a movie BUT—isn’t this poem by @toddedillard.bsky.social wonderful? I’ve shared it with several friends & now you. Review or not, I’ve done something.
November 24, 2024 at 5:57 PM
One of those days. I have a book review to do (overdue, of course, so I need to finish it) & I have a cold, all I want to do is eat ice cream & watch a movie BUT—isn’t this poem by @toddedillard.bsky.social wonderful? I’ve shared it with several friends & now you. Review or not, I’ve done something.
Born to Write, BTW – a minor ode to fleeting ironies and the quiet rebellion of observation.
From Lisbon, where nostalgia clings to the air like salt, I document the poetry of shadows and the arrogance of permanence.
This is not a place for answers – perhaps you’ll find a question worth keeping.
From Lisbon, where nostalgia clings to the air like salt, I document the poetry of shadows and the arrogance of permanence.
This is not a place for answers – perhaps you’ll find a question worth keeping.
November 24, 2024 at 4:41 PM
Born to Write, BTW – a minor ode to fleeting ironies and the quiet rebellion of observation.
From Lisbon, where nostalgia clings to the air like salt, I document the poetry of shadows and the arrogance of permanence.
This is not a place for answers – perhaps you’ll find a question worth keeping.
From Lisbon, where nostalgia clings to the air like salt, I document the poetry of shadows and the arrogance of permanence.
This is not a place for answers – perhaps you’ll find a question worth keeping.
there are mirrors that reflect more than the face,
but only for those who dare to look beyond the reflection.
but only for those who dare to look beyond the reflection.
November 24, 2024 at 12:03 AM
there are mirrors that reflect more than the face,
but only for those who dare to look beyond the reflection.
but only for those who dare to look beyond the reflection.
Each body is an enigma that reveals itself only in the reflection of another.
November 22, 2024 at 9:10 AM
Each body is an enigma that reveals itself only in the reflection of another.
There is something in the spaces between breaths—a promise unspoken, a pact unnamed.
November 21, 2024 at 8:31 PM
There is something in the spaces between breaths—a promise unspoken, a pact unnamed.
Once upon a time, people read to escape reality. Now they write to escape obscurity.
November 21, 2024 at 7:33 AM
Once upon a time, people read to escape reality. Now they write to escape obscurity.
[through]
the wind whispers to the skin
salt carries the sea
autumn’s scent traces memories in shadows
and touch unveils forgotten promises
the wind whispers to the skin
salt carries the sea
autumn’s scent traces memories in shadows
and touch unveils forgotten promises
November 20, 2024 at 8:42 PM
[through]
the wind whispers to the skin
salt carries the sea
autumn’s scent traces memories in shadows
and touch unveils forgotten promises
the wind whispers to the skin
salt carries the sea
autumn’s scent traces memories in shadows
and touch unveils forgotten promises
[the poet’s paradox]
words arrive half-formed,
a storm leaning against the horizon,
but vanish when pursued—
the poem writes itself
in the silence
you cannot translate,
a language
that lives only
in the breath before speaking.
words arrive half-formed,
a storm leaning against the horizon,
but vanish when pursued—
the poem writes itself
in the silence
you cannot translate,
a language
that lives only
in the breath before speaking.
November 20, 2024 at 4:10 PM
[the poet’s paradox]
words arrive half-formed,
a storm leaning against the horizon,
but vanish when pursued—
the poem writes itself
in the silence
you cannot translate,
a language
that lives only
in the breath before speaking.
words arrive half-formed,
a storm leaning against the horizon,
but vanish when pursued—
the poem writes itself
in the silence
you cannot translate,
a language
that lives only
in the breath before speaking.
[anatomy of forgetting]
the walls hold
the fossil of voices
veins of absence
shadows belong not to light
but to the memory of what never was
on the floor, scattered lines
are bones of paths
that died before they began
the walls hold
the fossil of voices
veins of absence
shadows belong not to light
but to the memory of what never was
on the floor, scattered lines
are bones of paths
that died before they began
November 20, 2024 at 8:34 AM
[anatomy of forgetting]
the walls hold
the fossil of voices
veins of absence
shadows belong not to light
but to the memory of what never was
on the floor, scattered lines
are bones of paths
that died before they began
the walls hold
the fossil of voices
veins of absence
shadows belong not to light
but to the memory of what never was
on the floor, scattered lines
are bones of paths
that died before they began
[rebirth]
the skin does not fall
it lingers
like an ancient map
hidden deep in the drawer
but beneath it
a timid fire grows
and every scar learns to breathe
as if for the first time
the skin does not fall
it lingers
like an ancient map
hidden deep in the drawer
but beneath it
a timid fire grows
and every scar learns to breathe
as if for the first time
November 20, 2024 at 12:09 AM
[rebirth]
the skin does not fall
it lingers
like an ancient map
hidden deep in the drawer
but beneath it
a timid fire grows
and every scar learns to breathe
as if for the first time
the skin does not fall
it lingers
like an ancient map
hidden deep in the drawer
but beneath it
a timid fire grows
and every scar learns to breathe
as if for the first time
Love didn’t fail us; we failed to become what love asked us to be.
November 19, 2024 at 8:06 AM
Love didn’t fail us; we failed to become what love asked us to be.
The weight of love isn’t in the loss—it’s in the emptiness that fills its place.
November 19, 2024 at 8:05 AM
The weight of love isn’t in the loss—it’s in the emptiness that fills its place.
Love survives in fragments—an unfinished sentence, a scent, a song we can’t listen to anymore.
November 19, 2024 at 8:04 AM
Love survives in fragments—an unfinished sentence, a scent, a song we can’t listen to anymore.
The subtlest cruelty is forgetting—not the scream, but the glance that turns away.
November 19, 2024 at 12:04 AM
The subtlest cruelty is forgetting—not the scream, but the glance that turns away.
Forgiveness is realizing that resentment is too heavy to carry alone.
November 19, 2024 at 12:01 AM
Forgiveness is realizing that resentment is too heavy to carry alone.