Tectonic shipwreck,
heaved up – a bright sail aground,
brilliant and ghostlike.
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More stories from Marsha Singh and writers in Poets and other communities.
The first light snowfall on the mountaintops – diamonds in the morning sun.
By Marsha Singh3 years ago in Poets
The English language has its limits. I learned this when I became a student of the Bible and looked up the Greek and Hebrew definitions behind the Scriptures I loved. Some languages have so much more depth and power than the one I use to convey my thoughts. But, even so, I don't think any word could ever come close to describing this void and pain I am journeying through. I don't know how to swim through its murky waters.
By Shirley Belk6 days ago in Poets
Sitting on the rocks alone Not much to do but think about the way the wind is blowing Watching them dart hither and thither
By Christopher Beardabout 12 hours ago in Poets
My wife and I saw Man on the Run, a nearly 2-hour documentary on Amazon Prime, about Wings, Paul McCartney's group that flew around the world from shortly after The Beatles broke up in early 1970 to shortly after John Lennon was murdered at the end of 1980, making a Beatles reunion forever impossible.
By Paul Levinsona day ago in Beat
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