Two scenes from the same evening — twilight blazing in the west and moonlight rising in the east. Nature offered both, and the music speaks for itself. Which one draws you in?
Lioness Eyes
Who’s winning the mesmerising photographic contest – twilight’s effervescent scarlet sky, illuminating the horizon in the west or the moon’s royal blue panorama edifying the evening clouds in the east?
Both scenarios are beautifully picturesque, and choosing my favourite phosphorescence is beyond my universe’s tinted opalescence.
A quiet moment in the afternoon sun, with shadows drifting and Lisa O’Neill’s “Sparkle” humming at the edges…
Micropoetry is an ultra-short form of poetry, typically under 25 words or 140 characters, blending creative brevity with precise language, sharp imagery, and emotional depth, while allowing diverse interpretations.
Wandering Romeos (a Micro Poem)
Like falling snow… Shadows come and go.
Some have sharp claws – Others have soft paws.
My shadow’s afterglow… Is a château For any wandering Romeo.
Hello, dear readers and followers. As you may know, I stopped producing my “Tullawalla Booklets” at #31 because that was the house number of our family’s Tullawalla Homestead. However, the booklet format is a superb way for me to catalogue the vast number of poems I produce, and as the saying goes, “I Am Turning Another Page”. Here I have begun a new series of poem booklets, called “Shangri La”, the name of my little Villa, and it is my piece of “earthly paradise, a retreat from the pressures of modern civilization”. I now have “2245” Poems filed in these booklet formats!! (On my bookshelf, I have “The Complete Poems of Emily Dickinson, which contains 1775 poems … when I first started writing poems, I never envisaged that I would produce so many poems)
“Like all my booklets, this one is here to be read at your leisure — no rush, no expectation, just an open page waiting when you are.”
Click >>Here. for the link to your FREE: PDF Copy of“Shangri La, Volume 18, Between Here and the Edge.”
I’m no ancient mariner with a sextant to chart the sky The moon was falling into bed, the sun rising ahead, both at the same height, as if I were the hinge between them.
Here I stand on their earthbound bridge at the centre of my own universe, unsure of my footing near the edge – am I fading into the advancing ground, or drifting back toward an old wedding pledge.
Today’s Throwback Friday poem (originally written in August 2025) is drawn from my upcoming book, Time Hears No Sound. It appears as the first poem in the Haiku section of Chapter 10, Time’s Short Poems: Haiku, Tanka, etc.
Beyond Sight (a Haiku)
Good morning sunrise I soak in daylight’s caress Until eyes hear sound
Once upon a time, while the moon was sweeping Just after the ice age had ceased creeping And when the world’s sky had finished wistfully weeping Mother Nature always had time for her housekeeping And would never leave “love” under the snow, sleeping
I’ve always found it difficult to simply wash away the salty tears The residual droplets seemed to have crystallized upon my soul’s fears
While the pot remains simmering and the irons are still hot, a passion for writing is this poet’s lot
Feature Image Above: was created by Copilot and me.
Over at Weekly Prompts, the Weekend Challenge is the word “Squish” To visit their fabulous site, please click >>Here … and I think everything about censorship is awfully “Squishy.”
Nancy’s story on The Elephant’s Trunk [https://theelephantstrunk.org/2026/01/20/rdp-tuesday-disapprove/ ] stirred an old frustration in me — how easily free expression can be twisted, muted, or dismissed. I left a brief comment there, but the idea continued to nag at me throughout the afternoon. Sitting in a quiet corner of the café, I found myself shaping those few lines into something fuller, a small protest poem about the weight of censorship and the stubborn resilience of words. This is where that moment led.
When Words Wear Chains
Words wearing chains, Pages awash in teary rain; Quills feel the pain, Like wisdom without veins Inside lifeless brains.
How to explain The inhumane Of censorship’s careering train, While the reigning regimes Sip on foreign champagne.
Ivor.Plumber/Poet 