Featured Post: Kissing the Witch – Deanna Raymond

I am ancestor
my bones hum with her fury
“Witch” they spat at her
for daring
to be outspoken
too loud
too much
widowed
“Witch” they chided
as they poked and prodded
tried and convicted
hanged
She- unrelenting in her innocence
until her last strangled breath
She surges through my veins
and I will always sing
her legacy
So know
that when you kiss me
you are kissing the Witch
can’t you feel your sweet blood
rise to meet mine
as we join?
Our ancestral Feminine
glorifying all
that is wild, bold
unbroken
each deep aching breath
a testament
of power reclaimed.


I am a single Mom of two teenage boys, a massage therapist and physical therapy assistant living in New England.  I have been writing poetry and journaling stream of thought since I was a young girl.  Writing has always been therapeutic and at times life saving for me.  Bleeding ink onto paper has been as natural and important as breathing.  In my late 40’s I begin to consider sharing my writing and publishing. I have always been so grateful for other authors and being able to see that I am not alone in my struggles along my path in this world.  I hope my writing can give others the same lift, hope, sense of belonging.

Find me on Facebook at: Darker Rooms  and Dee Ray

Perils of Social Media – Pallavi

The space between us has gotten wider
Our disapproval for each other scarier
The eco-system of social media was supposed to balk distances
To bring people closer and fuse differences
But then labels and hashtags of divisiveness took over
Intolerance and impatience permeated behind shields of full disclosure
I unfriend you for your religious beliefs are different than mine
You block me for my idea on politics according to you are not too fine
Gone are those days when we could agree to disagree
Respectfully partake in discussions without losing sanity
Now this radioactive malicious wedge
is driving relations off the ledge
If creating a bubble with only “my” views is the solution
Then bidding adieu to progress with be the only conclusion.

Photo by Tracy Le Blanc from Pexels


Things which get my endorphins pumping – my kids (mom of two), coffee (green tea just doesn’t do), writing (find it a cathartic release), dancing (absolutely, first love it remains), reading (with or without coffee), working out (with my husband as my buddy).

You can read more of my writing at Curating Thoughts

If You Could Be Mine – CE Wing

I think I’m smitten
I know I’m intrigued
Captivated
But
If you could be mine
One day
Then I know
My dark forest
Would be bright again
But
If you could be mine
One day
I would be inspired
To write mesmerizing poetry
And epic tales
But
If you could be mine
One day
You would have my loyalty and honesty
Passion and desire
A true partner
But
If you could be mine
One day
Oh what a journey we could have
To travel through forests and mountains
And explore inter realms
But only
One day
If you could be mine


CE Wing is a Connecticut Yankee living in the Queen City. A writer and poet. She has dreamed of being a writer since she was a little girl. Her dream was pushed aside for a time but through her journey of self-discovery, she rekindled her passion for writing. She is currently writing a novel, a traditional fantasy with an LGBTQ theme. You can read more of her writing on Wing’s Poetry

Featured Post: The Truth That Never Hurts – M.A. Morris

Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a garden?
Of the Texas sky?
Of a home?
Or an empty house?

Is there a truth that never hurts?
The truth of a love?
Of the human heart?
Of a parent?
Of a child?
Of a dog?
Or even God?

When did the truth
Contained in each
Contain no pain?
No hurt?
Not a scrap?
Not a speck?


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing

Featured Post: If You Could Be Mine – M.A. Morris

Friends surprise with a birthday dinner.
Then out to the bar for a few drinks.
They laugh and wink
When a tiny little thing
With long, dark shining hair
That looks so velvety soft
That to touch it would be
To fall up into a rural night sky
Of inky black laced
With the light of
A thousand stars,
Smiles at me,
And with the encouragement of her friends,
Asks me for a dance.
But she is young,
Much too young for me.

But I like the way she moves as if just for me.
I think I could do this just like I used to in my youth.
Something stirs within as if of old muscle memory
Of how to divorce the physical from the spiritual.
Yes, just like in my youth.
I could take her home,
Whisper things like,
“If you could be mine….”
And really go to town.
This funk I’m in
Kicked to the curb
For a few hours.

At least, until
I kick her to the curb
By asking her to leave.
What would the point of all that be?
To feel young and carefree?
Yes, for a few hours at least.
Better, I do think,
Just to drink
Tequila shots
Until the thinking stops.
Call an Uber for a ride.
Nurse my head in the morning.
And then sleep nearly all day.
But that’s just not really me
To waste such a day.

So, until the time she asks
For a dance not of the vertical variety,
Forcing a “no” as my only reply,
I think I will stay
And watch her sway,
Just for me
at least, I’d like to think,
Maybe throw back
One of the shots she buys
And just relax
At least for this while,
Wishing I was young enough
For her to be mine.


I am a retired teacher, enjoying said retirement.  I have been active in the gay and lesbian community since I threw away my Ken doll at the age of four.

You can read more of my writing at Hearing The Mermaids Sing