Maze runner

Love this poem from thedarkestfairytale!

The Darkest Fairytale

There are rooms
in my mind,
If you open the doors
Don’t be afraid
Of what you’ll find.
Some are beautiful
Others you’ll fear,
If they’re dark
I bring flowers here.
Don’t go in the closets
They can get messy,
Find the secret rooms
There’s not that many.
You don’t need an invite
There is no key,
It’s an open maze
To experience me.

K

via Maze runner

View original post

Advertisements

Let’s Have a Blog Party!

Very nice meet and greet post from https://phoebemd.com/ great way to meet new bloggers in the new year!!!

Meno<3

Phoebe, MD: Medicine & Poetry

Dear Friends,

As 2018 comes to a close, let us usher in the New Year by coming together once again to connect and to support each other’s blogs. You all made the last Meet & Greet a great success; let us make this one even more wonderful.

– What’s the Point? –

To share your blog, find new blogs, and connect with other bloggers.

– What to Do –

  1. Leave a comment with a brief description of your blog along with a link to your blog (be sure to copy the entire blog address so it shows up as a hyperlink to allow others to easily visit you).
  2. Take a minute to visit some of the other blogs listed in the comments (Don’t be shy—make your presence known by reaching out and saying hi!). 
  3. Feel free to share or reblog this post to spread the word.
  4. Bookmark this post and…

View original post 91 more words

Give

A piece of me lives in you

We are, after all, just broken little children

 

Shudder.

The night is long.

 

A piece of my darkness is bleeding away

I am, after all, just a broken soul

 

Weep.

Life if futile suffering.

 

I want to take all these pieces from you

Give them to me

 

Give.

Pain is not meant for you.

 

 

 

Visit Meno on Smashwords!

Update: June 28th

Hello dear readers, and passerby’s that have stopped to gawk, as you may have noticed I like to give you updates every once in a while. A sort of pulling the curtain back to glimpse at the wizard. Isn’t that what we writers are? Silent wizards, waiting to burst onto the scene and start making cows fly and houses get sucked up into tornadoes (yes I know the wizard didn’t do that in the book). So here’s what I’ve been up to:

I’ve finally finished a short story I’ve been working on since last year, which has simultaneously been driving me nuts and sucking the life force out of my writer soul. Now I can edit it, which is a lot easier. This story is the second to last story for my upcoming book of short stories ‘Pain slut’. This last story shouldn’t give me half as much trouble (said every writer as they rode towards a flaming dragon of a story).

I may have not been able to finish that story quickly, but I did write a shit-load of other short stories while I was agonizing over it. I managed to edit and send one out for an anthology called ‘blood in the rain’. They may perhaps let me know by the end of July. I’ve also managed some flash-fiction for Circlet press. They do erotica for geeks, so I should fit right in. : D Some editing and my story will be ready to go.

The last thing I’m getting ready to dive into is (fingers crossed) my last edit of the lengthy first novel ‘Blackwater Witch’.

A hearty thanks to all who have put up with my relative silence, and come back again and again to my blog despite it. I hope I will be able to please you thoroughly with my lurid and vivid imagination. That’s the dream after all!

 

Sending you all light and hope for tomorrow,

Meno<3

Spice Cabinet

Another amazing poem from one of my all time favorite wordpress bloggers!!! ❤

Dances with Tricksters

The woods are holy, and wholly haunted.
A witch in a wicker hut with poison herbs.
Hyssop, yarrow, nightshade, chrysanthemum.
In her spice cabinet, she takes the ointment
of anointment and greases her eyelids to
fly over the hedge, to the Fairy Reel ring,
where the Horned God dances in mushrooms
and toadstool, moss is her dress, dew in
her gold hair, and the young enchantress
holds congress with the Beast, mothering
millions of fallen souls, born into this
imperfect enchantment of a world, spices
stop, she is sleep-struck and flies away
to the land of dreams, where the Tuatha
de Danaan hold court, and Thomas the Rhymer
flutes a verse in her honor, the witch
curtsies to the fairy queen in her rags,
and all the changelings drink her milk,
and she is wetnurse to the wilderness,
and the Horned God returns from the Hunt,
and summer is high…

View original post 62 more words

2018.04.12…

Love this poem from M. V. Clarke! Very refreshing ❤

for much deliberation

the life-room is empty

there are no pictures

no breathing

the life-room is dark

the floor is covered with dust 

there are cobwebs in the corners

and the silence

is loud

it gnaws at the senses and numbs the brain

the life-room is killing me

I can’t breathe in here…

© mvclarke, April 2018

#dailypoem

View original post