Discover and read the best of Twitter Threads about #poem

Most recents (24)

A small boy clutches tiny white flowers
Picked beside prison walls
thrust hastily into jean pockets

a yellow centre
surrounded by white petals
extending outwards
like a sun of truth

#FreeAssangeNOW #Assange #Poetry #Poem
Many years ago
shortly after creating an ingenious technology
to speed up the dissemination of truth
and end wars
his father spoke of a sun of truth
as a guiding beacon for civilisation

#FreeAssangeNOW #Assange #Poetry #Poem
The small boy passes through
prison gates
silent corridors
the frame of a metal detector
stern faces in uniform.

Large hands
check small pockets
the daisies are confiscated
sheepishly and awkwardly
another act of compliance

#FreeAssangeNOW #Assange #Poetry #Poem
Read 7 tweets
And now, a little late night #poetry

April Showers

A vicious wind hurls raindrops and bits
of aborted April branches studded with
leafbuds that will never bloom against the
screens with the unconscious artistry of
an expressionist in a trance, all the while
singing in a familiar voice I can't quite
place. Echoing in a neuron corridor
littered with the leftovers of another life
begging to be remembered. But the
synapses are too wet to fire.
Out of the corner of my eye I catch the
smoky outline of a man I thought was you
but isn't. But he has a way about him. Or
maybe he doesn't. Maybe it's just the
leftovers of desire aborted when you fell
into the unmarked grave I visit in my
Read 7 tweets


you asked what i wanted
in such a gentle way
i felt safe enough
to spill the secrets of my soul
i want to be bathed in silver light
swathed in silk
anointed with the oils of lavender and bay
i want stardust and moonbeams
the silver crescent plucked from the sky
and placed gently in my lap
you smiled
as you reached out an elegant arm
corralled the moon
and turning it upside down
made me your queen

then tilted my head
our mouths almost meeting
eyes locked in perfect comprehension
yours darkening
touching a place i'd almost forgotten
Read 6 tweets

Ashes, Ashes

My hand trembles as I pick up the pen. Fingertips fray,
disintegrating into a sooty ashen mess; all those burnt
and broken bridges are making a break for it.
But the broken also carries beauty in the pain;
will you let me smear these ashes on your skin?

No blame if you refuse. I won’t fault you
if you answer no. I understand the reluctance
to accept the burden of another's shattered past.
But if you’re brave, or curious, or something else,
I’m yours to smear as well.

© 2015 RC deWinter
Published in Talking River Review, the literary magazine of @LCSCIssue Issue 51, Fall 2021
Read 4 tweets

A Catalogue of Stray Observations by a Superannuated Flâneuse

Summer’s here and the bars are crowded, along with the beaches,
malls and every other place we go to forget the fragility of life
in a world where foolishness masquerades as courage
and we all think we’re invincible until the day we wake up dead.

The flags are flying in Tokyo but the Reaper’s there too –
moving silent and hungry as he feeds his insatiable appetite,
feasting on the multicolored souls of pilgrims
from 206 countries come to cheer the best and brightest
in a dizzying catalogue of competition celebrating
the triumphs of bodies devoted to human perfectibility.
Read 8 tweets

Friction Field

The wind, on this blue night,
is howling like a banshee,
sad voices carried on it.
It's the kind of night
when all your sorrows
come back to haunt you.
The electricity in the air
is a palpable thing,
an element so strong
your skin prickles
with the unrelenting
friction of those atoms.

I feel you especially.
Your presence swirls
in those atoms,
rubbing relentlessly
across my skin,
across my soul.
I won’t sleep tonight,
not as long as that wind persists.
I’ll lie in bed like a prisoner in a cell.
And carried by that wind,
your electrical arms embrace me.

© 2012 RC deWinter
Published in indiescribe November 2013
Art: Ghost Tree © 2015
Read 4 tweets


all i want to do is watch the sun go down
while holding your hand
both of us saying good night to the day

instead a blue wave roared up from nowhere
and swamped my heart
took it right out to sea
there was no sunset
no you
only whitecaps and wild wind
now i hear a cello being bowed
so deeply beautiful
so sad
the salt water hovers but it won't fall
i sit in the cold wind
hoping it will carry your voice
on that richly woven melody

@ 2017 RC deWinter
Published in Writing In A Woman’s Voice
November 2021
#Art: Turbulent Sea @ 2010 RC deWinter
Read 4 tweets

Dancing Master

I know you dance in the old way
hardly anyone does anymore –
smooth and graceful,
holding your partner close,
twirling at just the right time.

I, a child of the fifties,
vaguely remember the fox trot,
the polka and swing your partner do-si-do.
I might be able to fake the box step
as violins sob out the wavelets
of the Blue Danube, but you
will have to lead, always.
And how I long for you to do just that,
extending your hand, lifting me from my chair,
taking to the floor to teach me civilization,
as I, head buried in your neck, inhale
the grace and beauty of a time I never lived.
Read 5 tweets


let's go my darling on a quiet walk to nowhere to everywhere
the world awaits no need for words
we'll simply be together
in time in space in love
the world awaits no need for words
as we wander exploring the fierce beauty of this garden
in time in space in love
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
as we wander exploring the fierce beauty of this garden
fingers entwined in love knots of forever
we'll know the perfection of circles completed
in the silence of devotion
Read 5 tweets


The memory of almost-scalding water baptizes me with its melody;
the shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I leave my skin unwashed for two days, three, sometimes more.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence.
The shower is one of my favorite but little-visited refuges from the noise of nonsense.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights.
This gives me an excuse for extended indulgence;
I need not defend the time spent there.
I’m waxed with the accretions of many days and nights,
hot passion unspent; the one for whom it's meant unavailable.
I need not defend the time spent there,
in the bed of imagination, where the impossible becomes my reality.
Read 6 tweets

a piece of you

when i walk the damp sand where the sea kisses the shore
trying not to add my own salt to the cold green water
i see you in every wavelet washing over
my feet
when i get home and throw myself into a lawn chair
light up inhale exhale and stare up at the dappled sky
your smile floats in the smoke soaring on
the breeze
when i stand in the kitchen throwing dinner together
instead of letting things pile up to be washed later
i clean up as i go and there you are in the corner by the
fridge nodding
Read 7 tweets

After Compiègne

Lightning doesn't strike twice. Not this kind.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
I gorged myself on fairy tales
for far too long.
I’ll never be debriefed. Not in this life.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle
for far too long,
daring to hope for more.
Waiting for a happy ending, I held out a wickless candle,
an unpretty little girl
daring to hope for more.
Now I suit up, the faceless rivers retreating.
Read 8 tweets

The Sacrament of Tongues

I remember us in that dark hallway,
taking turns as we knelt in worship
to anoint each other in the sacrament of tongues.
Your head thrown back, eyes closed to all
but the caress of my hands parting your legs,
slowly, gently, I fastened my painted mouth
on your swollen flesh, drawing all of you
into my columned sacristy, erasing everything
but the excitation of desire, your thrusting,
hands holding me to the welcome task of ecstasy.

I hear your wordless voice crying out
the salt confession of your lust
as you performed the penance of surrender.
Read 8 tweets


Much has been written of the silence of stones,
their ungiving presence weighting the world
with dumbshow when blessing is most needed.
But there is one rock, when round and ripe,
whose chimes in silver, sometimes gold,
echo not in the ears but in the heart.
When Diana waxes in full glory, take yourself
out into the night and stand in her embrace,
your vault of sorrows open to wisdom transcending
all that can be proved by the unforgiving sterility of science.
Look to the sky as you weep for the sound of a gentle voice
and you shall have your healing.

© 2018 RC deWinter
NB: bergmal – Icelandic – rock language – echo
Published in Other Worldly Women Press Anthology
December 2020
#Art: Yellow Moon on the Rise © 2012 RC deWinter Image
Read 4 tweets


on the deep blue nights
you know the ones i mean
velvet pile thick and plush
the ones no matter how
exhausted when eyes close
they flicker and twitch
i can't sleep i’m
burning mind body soul
with the heat of a thousand
suns words rocks through the
window of unconsciousness
wake me readjusting i turn
blankets a straitjacket
gripping me in the twisted
embrace of insomnia in some
halfforgotten dream i remember
you when you when you
but it fades...
Read 6 tweets

word wrangling

holding out my empty cup
i wait for words to drop
from an unplowed field
of imagination
no cultivation
my harrow's broken
and the mule's run off
i'm a lousy farmer anyway
i much prefer to wield a net
as a fisher of words
as they flash by in the
stream of consciousness
we had a drought
this summer though
and that stream is now a trickle
meandering meagerly
full of silt
over a rough and stony bed

perhaps it's time
i ran off with the circus
the spanglejangle
of that gypsy life might be
the very thing to bring
stray words to heel
Read 5 tweets

last muse

i need a new muse
and this one will be my last
in today's best bloodless tradition
i've laid out my requirements
but they are far from bloodless:
feral manscent
woodsmoke and threedays' growth
strong arms
strong hands
mind sharp as a blade
and sane enough
to know when to be crazy
the heart of a warrior
who knows when to be gentle
and when to be fierce
who knows the truth
and never fears to speak it
in a voice
that can make rafters ring
or a growl
known only to me
Read 8 tweets

uncorrected vision (metaphor for a life)

born unfocused
with a wandering eye
the world a little off kilter
from the time i could see
a halfcrosseyed urchin
glasses at three
years as a pirate
eyepatch and all
an antique stereoscope
the lenticular kind
to bring that lazy eye
to heel
i remember
a steadfast tin soldier in red and blue
and a dog with a plumefeather tail
and squinting and scrunching
face deep in wood frame
to make those pictures 3D
Read 5 tweets


stop trying to make sense
every minute of the day
quit trying to be
so goddamned dignified
rip off that dour grownup mask
unwrap that tootight
old man cloak of gravitas
and let your spirit breathe
come take my hand
we'll ringaroundtherosie
'til we're dizzy
and when we are
we'll all fall down
just the two of us
laughing like the loons
we were meant to be
until our kisses silence everything
except our beating hearts

© 2013 RC deWinter

Published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal
@LothlorienJ, March 2022
Read 4 tweets


the day closed in a fury of freezing rain
blown into miniature tornadoes
by a vicious wind
i felt the the bite of those sharp teeth
in the marrow of my bones
their gnawing a punishment
for my own dark and vicious thoughts
all the i rage silently direct
at those who abandoned me
when i had most need of blessing
a bitter waterfall of pain i can neither suppress nor openly express
they say what goes around comes around
so here i am hoist by my own petard
stewing in the juice of my own making

© 2022 RC deWinter

Published in Lothlorien Poetry Journal
@LothlorienJ, March 2022
Read 4 tweets

A Love Like This

A love like this there never was before,
the promise of the universe fulfilled,
two hearts, once locked, are each an open door.
And having waited, knowing there was more,
we’ll reap a beauty that cannot be willed.
A love like this there never was before.
What seemed a desolate, deserted shore
is now a place a new life we can build.
Two hearts, once locked, are each an open door.
Read 8 tweets

the dance

none of us asked to be here
but here we are
sharing a small blue orb
spinning in the vastness of the unknown

in the firelight of misunderstanding
we do our frenzied dances
honoring that which we have made
in our own images
dishonoring our kinship
while standing on the mirage of moral high ground
that crumbles with every heavy footfall
of those burdened with the armor of ideology
however we came to be
in all our glorious imperfection
we are all brothers and sisters under the skin
there is no imperative for blood
Read 5 tweets


Summer now –
the invisible
shift into
quadrant of cosmic order,
eclipses blueskied
the harshness
of an abducted
spring hung on
the gallows
of the greedy Boreas,
never satisfied,
to surrender his
hold on the
workings of the universe
to the soft hands of
a woman –
the gentle Kore,
whose blossoms
died on the
tips of frostbitten fingers
jealously frozen.
All that done,
with summer's green birth
the horae
rejoice in
the restoration of earth’s
as they dance
in the spillage of
golden sun
on this first
day of glorious summer,
delivered timely.

© 2017 RC deWinter
Published in Academy of Heart and Mind @AcdmyHeartmind
July 2020
Read 4 tweets


in the teeth of a black night
i sat in the study
with a smoke and a brandy
contemplating the wreckage of my life
when the ghost of love appeared
and settled himself into a wing chair
following each puff and sip
with envious eyes
i smiled and rising crossed the room
waving the cigarette and the snifter
under his nose
his laughter the echo of silence
as he reached for me
his long lucent arms circling my legs
as if to pull me into his lap
i leaned into his transparency
feeling the heat of whatever was left of him
and he shattered into the music of forever
next i knew it was morning
cruel sunlight filling the room
with the promise of another day
and as i picked myself up off the floor
Read 5 tweets

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