Fighting the Darkness© Lyn Crain

Fighting the Darkness© Lyn Crain

My salty tears cascaded silently by,
eventually ceasing leaving but a choked sigh.
It’s a bitter taste, this essence of sorrow.
Wondering if there will be a new tomorrow?

My utter sadness filled me with despair,
with an overwhelmed mind gone beyond repair.
My pretend existence is not real living.
Why are those in my life so damn unforgiving?

What the hell did I do to have such bad luck?
I’m beginning to think I don’t give a fuck.
I should give up, life has lost its splendor.
It’s totally fucking pointless, I surrender.

However, thankfully there was one glimmer of hope.
My stubborn muse gave me a way to cope.
Write, write even more so with my beloved pen
and paper I did just that with a fury, Amen!

My haunted memories became bold on the page

Releasing years of pent up rage.

Frustrated Moment©Lyn Crain

Her doe in the headlight stare

the man’s defiant stance, just

waiting, wanting…her to dare

but only the glaring notes bounced.

A diffident stranger watches

hoping she will look his way

noting the burly man, more notches

of arrogance in his demeanor.

She hesitantly glances back

before moving toward the door.

The deafening soundtrack

blasts silently, denying the moment.

The strangers stare offers assistance

she shudders and quickly shakes her head

hoping to deny any further insistence.

Praying he doesn’t see the stranger.

Her subdued plea shouts don’t intervene,

reluctantly the stranger walks away

frustrated with the whole damn scene.








Poetry Refreshes the Soul

Arnold Adoff explained his definition of poetry: “…a fine poem combines the elements of measuring music, with a form like a living frame that holds it together. I really want a poem to sprout roses and spit bullets; this is the ideal combination. My poems should be read three or four times – once for the meaning, once for the music, and once for how the music and meaning go together.”

From this Bus Window by Arnold Adoff

From this bus
pulling away from the curb
I can stretch
my neck. I can just stare into
the eyes

of a bicycle
he is the

this bus and the moving van
on his other side.

Then he blows the whistle glued between his lips,
and sprint-pedals out of the sandwhich
and slides ahead of us both: bus and van,
and around
his corner.
We ride on.

“Poems should be like fireworks…ready to explode with unpredictable effects.”~ Lillian Moore

“In poetry, syntaxes have little meaning, the order of the words is the order of your heart.” ~ Peter A. Rosado








“Poems should be like fireworks…ready to explode with unpredictable effects.”

Featured Poet for Today

” Bill Waters lives in Pennington, New Jersey, U.S.A., with his wonderful wife and their three amazing cats.  :- ) ” He leads a writing group that meets once a month in the Princeton area. He loves writing Haiku’s and Senryu’s  This is the one I saw today and it reminded me of my grandmother’s front porch so I decided to feature it today.

paint so cracked and blistered

a fresh coat of sunlight

can’t make it new

I recommend you check out his work, the poems vary daily in topics all in his favorite forms if expression.



Featured Poet

All Know To Be true ©Custard

Life is a clock that just ticks away.
Bearing down upon judgement day.
Precious seconds now forever gone.
Creating memories not lasting long.

Would you like to turn back the hands.
Have a goal and make proper plans.
Or do you think like me, que sera sera.
That the door is open or just left ajar

Today is the future and the next day after.
Bearing tears or perhaps much laughter.
Who really knows what another will bring.
Should we really worry about such a thing.

Live for the day, in fact the moment will do.
As your time will cease of this…. all know to be true!


check out her other work at
She is from the UK and has published 7 poetry books and 2 novels!

Reading poetry

Good writers of poetry read other poets work to expand their own skills. It is a daily routine of mine, I find joy being immersed in poetry especially when you consider the media alternative lately. Either it is political back stabbing commentaries or more violence. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t ignore what is happening around me. I just seek balance in my life and poetry gives me that. From time to time I will share one that really made me smile. Thank you, Ruthie

Remembering Peter’s Lake
by Ruthie Hamgeri

You don’t think to care about the
sand in your hair, or the vampire-like
insects that leave reddening, itchy bumps
on your skin, or the pruning of

your hands and feet that makes you feel as though
you are turning, forming into a full-fledged
creature of the lake.

You submerge your head in the water, so that
Mother’s warning words — “Time to head back!” — get
muffled and seem like a world away. You beg body

and mind to soak up any essence of the beach, to take
these moments home with you: the lulling of the waters,
the sun’s warm breath on your skin, the gleeful calls of friends that
join the current’s pull to go further, deeper, until you can’t
see or feel the ground beneath you.

You scan your eyes over the scene of summer’s children, who are
shrieking and running, and summer’s parents keeping one eye
on watch and the other gazing at the blissful sight, as the sun thinly
spreads magenta-orange rays goodbye, and the moon slowly
purses cool lips to kiss the water with a glow.

You do not think of driving away tomorrow, and
a distance of miles turning,
forming into years.

PHOTO: “Girl in lake at dusk” from

NOTE FROM THE AUTHOR: When it comes to writing poetry, sometimes I have to wait for inspiration, but sometimes I have to simply sit down and write with no direction, no thought. I enjoy the latter type of process because it is almost supernatural to see the mechanical writing become something meaningful — or become poetry. A professor of mine used to say that the worst thing a poet can do is sit down and write knowing exactly what they want to say and how. For me, poetry has become more about exploration and discovery, so I like to let the writing get the better of me, and follow the words rather than vice-versa. This is what happened with this particular poem!

Ruthie Hamgeri Current Photo

ABOUT THE AUTHOR: Ruthie Hamgeri lives in the northwest suburbs of Chicago, and is wrapping up her college career with a B.A. in Computer Science. She has been writing since her thoughts merely scribbles on any surface she could find, but began writing poetry in the seventh grade. She is seeking to immerse herself in the world of poetry, by reading works of established poets and aspiring poets like herself, writing, revising, and re-revising, and attending poetry readings, etc. Ruthie hopes that someday she can publish her own collection(s) of poetry.

After The Storm

After The Storm © Lyn Crain

The torrents of raindrops flee
randomly down the street
into the gutters that
take them to peaceful streams.

If only I had a place
like that of my own, too!
I’m tired of being just Mom
and fulfilling their oblivious dreams.

I want to flirt with fire in a bright red dress.
I want to kick all those dust balls aside.
I need to dance outside these confined lines,
not live in these lies of tight seams!

I envy the storm.
It does what it wants
and flows to places, I long to see
without all the angry and tireless screams!

102 w/c
16 lines

Virtual Marionette

Your eyes, my lines.

The Wee Writing Lassie

The Musings of a Writer / Freelance Editor in Training

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Writer Tammy Evans

short fiction writer * PUSH Community leader * writing teacher


Swimming in the Ridiculous Like a Tuna With a Mistress

The Journey of My Left Foot (whilst remembering my son)

I have Malignant Melanoma, my son had Testicular Cancer

In My Mind

 addicted and struggling


#Butterfly 🦋 #Solitude🌸



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