Of Portals and Thresholds

Spirit Moments


We live at the threshold of a new world.
We live in in-between times – between the already and the not yet.
We are always just a step away from portal of our fondest hopes and dreams.

Man has a paradise on earth but it can often be lonely.
We long for a place where light pierces through and dispels the darkness.
A place in the sun where the warmth of love never dims.
A cool refreshing spot where care never chills the soul.
Just a step across the portal and we are home
Where we truly belong.

I have seen glimpses of that place.
It is somewhere and yet nowhere.
But it is in fact everywhere.
It can be anywhere.
I have seen it in people whose love brings smiles on the faces of others.
I have seen it in people who work for peace and unity.
I have…

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M.E.Balderrama's Poetic Vistas

Where are you, and what do you do?
Do you search for me, as I search for you?
Will you know me, if we pass on the street…
Soulmate…who I have yet to meet?
    As tears wet my eyes, do they blur your sight…
    Over dreams, now tarnished, which once were bright?
    When laughter lifts my heart, is your heart light?
    Are these also things you wonder about, tonight?
Has your heart been bruised, as mine has been?
Have you felt so used, you could not win?
Have you longed for love…yet, turned away…
Afraid, love would decide not to stay?
    At dusk, do fears beset you as you question why…
    Love eludes you, as it passes me by?
    And when sleep comes, do you also dream of me…
    A strangely familiar face, you…

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I train dogs


She was only six
Borrowed my small yellow bicycle
Made my mother upset, when she picked me up from school the bicycle was just laying around there

A big dog got you
Dogs are my love
You ran away and he took you by the neck
The owner was not a good man

An obliged puppycourse is what this nations needs
Yet we are more secure with the things we eat than with the pets we raise

We as a government
I miss you
Wondered what could have been
Whenever I saw your sister.. she reminded me of you

My friend I have never forgotten a face that meant something to me

I am glad I shared my bicycle with you and that’s how we became friends during different lunchbreaks

Now I miss you
Things need to change

Adore you,


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Stacie Cassarino: Summer Solstice

The Iridescent Bubble

I wanted to see where beauty comes from
without you in the world, hauling my heart
across sixty acres of northeast meadow,
my pockets filling with flowers.
Then I remembered,
it’s you I miss in the brightness
and body of every living name:
rattlebox, yarrow, wild vetch.
You are the green wonder of June,
root and quasar, the thirst for salt.
When I finally understand that people fail
at love, what is left but cinquefoil, thistle,
the paper wings of the dragonfly
aeroplaning the soul with a sudden blue hilarity?
If I get the story right, desire is continuous,
equatorial. There is still so much
I want to know: what you believe
can never be removed from us,
what you dreamed on Walnut Street
in the unanswerable dark of your childhood,
learning pleasure on your own.
Tell me our story: are we impetuous,
are we kind to each other, do…

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quick poem: Midsummer+1


5.07, or thereabouts, in the afternoon
— it’s too light outside to near evening —
And the strain in my chest might just be the cups of coffee I’ve been drinking.
87% of my waking time these days seems to feature some kind of screen,
Which for the time is nothing surprising
but which doesn’t suit me well.

At 17 I used to look at male roadworkers and feel almost envious
And wish myself a carpenter or a painter of houses, or something like that.
Now, I still don’t have a trade and
words are too many, finickety and proud to hone, repeat and perfect.

I watched Jiro Dreams of Sushi
And, going to bed,
still could not think beyond the pen.

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Sonnet To An English Sunday Afternoon


Relaxing on a Sunday afternoon
In garden chair on lawn with glass in hand
Under a sky so blue that seems in tune
With siestas being taken cross the land
Where time stands still and sleep creeps up to bid
Each languisher the rest that they deserve
And slowly close and seal heavy eye lid
With sips of chardonnay from wine reserve
Yet clouds blow in from far flown eastern shore
A breeze besets the garden’s sultry bliss
Chilled wine sojourns and can be poured no more
Instead a cup of tea cross lips does kiss
For Sunday afternoon is but a dream
But not always as warm as it might seem

English: The Victorian garden, Burnby Hall, Po... English: The Victorian garden, Burnby Hall, Pocklington The Balk, Pocklington, YO42 2QF. The lake in the gardens has more than 80 lily cultivars and houses the National Collection of water lilies. Sunday afternoon band concerts in the Summer…

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Beyond The Void- an original poem

Stellular Scribe

"The Dead End" by Cyril RolandoThe Dead End” by Cyril Rolando

Beyond the void there is
a door, murky and menacing
against a wall of thorns,
and choked in vines
that whisper
my name.

I know I must reach
that door, for beyond it lies
the answer, I think-
but the way is vast
and dripped in smog,
and the bridge rots
in ruins at my feet.

The end lies dead,
and I’m stranded on this side,
clinging to brambles and scraps
of the past that reek
of desolation.
The door, swirling in stilted light,
mocks me from afar,
singing a song that
can never be reprised.

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The Internet Is Filled

Musings of a Soul Eclectic



The internet is filled

With hangers full of


Here and there

The skill lies

In one’s ability

To locate  it.


In response to 20140622: day 173.
Today’s words: here, knowledge, hangers, skill, one

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Cat Party, Bring Your Own Box


Cat Party, Bring Your Own Box

Click the image to view today’s funniest pictures – 57 pics –

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