I think we were his ghosts, Pulling up at the pub he never opened, While the car radio played the news. Smoke. It was just a pit stop along the highway - a
Everyone has their own clock, but no one can really see or knows when the clock will stop for them. Some don’t even want to know when their clock will stop, happily living in ignorance as those around them watch their seconds fly by them.
Pull your fanciest gown from the closet, pour yourself a drink and join us for 'An Evening with Penelope Mint': a virtual night of thoughts, poetry, stories and music
All covered up in a brown nest I learned to call a “chrysalis” / And I could spell it too: C.H.R.Y.S.A.L.I.S. / And she told me that patience had power, That the caterpillar in the chrysalis would turn to goo and then into a butterfly. And all I had to do was wait.
Some weeks ago, we asked for your help writing a poem that could capture all the uncertainty, incredulity and "strangeness" of the past 6 months. Introducing These Times Are Strange: A Collective Poem!
I’m missing out on autumn / Taking a break from the leaves / A pause on my emotions. But I know when the sun comes up / They’ll just come rolling in on their tandem bicycle.
