the poets' garden

[withnailrules]

Moon Moths by Becca Stadtlander, 2020

[mortalghost]

Nights bring memories of longing

For a touch that won't come.

While the world slept

I dreamt of desires

Sinking deeper into their secrets.

I coveted all that I could

While leaving so much of me

That I never thought I would.

Through the realms of possibilities

I closed my eyes and prayed.

Where were you to guide my destiny

While I waited to fade away.

-H. Murcia 6/3/2026 8:26 AM

[mgreywoodpoems]

What’s behind the stars?

Your eyes could answer that question

Flecked with hopes and dreams

Twinkling cascades of promises made

And kept before they close

A thousand sparkling moments

Full of love, full of joy

Whats behind the stars?

Soft lips pursed, waiting

Eager fingers grasping at eternity

And endless heartbeats matching the rhythm

Between the galaxies in my chest and yours

Filling the void between seconds

With everything we’ve waited for

What’s behind the stars?

A bath, pure and sweet scented

Cleansing our flesh from the grimy work

Before we soothe one another

Bubbles drifting heavenward

Popping only to release the fantasy

Of flying hand in hand eternally

Behind the stars

.

ⓒ Michael Greywood Poetry 2026

[putah-creek]

Near my house there lives an owl. Night has come. Let me not disturb the sweet and fine solitude of the spotted owl. See how she waits in silent beauty. The owl is so still that my faith in a benevolent god is nearly renewed. How blessed and long is the night, and how fine this wide and long valley is, where I stand, beneath a tremendous pine. James Lee Jobe

[autonomy1]

dark evers

this future

now

skinned and stranger fed

your name like mine

crying

breath and blood denied

our eyes and tongues

de-echoed

[takingstockofwhatmattersmost]

The Architecture Of A Failed Collision (The Sun And The Moon)

the orbit is a locked jaw a machinery of perfect distance he is the burning anvil...furious and deafening she is the cold, white curve of the pendulum they are forbidden the mercy of collision cataclisym...caucophony so the atmosphere must break to bear it the rain does not merely fall...it is hurled a million silver wires strung down from the dark trying to stitch the daytime to the night it begins in the humid, collapsed lung of his afternoon a swelling ache thick with ozone and bruised dirt he boils the sea just to reach her pushing the vapor upward like a heavy...desperate breath clouding the glass of the sky with the steam of his blinding want but the dark translates all fever into gravity by the time the storm crosses the threshold of the evening the heat has been stripped from the water what rose as a frantic...boiling lust descends as the cold, sharp shrapnel of the drop she watches from her hollow theater of chalk she sees his burning desire turn to freezing silk against the leaves with a quiet, gravitational pull, she gathers the ruin of it drawing the swollen tide a damp sheet over an empty bed this is the vast and weeping architecture of their grief the sudden thunderstorm is the violent friction of bodies that cannot meet the flash of lightning the brief...agonizing hallucination of touch and the slow, gray drizzle that follows that is the quiet turning away every drop a transmission that fails upon impact heavy enough to rise as longing too cold to survive the dark

[acklum]

the seat next to me is empty

gulls soar grey against grey over the vast ocean of car park

one day I will be fine

flood lights shine white light despite the sun clouds build up high towers pressure piles on

I want to forget

when it's time to work roll up my sleeves to hide where rain has dampened fabric

too late to pretend I don't care

-acklum

[goneahead]

To know hope

is to know

the soul of

a prairie

summer,

feel the feather-

weight of

milkweed seeds

wind-tossed,

listen to  the

dry-brown rustle

of little bluestem

as rain booms many

months away.

[nobeerreviews]

hearts, like flowers, cannot be rudely handled, but must open naturally

-- Louisa May Alcott

[dbaydenny]

North Atlantic Coast

rocky spoils flee to the sea

and waves learn to splash

in mighty crescending crash

among dangerous beauty.

.

D W Eldred

[nicolettebranson]

I still think of her and the way her head slightly tilted when she walked - knock-kneed and awkward and keeping herself small inside big crowds of middle-of-the-road daydreams - trapped by parental standards and caged by wisdom-givers not so wise

so, live a little, I’d say and her response was always outlined by a devious smile - half-turned to the heavens and the other half falling straight to hell full of laughing fire and brimstone - knowing she shouldn’t dare but provoking the gods, both old and new I can still see her and the way her chestnut-hued curls bounced in the sun - twisted, tangled by the gusts and blown backward away revealing a forest inside her deep, phthlao green eyes - far-reaching and expressive and armed with well-kept, sunlit secrets

I can still hear her and the giggle buried inside her voice over things past - standing on growing stages and dancing as they knew we would showing the vanity in the laws of youth’s misled wisdom - twisted, and trying to become anything other than all the betweens

©Nicolette Branson

[poppiesandpromises]

did you know you can see the waves from space?

The ocean, like a hungry lover

Chewing at the atmosphere

The way the stars are embers

Onlookers, aflame

The gaudy glow

Electric light like

Artificial love like

Smiles gone cold

The way twin abysses

Kiss with bitten lips

The way we watch

Bright cities burn

[mgreywoodpoems]

I owe an apology to the boy I used to be

And the man that came after

You were too young to understand

That love was meant to be free

Meant to be given and received

That your heart was worth fighting for

You deserved a stronger fight

For your right to believe what you do

Instead of hiding it, instead of keeping it in

You deserved to let your flag fly high

And proud and free

You deserved better from me

But you’re safe now, kept in my memory

The joy, the laughter, the me I used to be

I’m sorry, so sorry

For not sooner becoming me

[bluesandbarebones]

Autumn remains

Even on the cusp of summer through the burgeoning and the blossoming— a resistance a chill a closing down On the ground the muted colors of Autumn remain trinkets of nostalgia evidence ignored I am wrapped in the scratchy wool of your absence a scarf of bitterness I cannot remove despite its warmth Ignore me like the life vest you scorned like sunscreen hydration (Summer can kill when your back is turned) I'll stay here in the slow decay of hope roosting in the dark attic of my mistakes

[definegodliness]

[beammeupplease]

The setting Sun

Marc Chagall

[giantsinthemist]

Pretend the sun is just set—in the waining light your cat is fast asleep next to your head on the sofa back as you think peaceful creative thoughts—the ocean’s shore in the distance—its roar lulling you to sleep