same here

Forever They Live   It is the mortal way of life that all come to pass, Days then grow cold and seem unnaturally long. We grieve for our loss, we mourn for the past, Yet lost loved ones live on in memory and song.   So do not weep because you feel that you ought. Do not despair for those you can no longer see. Loved ones live on in our hearts, in our thoughts. Through love, forever they live in our memory.   * Michael Cunliffe

Sol Descending   When a human tear descends does a star disappear from the sky? When a heart breaks is there a galaxy out there – somewhere – a sun, a god, an angel – that feels the very air around them heave and shake? Or is there nothing but cold silent vast darkness – all consuming – everywhere – forever – eyes closed – oblivious to the tiny earth-shattering chaos of lonely creatures marooned on a chunk of rock hurtling meaninglessly through the dark reaches of a collapsing universe.   * Michael Cunliffe

The Poetry of Everything [or] Unified Poetry Theorem   There lies, within humanity, an everything – it is a thread finer than a spider’s web weaving through all existence. It is a neural pathway, a network interconnecting everything – the everything of humanity. It is an equation, a formula sprawled across whiteboards, furrowing the cleverest of brows. It is a heartbeat, a rhythm pulsing around the dancing crowds lining wild street parades. It is a magic, a story swimming through a child’s mind as their drowsy head rests on a pillow. It is a symphony, a dance of celebration and joy drawing us into unity. It is a ceremony, a ritual of solemnity and remembrance binding us to ancestry. It is our yesterday, and our tomorrow, and it is all of our todays. This thread is a poetry of what it is to be alive, to experience the human condition, to live and breathe and die.   * Michael Cunliffe

The Teachings Of Land And Water   A stillness, a calmness, a resolve to remain steadfast, a willingness to hold true, to stand strong and bold within oneself, to be comfortable with what is, to remain. This is what the land teaches us.   A movement, a shifting, an openness to seek harmony, a willingness to change and adapt, to flow and bend and stretch and reach into new corners, to find new space and shape, to become. This is what the water teaches us.   * Michael Cunliffe

Pancake Tacos   My son made pancakes for brunch, cooked in slightly too much oil. On the outside a crispy crunch,   a little gooey on the inside – a bit slippery. He cooked a side of bacon in the leftover pan grease. I was hungover and grateful for a feast   that I did not cook myself. I mashed a whole avocado and stuffed this weary self   on pancake tacos dripping with maple syrup. A ripping feed! Smiles and stomach aches are made of moments such as these – awake   to life’s sweet treasures wrapped around a salty cured meat of naught but pure happiness.   * Michael Cunliffe

Cutting   A razor needling patchwork criss-crossing pale wasted pallid thigh skin, claret slices forming a ragged tattoo, a rebellious hand waving below short black shorts – not marks of shame nor remorse – marks of the horror of a tormented teenage mind, yet somehow social media dread mutated these markings into a proud badge of honour worn openly in public – in brightly lit shopping malls and musty second-hand stores – this becomes a silent statement mouthed in barbaric whispers, “Yes, I have been here. I have worn this pain. I still wear it, and I am one of you.”   * Michael Cunliffe

One The bus shelter can be a lonely place. One cigarette given by a stranger, one plastic shopping bag, stinking, crammed with all life’s possessions, one tattered hooded jacket to keep the body warm at night. As the sun sets another sits as far to the other side as possible, impatiently waiting, feet tapping a countdown to their escape – the arrival of their bus – a release from uncomfortable truth. Soon the seat will be vacant again save for one who sits alone, vacated – not waiting for a bus – hunger gurgling in the stomach – weariness unrelenting upon the shoulder.   * Michael Cunliffe

Fabulous final stanza, really brings the poem to a crescendo!

First poem is in the bank!! 😎😉

Thanks! I'll take a look.

I missed the Zoom thing, unfortunately. Whereabouts is the best place to post comments, questions, etc? In this thread, or is there another that will be the "central hub" of communication during the event?

Name: Michael Cunliffe Location: Queensland, Australia Experience: Have been writing poetry for 30 years. Favourite Poets: W.B.Yeats, Charles Bukowski, Sylvia Plath, T.S.Eliot, William Blake. Mission Statement: I’ve found it quite difficult in 2023 & 2024 to focus on writing as much as I'd like to. I'd like to find new ways to refocus on making writing a bigger priority in my day to day life, and I'm hoping PoCoChapMo ‘24 will help.