by paul johan Stokstad

Prompt: write a poem about the lovely line of a woman's cheek, a butterfly, and use the color pink Chat GBT says: Upon her lovely cheek a line, A gentle curve that's so divine, A butterfly, it seems to rest, In shades of pink, it is dressed. Its wings so delicate and...

Not all poems are created equal Some, like a gym floorHave dead spots here and thereThat years later become obvious. The poet owns the patienceOf the watchmakerLooking close, making tinyTime and sound adjustments Still, all poems share a sortof leaning in to...

In the museum of touchThe fingers of the blindFloat like butterfliesAround works of art Something like thatAs we lieSide by sideAfter a long winterMeditation My hand restsIn wonderOn the miracleOf your hipAnd it’s slopeTo your side Then, gently,Like a benediction,Your...

(Officium Defunctorum) Yes I was once Mother Russiabut that is now a faint echo Once there was hopea communion of sortsto rewrite the czars as equals Only to end up, a century latersitting in the office of the deadwith these dry and dustyplastic plants. Now we are...

Does she know? But does the beautiful girlreally know theexceptional lightthat shines through her and does that divine shapebring her the tasteof pure silence as it does for usas it stops and holdsour breathing? The cup is where it usually is The cup is where it...

I don't have any new poems today so I thought I'd build one using words. This sort of thing has been done before with grandeur, planning, and scope. Other times in silence, modest and spare. Here is yet another poem glowing in the favored light of the eternal now.