Berceuses by Petero Kalulé — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Click below to see all 3 poems. I’m a fan 🙂

Dementia come to mind cloud come to cloud mind – Marie Ponsot & every now & then, i sit by her feet, on her porch never ever talking. & together, we watch the soughing heavens mutter, str- etching their cotton-silvers in lulls & retorts of nearly went & nearly wait – […]

via Berceuses by Petero Kalulé — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Hidden Roads

hidden roads blog poetry

Winding dirt paths that turn
into rocky roads lead the way to
hidden routes that few tourists find.
We make our way through into
people’s homes, communities, and
lives, and this time, we’re the colonizers.
I like to think we’re benevolent
though, as we mean no harm
and only want to eat their food
and take pictures of what to them
is mundane. I get it. I’m from Miami.
I know the type. But we’re different
because we know the surrounding
culture outside the edges of these towns.
Hidden roads only to us. Known
and already discovered by the natives
of the land. Isn’t that always how the story goes?

Originally published on my Instagram page.

Fellow Nomadic Writer

fellow nomadic poem blog

You sit scrawling across
The pages of a spiral notebook
With a mysterious hard cover
By your side. Your eyes dart
Side to side on the occasion
When you stop writing to look up.
Your mouth forms silent words
In what I assume is your method
Of deciphering the text that comes
Next. Two teenage girls sit in front
Of you, giggling at their phones.
I can see their Instagram feeds.
You cannot. They catch sight
Of your momentary soundless muttering
And exchange looks with one another
Setting off another bout of giggles, never
For a second noticing your own lowered grin as you caught them in their own
Catch. I’m writing about you wondering
If in your observations are you
Writing about me?

*Originally featured on my Instagram.

Now Boarding

Now Boarding poem

It’s a muffled call over the speaker
But everyone gathers their luggage
And snacks and pillows
A migration over dirty blue carpets.
One by one, trudge by trudge
We march staccato, weighed down
And imbalanced by heavy bags in varied
States of wear. Start with the back
Of the plane and fill it up to the front.
Just another waiting room until the next one. It almost feels like there is no
Destination.

*Originally featured on my Instagram.

Art + Poetry by nublaccsoul — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

This is gorgeous work! Click the link below to see and read.

A pair of paradox, or pandora’s box We are forgotten yesterdays of tomorrow, note-booked mementos on thighs time travelled, back from the future, a few tsha-tsha with flashes blackouts and gray-matter gashes, the slurred dance of good memory, crib-notes on collar-bones, bare chest, a loose tie, knots, not around neck formal education white suits, tucked-in […]

via Art + Poetry by nublaccsoul — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

An elf turns inside out for the dragon by Kate Garrett — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

Powerful poetry. Read in the link below!

my fire-breathing mother says she believes in love— she preaches starvation, picks the latest drive-thru-visit hoard from her teeth with my toothpick legs

via An elf turns inside out for the dragon by Kate Garrett — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

lips by Eve Black — BURNING HOUSE PRESS

I am shook. Read this poem! Click the link below.

when the blood came the nowhere voice said paint your lips red this was under the table in the blank space between sweetheart and cunt I obeyed as I always do the nowhere voice

via lips by Eve Black — BURNING HOUSE PRESS