Reading by Candlelight

Source of Inspiration

I read by candlelight,
another day the energy
failed. It used to annoy
me as it does my neighbors
whose children are fretful
without the anesthesia of TV.

I’ve learned to enjoy the
days where we must live as
our grandparents did, without
all the time saving devices that
never seem to deliver their
promise of time to do what
makes us happy.

Yesterday, I wore an unpressed
shirt and painted a picture
fine. I baked bread in a wood
oven, and enjoyed going back in time.

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Brazen Reverie


Brazen Reverie

The Hours of Night Pour through the casement,
Secret, Yet Unhidden,
Clutching at my Train of Thought;
An Addiction that’s Unbidden.

Twilight circles Menacing outside the Darkened door,
Her Indigo spread wide,
Cloaking all my Reticence,
Until I’ve nowhere left to Hide.

The Hours strike and echo in this Brazen Reverie,
Impervious to Haste,
With You, Initiative is Sweet,
Though rarely ever Chaste.

Beautiful Original Artwork by: moonglowlilly at

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Newspapers Are Turning Black

A Shade Of Pen


So, this is what arrived on Day 2.  The things that are supposedly white are turning black and there are a lot of “black news” too. First day, I received a black egg and today, its a black newspaper. I’ve racked my brains time and again, not to find any clue whatsoever.

It could be something on the lines of a black revolution or a store that sells exclusively black things.

Further,  as both things have to do with early morning, it could be a black beginning too.

Guesses? Opinion?

I can’t wait to see what tomorrow has in store.

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Mark Davis Author / Poet


Love, Killed the Beast

Through his world written in rhyme and prose,
words echo clear across the skies.

Through love and hate in passions throes,
his howled tone misunderstood.

Through pain of light this beast hides,
ashamed of whom he really is.

Through darkened night his soul rides,
among the stars he named for her.

Through time that passes stuck in mud,
a sacrifice in life he now vows.

Through all the letters scribed in blood,
does she know how much he loves.

Through all the scribbled unread letters,
he never sent.

Through all the buried treasures,
his heart kept.

Through open fields he laid in tall grass,
blooms appeared that match his blood red.

Through his heart his Bonny Lass,
will live on beyond his time on earth.

Through all that’s said when done,
a silent pledge to her was made.

Through and through she is the…

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