Day 10 - Friend
Pen Play: A poem-a-day writer's retreat in June
Hello, beautiful friends :) Welcome to Day 10!
Wow, 10 days of coming together, sharing great poems, and being so incredibly uplifting to one another. I know I’ve said that several days already, but this as a truth only keeps getting brighter and brighter.Â
Once on the participant end, and now once as the space holder, I’m telling you, rarely do I see such gems as I see here. I already suspected this would be the case based on last’s month’s poem-a-day experience, but it no less leaves me breathless now :)Â
All this just in time for today’s prompt, Friend. I know I don’t have to say anything else; you guys can take this from here well ;) Â
I offer these words as a blessing to my friends and all friends, some little diddies that came as I was feeling all the love here <3 Besides this, they are also offered as love during this Pride Month to queer folks everywhere, with whom kind words truly go a long way.Â
Never underestimate the kindness in your friendships 😘
Blessings, all <3
Friend
Feel free to find your footing, friend Respect relief in your righteous reign, friend Insist on indescribably invincible integrity, friend Expect eager, ecstatic engagement, friend Notice noble niceties as your native, friend Discern delicious, decadent decisions as divine, friend These are some blessings sent your way, my friend, Because I want the world for you. Isn’t that what friends are for?
If you’re enjoying the experience so far, share the retreat with friends who may also want to play with their poetry and read beautiful works from our community.
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So very glad to see you playing and sharing and loving here today, friends :) Happy Saturday to you all <3
They drink black coffee in his kitchen.
It’s gotten dark outside, his roommate’s gone to sleep,
She needs to go, to catch the long train home,
But they never quite run out of things to say,
Voices climbing with enthusiasm,
Until they realize they’re making too much noise,
And like children in their parents’ house, they make a point to whisper,
Cheeks flushed with the warmth of cheap lightbulbs.
The bottoms of their cups are thick with sediment
From how, too many times, they tip the French press up,
Hoping the coffee will never run out.
The window is open,
Summer air and crickets, distant shouting,
Lingering cars and laughter in the streets.
She makes another pot of coffee.