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Grilled Cheese is a product of Village Compute

Version devBuilt at: 2026-10-17 18:04:42 EDT

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You
You shake me up every day,
as breeze rustles new spring leaves.
No longer in disarray,
I’m just glad someone believes
and hope you forever stay.
@BardPharts
1 June 2026

Enough...

Enough. These few words are enough. If not these words, this breath. If not this breath, this sitting here.

This opening to the life we have refused again and again until now. Until now

-David Whyte

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Text of poem -

Looking Glass.
There is a game I play with a mirror, approaching it when I am not there, as though to take by surprise
the self that is my familiar. It is in vain. Like one eternally in ambush, fast or slow
as I may raise my head, it raises
its own, catching me in the act, disarming me by acquaintance, looking full into my face as often as I try looking at it askance.

freepik of a spider on its dewy web

my poem -

Taste my words
Devour each intimation
Swallow the absurd
Entangled inclination
Inveigled in trickery's web
So vague, all is sticky glee
Waste not what you want to be
Bravery before it ever occurred
Eat me stealthily...

Poem reads:

Blood spills on the vinyl
Crimson when it spins
Picking at the track marks
Itching at the skin
Before it all went turning
With the promise of a sting
And the patience of a nurse
She slipped the needle in
Strung out on the stereo
Hissing as it sings
Now I’m looking for another fix
In dusty dollar bins

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Morning

I used to pre-wake
to the clink-clink of milk delivered,
a sound of glass banging step
like the one-time use
of half-hearted flints,
then the cart’s protesting drone,
never given enough time to catch its breath,
now just
the bystander birds,
gathered on stave-ish of telephone wires,
their notes shared,
not like ours:
the way we once hid them
secretly,
rolled up tightly in the empty bottles.

Julian Cason

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Analog photography of a tree in autumn, shot with Ilford HP5 400 film in a Nikon FG camera.

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