Giving Broken a Voice


Hibernating Bear upon bear, buried under thick snow blankets, meditating spring’s thick thickets of wild blackberries. © SB Joy, 2023


Pond Pondering in life’s pond that spreads before me. I watch scum like old memories sink to the bottom out of sight out of mind turning into covert fertile and fermenting mud that I squish between my toes. As the pond grows older it bustles to life before the algae bloom of age consumes all…

Coping 1 & 2

Coping 1 & 2 I prefer chasing dust that’s floating in mid air, …dreams. Rather than gathering dust with a dust rag off coffee tables and fireplace mantels …reality. © SB Joy, 2023

Last Moments

Last Moments Many, many years, to many years gathered within a man’s chest, within the last fifteen minutes of his last breath. His memories drowned in dust and fallen leaves. Shadows pressed like flowers between random pages from a random book he forgot to live. All his memories turned to ash put in an urn,…

The Color of The Moon

The Color of The Moon I have worn myself out over the last two moons. Now I am feeling sad teary eyed depressed weary. Every color has become null, a set of emptied arms waiting like the moon in mid-rise and three quarters empty, lonely and teary eyed. As she too waits with outstretched wearied…

Happy as an Icicle

Happy as an Icicle Some days I am an icicle dripping full of tears soaking in the sun’s glory. © SB Joy, 2023

To Witness a Thing

To Witness a Thing (Introduction) I’m already laughing at myself, with all this poetry is business… ———————— Poetry is a the witness. The winter of a thing. Poetry is clearly not the summer of a thing. All sunny bright lacking in moodiness and darkened clouds as the last remaining hungry robin looks for it’s last…

Hunting Birds

Hunting Birds I have a love for fictional bird hunting, pretend geese, grouse and quail. I also have a love for tears, ghosts and lost loves. All things that you might find while trudging through the moors of my damned memories. I imagine myself plodding along in fields, forests and meadows with a 12 gage…

Confession 1101

Confession 1101 I like to let the small things, like timeliness erupt into a volcano that takes out a small country with its’ ensuing tidal waves. © SB Joy, 2023 It’s good to be able to laugh at one’s self Anonymous

Ghostly Me

Ghosty Me In the ghost that was me there were more than a me. There were parts that are missing and parts that were found. Down silent hallways in silent rooms surrounded by stormy voices. Locked in closets, inside locked trunks tied down to floor ties and splintered wood, in splintered minds and splintered souls,…


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