Image courtesy of Daily Hive


In the fading light,

My hindsight schools, lectures, drills

My foresight

In how to take steps,

In how to look away,

In how to live hopeless,

In how to heal with saltwater dreams

Overflowing with hope.

Yet still with foresight

In how to guard,

My scars, my wounds,

My picked at scabs

In this

fading light of days




Flowering with dreams,


Of life remaining.

For The Boy Who Would Not Stay – Annette Kalandros

I am honored to have my poem, “The Boy Who Would Not Stay,” featured on Free Verse Revolution.


I hold your reflection close,

But it slides, evaporating from my grasp,

While dripping condensation.

My heart stutters with if only’s.

My soul begs, pleads, bargains

With you to stay.

My mind whispers your name,

Calling after you,

Asking why you are leaving,

If you are angry I had told no one

Of your blessed presence here

Since I was afraid I’d jinx it?

Somehow I knew-

Knew you wouldn’t stay-

I felt it from the start.

A few weeks-

And you’d go away.

My lips whisper

My soul begs

My heart stutters

My body cramps,

Clamping down once again.

My brain knows it is time.

Time to wash the blood and gore away-

Time to let your reflection fade

You can read and follow Annette Kalandros’ work at Hearing The Mermaids Sing:

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The Second Commandment

image courtesy of daily verses

I take the truth

for it is mine,

rolling myself in it until

protected from the acid of the asinine

that drips from the pens, the tongues

of many and power,

of those we call elite,

of those we once called—



I grieve the words spoken

by asinine tongues

and actions taken

by hate filled hearts

that do not comprehend the words

we were taught—

“love your neighbor as yourself”—

The second commandment.


Mystical Fields

Image courtesy of

Meet me in the field

Where heather sways with the wind

Through time we will live.


Life, never a friend,

Kept us from knowing true joy,

Meet me in the field,


Where loss is gaining

And grief blossoms into joy

Meet me where gold grows.

The Last Supper

Image courtesy of Wikipedia: Leonardo Da Vinci, The Last Supper

Lives ruined in place–

ego upon a pedestal

basks in sunshine

yet never feels

unless destroying green things

in the softness of evening

when moon and sun fill

the evening skies

of shorter days–

time no longer

a forgotten toy

thrown by the wayside

but an ornament of luxury

I wish I could hold close

within my hands without

it leaks between my fingers

marking any signs of reverence

as if with blood irony–

all the while the rest cough

green phlegm of ill regard.


On the walls fling the words of meaning,

clichés all—of love and family,

of time so very treasured,

the welcome of strangers

without the pillar of salt,

the love of neighbors in a city quest,

and asking, pleading how have we hid

the monsters we do hide within our homes,

within our churches,

within our souls and hearts–

the monsters, the demons we cannot exorcise

since we cannot stand to see our own

face within our reflections upon time,

creation, connections to the past—

when we cannot acknowledge

the face of God hidden away

from the reflection of our own faces,

in the faces of others, the face of God

hidden away, void of the divine,

as are we consumed with consuming

vitriol for anything, for everything

remotely resembling the other.




Musings on the Cracked Crystal Ball

Image courtesy of Aliexpress

When you found the things you could,

A mist of breath showed in the rain,

Twin clouded rain shimmered colors

Of gray stone before you on a path you would go.

If only, if only, you should know the bones of us,

Move knotted stiff with the griefs you’ve piled upon your soul,

We’d glow of phosphorus and neon in velvet darkness.

Walking the dark, shadowed canyon of dreams

Wilted by disappointments and deflated sunshine

Waking to dimmest daylight at noon

Where you cannot bear to look

Upon your own reflection,

A sight of horror in your own eyes now

In that cracked crystal ball where you stand,

In your own self-consecrated field

Of plastic flowers bowing their majestic heads to you,

Your straw haired head is bowed,

Smiling at the ground.

Mad World Creativity Prompt Challenge: A White Mad World – Annette Kalandros

I am honored to be featured on as part of the Creativity Challenge: Mad World.

Brave & Reckless

The number of our destruction smacked us in the face,

But too many didn’t want to see.

They liked the words they heard,

Shrinking their ever-enlarging world:

–Where you walk is holy

(as long as you got thousand-dollar shoes)

–We don’t care! Just wanna keep up with a Kardashian or two.

–I ain’t wearin’ no mask. Ain’t nobody gonna tell me what to do!

–Who the hell cares if a black man can’t breathe? Cuz he shouldn’t

give a cop a reason to put a knee on his neck!

The seven tentacles touched us to the core

Long, long before:

–It’s all you can eat!

–Trade in that old husband or wife for a new, sexier model!

–Who wants to work that hard! Buy college scores!

–We’re so much better than those Mexicans, Blacks, Queers, Muslims,

those shithole countries.

–Drop a bomb! Just drop the fuckin’ bomb on the bastards!

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Petals of the Dead

Image courtesy of Pinterest

I tossed them away

Some time ago–

Petals of the dead.

Some flowers taken

From above the six-foot holes

I have stood over,

Frozen in the emptiness

Of an empty hole

About to be filled.

Some flowers taken

From birthday and anniversary

Bouquets of celebration,

Marking years of bitter happiness.

Most flowers taken

From a wedding bouquet

Of vows taken, kept,

A reminder of vows abandoned.


Petals of the dead kept

Out of wretched sentimentalism

I burned upon the pyre

With myself.

Then climbed a new self

Of burnished bronze

From the flames.


Submit to The Kali Project

A wonderful project


I am editing another Anthology in collaboration with CrossTree Press called The Kali Project.

If you are an Indian woman Poet/Artist (or you know of one who may be interested, either in India or internationally) please consider submitting work to The Kali Project. This anthology is a collection of poetry, prosetry, and artwork from women of Indian heritage, in response to the courageous determination of Indian women to gain full equality in India.

Subjects to consider writing about include but are not limited to: Feminism, equality, political upheaval, women’s-rights, sexual violence, LGBTQ rights, gender identity, violence, marriage, concepts of Indian female identity, inequality at the workplace. Change.

The Kali Project is open for submissions until October 22, 2020.

You can submit up to THREE poems and THREE pieces of artwork.

Please submit poems with your full name as the title in Word.

If you are interested in submitting for the…

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Rectify Lines of Your Face

Image courtesy of

The wrinkles of cotton shirts,

crease the jeans,

the edges of t-shirts you steam.

Stiffness of heavy starch

helps you remember every lie

through the years.

You fear softness

would wrinkle the fabric

Of memory.