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Counterspin


(Alcor 

Pulsar hums, 
                 eats calendar.
           I thirl time in skeins.
                    Unhappen every 
                              date.

O Flip

      She swallows my limb
              obliqued,
                  never cresting.

—No end, onlymotion.


&  Mizar)

                        Tides fracture,
               chars history.
  I skein time in thirls.
     Unbecome every
           epoch.

                                       Flip O

             He threads my pulse    
                         parallaxed,
              ever zenithing.

        —No start, only turning.

Counterspin (Alcor Pulsar hums, eats calendar. I thirl time in skeins. Unhappen every date. O Flip She swallows my limb obliqued, never cresting. —No end, onlymotion. & Mizar) Tides fracture, chars history. I skein time in thirls. Unbecome every epoch. Flip O He threads my pulse parallaxed, ever zenithing. —No start, only turning.

For #TopTweetTuesday, a cosmic poem about two bodies in permanent orbit. Thank you @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social for hosting ✨

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It’s 2289 AD and my descendant Augustus M C Smith is an astronaut-poet & a much improved version of ancestor Matt! ✨

I hope you enjoy his ‘Log entry’ for #TopTweetTuesday on Twitter - our challenge - really unfamiliar, super inventive cosmic poems. No cliches, no common words.

#poetry

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A new poem.

Previously posted for #TopTweetTuesday

Title changed for this version: 'The Expanse'

www.abctales.com/story/marand...

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@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social Here's my take on #TopTweetTuesday #Cosmic. Thanks as always to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social and to all the wonderful poets participating.

#WritingCommunity #PoetryCommunity

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Accretion

There is a listener —
a fist of held weather,
a gripsong.

The quieting.

Working buttons of distance loose,
unthreading the posture of things.

Hushpull. Devoursong. Longgone.

The slow ungloving of heat
from the wrist of the world.

Arrivals quieter, sloughed clean
at the threshold — labwhite, precise —

as if some host prefers the remnant

and perfects its absence

endlessly.

Accretion There is a listener — a fist of held weather, a gripsong. The quieting. Working buttons of distance loose, unthreading the posture of things. Hushpull. Devoursong. Longgone. The slow ungloving of heat from the wrist of the world. Arrivals quieter, sloughed clean at the threshold — labwhite, precise — as if some host prefers the remnant and perfects its absence endlessly.

For #TopTweetTuesday, a cosmic poem that leans into distance and what remains when things fall away 🕳️ Thank you to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social for hosting 🌌

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~ ‘tis tizzy aftereve ~

✨ let me take you on a suburban dog walk at night. ☄️

For #TopTweetTuesday on Twitter

#poetry #poet #cosmos #starry

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THANKS to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social for this pleasant surprise 🙏💚 ... & a MASSIVE THANKS for your continued dedication to hosting, motivating and encouraging an online community of poets @ #FragmentsFriday
#TopTweetTuesday
@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social
Sincere THANKS 🙏💚

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Kisstracks

Virgin tape shyheartblue.
A splicecut héliotrope loveletter
of hawkeyed lyrics and ferric faces:
Bowie's nine lives, Britpopped bangers.

Whirlhumming Lou Reed lust-eruption.
Mazzy Star wow and flutter.
oxidebuzz tapeforwardroll
A pressured purr before each confession.

Handwritten kisstracks in Bic ink,
brushing lines daydream nation green.
Blushing ghosts pressed in plastic.

Kisstracks Virgin tape shyheartblue. A splicecut héliotrope loveletter of hawkeyed lyrics and ferric faces: Bowie's nine lives, Britpopped bangers. Whirlhumming Lou Reed lust-eruption. Mazzy Star wow and flutter. oxidebuzz tapeforwardroll A pressured purr before each confession. Handwritten kisstracks in Bic ink, brushing lines daydream nation green. Blushing ghosts pressed in plastic.

A cassette mixtape with handwritten label saying:

For Mairead

To remind you of those days and nights we spent together during the summer holidays of 2001 18:43

That feeling when we thought we could do anything we wanted and nothing would ever change between us

A cassette mixtape with handwritten label saying: For Mairead To remind you of those days and nights we spent together during the summer holidays of 2001 18:43 That feeling when we thought we could do anything we wanted and nothing would ever change between us

For #TopTweetTuesday, a poem that reflects on the overlooked art of making mixtapes. Thank you to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social for hosting.

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@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social
@matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
#TopTweetTuesday
@iantattum.bsky.social

Thanks to @iantattum.bsky.social for hosting.

I'll be on the move tomorrow, so posting ahead. #nature

#poem #poetry

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We need more poems about football so here’s one about the regenerating power of spring using the metaphor of soccer.

⚽️ 🥅

Our host this week on #TopTweetTuesday on Twitter is the talented writer and good human @iantattum.bsky.social

#poems #poetry #writing #football

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@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social
#TopTweetTuesday
Yesterday's offering on the prompt. TY, as always @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social & all of the wonderful participating writers. #prophecy #myth

Reposting because I didn't have time to post here.I also changed the font to white, original was in Blue.

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#prophecy on #TopTweetTuesday, here’s my poem

Thank you to
@matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
for hosting.

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Transit Gods

Repeatedly
Persephone swipes back in –
Pergusa-black palms, pip-full,
blue-tile salt crusted,
oozing blood orange nectar.

Occasionally
Hermes wrestles the Lisboan night
bus through sodium corridors,
knotted ouroboros motherskin
scorched by mothlight.

Then Terminus:
boulder-shouldered at Airbnb edge,
eye to the sky,
scrolls cloud and Jupiter.
Boundary is the god.
The god is the griefing.

Transit Gods Repeatedly Persephone swipes back in – Pergusa-black palms, pip-full, blue-tile salt crusted, oozing blood orange nectar. Occasionally Hermes wrestles the Lisboan night bus through sodium corridors, knotted ouroboros motherskin scorched by mothlight. Then Terminus: boulder-shouldered at Airbnb edge, eye to the sky, scrolls cloud and Jupiter. Boundary is the god. The god is the griefing.

Thank you once again to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
and @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social for the #TopTweetTuesday prompts and curation. 🙏

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Cassandra's Curséd Ketchup

Her last vermillion knell: a beast unleashed
to spread the muses' lover's curse, reversed.


Glutinous shoves of electrons 
piped into hermetic abacists:

nectar of stirred agents that divine
us from ritual zeros and ones.

They tempt, 
rage, pray at the beckon of a tap.

Click-clacked incantations 
augur shade in lightless night.

We lap the stains 
of make-believe,

concoct with relish
our canned pantheon.

Avenged at last? Let slip
what will

be the final drop.

Cassandra's Curséd Ketchup Her last vermillion knell: a beast unleashed to spread the muses' lover's curse, reversed. Glutinous shoves of electrons piped into hermetic abacists: nectar of stirred agents that divine us from ritual zeros and ones. They tempt, rage, pray at the beckon of a tap. Click-clacked incantations augur shade in lightless night. We lap the stains of make-believe, concoct with relish our canned pantheon. Avenged at last? Let slip what will be the final drop.

Are poets allowed to have so much fun on a #TopTweetTuesday?

Thank you @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social for staging the playground.

Did you know that AI is Apollo's fault?

*Note: "Ketchup effect": when little happens for a long time, then way too much very fast.

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For the theme #prophecy on #TopTweetTuesday, here’s my poem ‘Burning Sage’.

I seem to be on a roll with witchy/wise woman poems at the moment!

🖤🧙‍♀️🖤

Thank you to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social for hosting.

#poetry #poetrycommunity #blueskypoets #skypoets #poetsofbluesky #witch

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A one off #TopTweetTuesday where we will also run this on Bluesky.

Next week’s prompts:

- prophecy, collision of present day and myth, ritual, the future, the city.

Up to 120 words.

Imagistic, metaphorical, free verse. Inventive, quirky.

Bold title, your name italicised. No A.I.

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Morning! For #topTweetTuesday, my poem Elliptical. I stayed within the bounds (I think). I even made up a new word: frogwinged 😉Thank you all for your consideration & generosity. Have a great day. Special thanks to @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social & @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social

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Thank you, #TopTweetTuesday, for inspiring me to write just now. #poem #poetry

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@blackboughpoems #toptweetTuesday @MatthewMCSmith

Thanks for hosting @PaulWritesPoems

Here's my submission - not sure I'll have time to do a video - as I'm on the move but I'll try.

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A new pome "Homecoming" posted over on X/Twitter for #TopTweetTuesday. There's a video of me reading it (along with my cat Shelley in the background) over there if you can stand my Brummie drawl

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A brilliantly sizzling #TedHughes tribute poem by fellow host of #TopTweetTuesday, @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social

🔥🔥🔥

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I have the pleasure this morning of being joint host of #TopTweetTuesday over on X alongside @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
Poets are invited to write on #SylviaPlath or #TedHughes.

This is my poem.
#poetry #poetsofbluesky #blueskypoets #skypoets #poetrychallenge #poetrycommunity

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Exposed Exhausted

I stumble up the steep hill of you.
Sense disappears in your gust.
My words smashed against your craggs.

I cradle the warm eggs of my words
you snatch and crack open
till my insides tumble unborn deadyolks

colour the purple heather of your tongue
that fills my mouth so my words 
cannot be heard, inert. I can't breathe.

Your body is an oven whose mouth
swallows my whole self. I inhale your gas.
Fumble for meaning in the lost map of us.

Exposed Exhausted I stumble up the steep hill of you. Sense disappears in your gust. My words smashed against your craggs. I cradle the warm eggs of my words you snatch and crack open till my insides tumble unborn deadyolks colour the purple heather of your tongue that fills my mouth so my words cannot be heard, inert. I can't breathe. Your body is an oven whose mouth swallows my whole self. I inhale your gas. Fumble for meaning in the lost map of us.

For #promptcombo #Rupture @victoriaspires.bsky.social also #TopTweetTuesday #SylviaPlath @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social

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For our #SylviaPlath and #TedHughes week on #TopTweetTuesday on Twitter, ‘Dream of Two Poets’.

‘She advances to him as one who could devour the fire and light of the room’

Big up to joint host @helenlaycock.bsky.social

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@matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
@blackboughpoetry.bsky.social

How do you write poetry that's homage without drifting into imitation?

Daddyless Morning tries to capture Plath's poetic spirit while exploring absence & the quiet ache of a father gone. Hope I hit the brief.

#toptweettuesday

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Mr Larkin’s Ghost…


Will seek  
the closing, curling walls of bare let rooms
and all other cheaply-rented lives,
worn faces propped against parks puffing-out despair, 
silently;
revisit their cold as coffin 
table-tops,
not surprisingly: single-chaired;
compose the score for behind closed doors,
where the deafening conversational hum 
is provided by duplicitous electric-fires 
and misery’s 
always Sunday-dull,
unshared evensong.
The world reflected in fishbowl-glasses,
grave-dust sticking like wet sugar;
he’s still wandering:
a caustic balm chronicling any place needed 
between high heaven
and Hull.

Mr Larkin’s Ghost… Will seek the closing, curling walls of bare let rooms and all other cheaply-rented lives, worn faces propped against parks puffing-out despair, silently; revisit their cold as coffin table-tops, not surprisingly: single-chaired; compose the score for behind closed doors, where the deafening conversational hum is provided by duplicitous electric-fires and misery’s always Sunday-dull, unshared evensong. The world reflected in fishbowl-glasses, grave-dust sticking like wet sugar; he’s still wandering: a caustic balm chronicling any place needed between high heaven and Hull.

Hullo. Just put this up on the other place for #TopTweetTuesday and the week’s theme of an 80 word homage to a famous poet. #poetry #larkin

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#roots #TopTweetTuesday. #poetry

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Here's my offering for the theme of #karma @TopTweetTuesday. Thanks to EIC @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social
#vsspoem #poet #poetrycommunity #TopTweetTuesday

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Our themes for next week on #TopTweetTuesday on Twitter are

~ Justice, karma, retribution~

Looking for poems with a social conscience. 100 words maximum and let the imagery do the work. Show rather than tell.

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Here's (19)84 words on the theme of fascism, dictatorship, authoritarianism, thought police, state control for @TopTweetTuesday. Thanks as always go to EIC @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social

#vsspoem #poet #poetrycommunity #TopTweetTuesday

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