1 Minute with The Bald-Headed Poet

Bear In There by Shel SilversteinThere's a Polar BearIn our Frigidaire--He likes it 'cause it's cold in there.With his seat in the meatAnd his face in the fishAnd his big hairy pawsIn the buttery dish,He's nibbling the noodles,He's munching the rice,He's slurping the soda,He's licking the ice.And he lets out a roarIf you open the door.And it gives me a scareTo know he's in there--That Polary BearIn our Fridgitydaire.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Psalm 82A psalm of Asaph.1 God presides in the great assembly;    he renders judgment among the “gods”:2 “How long will you defend the unjust    and show partiality to the wicked?3 Defend the weak and the fatherless;    uphold the cause of the poor and the oppressed.4 Rescue the weak and the needy;    deliver them from the hand of the wicked.5 “The ‘gods’ know nothing, they understand nothing.    They walk about in darkness;    all the foundations of the earth are shaken.6 “I said, ‘You are “gods”;    you are all sons of the Most High.’7 But you will die like mere mortals;    you will fall like every other ruler.”8 Rise up, O God, judge the earth,    for all the nations are your inheritance.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Step into the world of poetry and music and experience the delight of celebrating life, love, and happiness. As your host, I am thrilled to share with you heartwarming stories, meaningful insights, and delightful surprises that will make your day brighter. From funny anecdotes to touching moments of gratitude, each episode is a treasure trove of emotions and connections. But the real gift lies in your hands! Join me in a mission to spread joy and kindness by leaving a review. Your words have the power to inspire, uplift, and bring smiles to faces around the world. So let's make this birthday celebration truly special by coming together, sharing and creating a ripple of positivity with your heartfelt reviews!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

In Good Time...  By Abimbola T. AlabiLife can seem an endless maze,The twists and turns, lulls and delays,But things always fall into place...In good time. Friends will sometimes go away.Some may disappoint or others betray,But new ones will come to stay...In good time. The hurt of getting something wrong,And the lesson it often brings alongAre there, you see, to make you strong...In good time. Kindness freely given away,Unnoticed now, will somehow find its wayBack to you and come to stay...In good time. Efforts seem not to pay to plan?Forge on friend, doing the best you can.Fortune will find the deserving man...In good time. Life can be tough, there's no doubt,But hope is the thing we can't do without.Right things with joy will come about...In good time.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Ecclesiastes 6 The Futility of Life, New International Version6 I have seen another evil under the sun, and it weighs heavily on mankind: 2 God gives some people wealth, possessions and honor, so that they lack nothing their hearts desire, but God does not grant them the ability to enjoy them, and strangers enjoy them instead. This is meaningless, a grievous evil.3 A man may have a hundred children and live many years; yet no matter how long he lives, if he cannot enjoy his prosperity and does not receive proper burial, I say that a stillborn child is better off than he. 4 It comes without meaning, it departs in darkness, and in darkness its name is shrouded. 5 Though it never saw the sun or knew anything, it has more rest than does that man— 6 even if he lives a thousand years twice over but fails to enjoy his prosperity. Do not all go to the same place?7 Everyone’s toil is for their mouth, yet their appetite is never satisfied.8 What advantage have the wise over fools? What do the poor gainby knowing how to conduct themselves before others?9 Better what the eye sees than the roving of the appetite.This too is meaningless, a chasing after the wind.10 Whatever exists has already been named, and what humanity is has been known; no one can contend with someone who is stronger. 11 The more the words,the less the meaning, and how does that profit anyone?12 For who knows what is good for a person in life, during the few and meaningless days they pass through like a shadow? Who can tell them what will happen under the sun after they are gone?Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Brown Girl Dreaming by Jacqueline Woodson Who is this brown girl dreaming, my teacher wants to know.Staring out the window so.Head in hands and eyes – gone from here.Where are you, Dear?Come back to the classroom, my pretty brown girlI fear you’re halfway around the world.Where is that mind of yours now?Outside the winter stabs through the airsneaks past the classroom windowpane and therebeneath a truck a frozen bird being sniffed by a stray cat,I don’t yet know the word ‘disdain’But in this moment, the world feels far awayI dream of stepping out into it one day to rest my feetin unfamiliar sand, to touch the hand of a boy or girlon the other side – where it’s nighttime now, or summer there.And maybe return to this place, a different girl withjust a trace of who I used to be echoing somewhere nearbyto me and as the teacher goes on and on her words are suddenlybecoming a poem that I may sing on an orange afternooninside a room where people will know my name.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

The EqualizerMy Dad and I talk most Sundays since I’m far away. He’s worried about me. I say, Dad, I’m all right, God keeps me safe. We talk about various subjects including men, well, not anymore since I’m divorced. My Dad gives good advice. He always talks about his accidents, since he came close to death repeatedly. He wants to write a book too, Called, The life of an Angel. He’s one of thirteen siblings, Black and Puerto Rican. It’s funny watching my parents talk. They have stories of how they met and when my dad pulled out a machete on two men, and when the man who liked my mom put voodoo on him.  He describes hanging from a ledge in the rain. My mom thought he was insane, but I believe him. You should see his face when he describes it. Their stories are funny; they remind me of a 70s movie. He helped me financially when I was separated and encouraged me to move on. He’s the reason why I called it quits, along with Trent Shelton and Tony Gaskins. He calls after he watches the show 60 Minutes, then goes to sleep. I appreciate my dad. I’m glad he checks on me and supports my dreams.  It’s good to talk to a man like I said in the poem, Mr. Belvedere. Thanks Dad!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Conundrum (on my birthday) (for Rico) by James BaldwinBetween holding on, and letting go, I wonder how you know the difference.It must be something like the difference between heaven and hell but how, in advance, can you tell?If letting go is saying no, then what is holding on saying?Come.Can anyone be held?Can I—?The impossible conundrum, the closed circle, why does lightning strike this house and not another?Or, is it true that love is blind until challenged by the drawbridge of the mind?But, saying that,one's forced to see one's definitions as unreal.We do not know enough about the mind, or how the conundrum of the imagination dictates, discovers, or can dismember what we feel, or what we find.Perhaps one must learn to trust one's terror:the holding on the letting go is error:the lightning has no choice, the whirlwind has one voice.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Bio:Ivy Rozen is an Asheville-based poet whose work has been published in Fine Art Globe, Chatham Life & Style Magazine, Education NC, Bottlecap Press and more. Previously the senior editor of Black Mountain Press, Ivy was selected to judge the Elon University Historic Neighborhood’s annual Primavera Poetry Contest for 2026, and recently founded the Midnight Draft Poetry Collective, which provides free resources to poets of all backgrounds. Her first full-length collection of poems, If I Love You, is now available from Seed Bed Press.Synopsis:If I Love You is a coming-of-age told in wounds, in hunger, and in fruit plucked prematurely from its branches. Moving through five visceral stages—Raw, Ripe, Overripe, Rotten, and Replanted—Ivy Rozen’s debut full-length collection maps the brutal terrain of girlhood through fractured family bonds, inherited pain, danger-tainted desires, and the long, uneven path toward self-possession. These poems interrogate memory, survival, and the stories we’re forced to tell about our own bodies. Rozen writes with unflinching clarity about trauma, intimacy, and the quiet violence of being disbelieved, crafting a voice that is at once tender, furious, and darkly lyrical. A central pillar of the collection is unraveling family structures. The poems expose gaslighting, conditional loyalty, and a haunting, toxic inheritance passed down through generations of women. The book tackles the predatory nature of "kindness," and the emotional aftermath of violation. There is a gritty exploration of using recklessness and dissociation as armor against past trauma. The collection details the exhausting daily maintenance of living with trauma and anxiety. The overarching theme of the book is stubborn, defiant survival. www.IvyRozen.com Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Ecclesiastes 1 New Living Translation1 These are the words of the Teacher,[a] King David’s son, who ruled in Jerusalem.Everything Is Meaningless2 “Everything is meaningless,” says the Teacher, “completely meaningless!”3 What do people get for all their hard work under the sun? 4 Generations come and generations go, but the earth never changes. 5 The sun rises and the sun sets, then hurries around to rise again. 6 The wind blows south, and then turns north. Around and around it goes, blowing in circles. 7 Rivers run into the sea, but the sea is never full. Then the water returns again to the rivers and flows out again to the sea. 8 Everything is wearisome beyond description. No matter how much we see, we are never satisfied. No matter how much we hear, we are not content.9 History merely repeats itself. It has all been done before. Nothing under the sun is truly new. 10 Sometimes people say, “Here is something new!” But actually it is old; nothing is ever truly new. 11 We don’t remember what happened in the past, and in future generations, no one will remember what we are doing now.The Teacher Speaks: The Futility of Wisdom12 I, the Teacher, was king of Israel, and I lived in Jerusalem. 13 I devoted myself to search for understanding and to explore by wisdom everything being done under heaven. I soon discovered that God has dealt a tragic existence to the human race. 14 I observed everything going on under the sun, and really, it is all meaningless—like chasing the wind.15 What is wrong cannot be made right.     What is missing cannot be recovered.16 I said to myself, “Look, I am wiser than any of the kings who ruled in Jerusalem before me. I have greater wisdom and knowledge than any of them.” 17 So I set out to learn everything from wisdom to madness and folly. But I learned firsthand that pursuing all this is like chasing the wind.18 The greater my wisdom, the greater my grief.     To increase knowledge only increases sorrow.Footnotes1:1 Hebrew Qoheleth; this term is rendered “the Teacher” throughout this book.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Ozymandias by Percy Bysshe ShelleyI met a traveller from an antique landWho said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stoneStand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,Half sunk, a shattered visage lies, whose frown,And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,Tell that its sculptor well those passions readWhich yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:And on the pedestal these words appear:"My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!"Nothing beside remains. Round the decayOf that colossal wreck, boundless and bareThe lone and level sands stretch far away.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Flowers by W. H. Davies What favourite flowers are mine, I cannot say -My fancy changes with the summer's day.Sometimes I think, agreeing with the Bees,That my best flowers are those tall apple trees,Who give a Bee his cyder while in bloom,And keep me waiting till their apples come.Sometimes I think the Columbine has won,Who hangs her head and never looks the Sun Straight in the face.And now the Golden Rod Beckons me over with a graceful nod;Shaped like a sheaf of corn, her ruddy skinDrinks the Sun dry, and leaves his splendour thin.Sometimes I think the Rose must have her place -And then the Lily shakes her golden dice Deep in a silver cup, to win or lose.So I go on, from Columbine to Rose, From Marigold to Flock, from Flock to Thrift -Till nothing but my garden stones are left.But when I see the dimples in her face, All filled with tender moss in every place -Ah, then I think, when all is said and done,My favourite flower must be a Mossy Stone!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

In 1955, 14-year-old Emmett Till traveled to Money, Mississippi, to visit relatives. He was kidnapped, tortured, and murdered after reportedly whistling at a white woman. His mother, Mamie Till-Mobley, insisted on an open-casket funeral near their hometown of Chicago. Her brave decision let the world see the racist violence inflicted upon her son and set the Civil Rights Movement into motion.https://www.nps.gov/till/learn/historyculture/index.htmSupport the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

We Rode All the Way to Delhi by Ruskin BondIn the Bicycle Age When I was a kidWe rode all the way to Delhi, Yes we did!Somi and Ranji and I ...It took us three daysAs we pressed on our pedals, All two hundred miles From Dehra to Delhi,And they gave us no medals!We sheltered in dhabas And ate what they gave us, But no welcoming crowd In Delhi received us As dusty, dishevelledWe crossed the old bridge And rode round the city And camped on the Ridge.Next day we rose late— Our bodies they ached—So instead of cyclingAll the way back againWe put our bikes on the train And went home in styleTo Dehra from Delhi, Somi and Ranji and I ...Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Ice and Fire by Edmund Spencer  My love is like to ice, and I to fire:How comes it then that this her cold so greatIs not dissolved through my so hot desire,But harder grows the more I her entreat?Or how comes it that my exceeding heatIs not allayed by her heart-frozen cold,But that I burn much more in boiling sweat,And feel my flames augmented manifold?What more miraculous thing may be told,That fire, which all things melts, should harden ice,And ice, which is congeal'd with senseless cold,Should kindle fire by wonderful device?Such is the power of love in gentle mind,That it can alter all the course of kind.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Independent Dream by Dan HigginsIn the face of oppression, an idea was born Never again to tyranny, we’d be sworn Determined to create a place free of scorn Every Fourth of July, a new hope is reborn Pursuing happiness, no longer forlorn Each firework fired, a salute to the morn’ Nation of dreamers, by independence adorned Dreaming of a future, by freedom’s hand drawn Enjoying the fruits of a struggle hard-won New dawn of liberty, under the sun Together we stand, united as oneSupport the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Midnight by Louise Gluck Speak to me, aching heart: what Ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself Weeping in the dark garage With your sack of garbage: it is not your job To take out the garbage, it is your job To empty the dishwasher. You are showing off Again, Exactly as you did in childhood--where Is your sporting side, your famous Ironic detachment? A little moonlight hits The broken window, a little summer moonlight, Tender Murmurs from the earth with its ready Sweetnesses-- Is this the way you communicate With your husband, not answering When he calls, or is this the way the heart Behaves when it grieves: it wants to be Alone with the garbage? If I were you, I'd think ahead. After fifteen years, His voice could be getting tired; some night If you don't answer, someone else will answer. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Choices by Nikki GiovanniIf i can't do what i want to dothen my job is to not do what i don't want to doIt's not the same thingbut it's the best i can doIf i can't have what i want... thenmy job is to want what i've gotand be satisfied that at least thereis something more to wantSince i can't go where i need to go... then i must... go where the signs pointthough always understanding parallel movement isn't lateralWhen i can't express what i really feeli practice feeling what i can expressand none of it is equal I knowbut that's why mankind alone among the animalslearns to crySupport the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Juneteenth is an annual observance on June 19 to remember when Union soldiers enforced the Emancipation Proclamation and freed all remaining slaves in Texas on June 19, 1865. This day is an opportunity for people to celebrate freedom and equal rights in the United States. (Wikipedia)Juneteenth Poems:Caged Bird: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/maya-angelou-caged-bird/id1633899855?i=1000595609856Still I Rise: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/still-i-rise-maya-angelou/id1633899855?i=1000639991261Roots - Juneteenth song/poem: https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/roots-juneteenth-poem-song/id1633899855?i=1000617518838Join me at the Poetry Festival: https://www.newyorkcitypoetryfestival.com/Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Only a Dad by Edgar Albert Guest Only a dad, with a tired face, Coming home from the daily race, Bringing little of gold or fame, To show how well he has played the game, But glad in his heart that his own rejoice To see him come, and to hear his voice. Only a dad, with a brood of four, One of ten million men or more. Plodding along in the daily strife, Bearing the whips and the scorns of life, With never a whimper of pain or hate, For the sake of those who at home await. Only a dad, neither rich nor proud, Merely one of the surging crowd Toiling, striving from day to day, Facing whatever may come his way, Silent, whenever the harsh condemn, And bearing it all for the love of them. Only a dad, but he gives his all To smooth the way for his children small, Doing, with courage stern and grim, The deeds that his father did for him. This is the line that for him I pen, Only a dad, but the best of men.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

You Tell Me by JewelIt cannot be so you say simple hands cannot change the fate of humanity.I sayHumanity is a boundless, absorbing heart transcendingdeath & generations and centuries absorbing bullets and stitches and tear gasenduring humiliation and illegal abortions and thankless jobsI say to you the heart of Humanity has not and will not be brokenAnd let us raise ourselves like lanternswith the millions of others— with the mad and the forgottenand the strong of heart to shine. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

You And Your Whole Race by Langston HughesYou and your whole race.Look down upon the town in which you liveAnd be ashamed.Look down upon white folksAnd upon yourselvesAnd be ashamedThat such supine poverty exists there,That such stupid ignorance breeds children thereBehind such humble shelters of despair—That you yourselves have not the sense to careNor the manhood to stand up and sayI dare you to come one step nearer, evil world,With your hands of greed seeking to touch my throat,I dare you to come one step nearer me:When you can say thatyou will be free!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Dive into the timeless words of Ralph Waldo Emerson as we explore his profound poem “Art”. In this episode, we unravel Emerson’s reflections on creativity, nature, and the human spirit, discovering how art connects us to beauty and meaning in everyday life. Perfect for lovers of poetry, philosophy, and inspirational readings, this episode brings Emerson’s wisdom to life through thoughtful narration and reflection. Art by Ralph Waldo Emerson Give to barrows, trays, and pans Grace and glimmer of romance; Bring the moonlight into noon Hid in gleaming piles of stone; On the city's paved street Plant gardens lined with lilacs sweet; Let spouting fountains cool the air, Singing in the sun-baked square; Let statue, picture, park, and hall, Ballad, flag, and festival, The past restore, the day adorn, And make to-morrow a new morn. So shall the drudge in dusty frock Spy behind the city clock Retinues of airy kings, Skirts of angels, starry wings, His fathers shining in bright fables, His children fed at heavenly tables. 'T is the privilege of Art Thus to play its cheerful part, Man on earth to acclimate, And bend the exile to his fate, And, moulded of one element With the days and firmament, Teach him on these as stairs to climb, And live on even terms with Time; Whilst upper life the slender rill Of human sense doth overfill.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Join me as I discuss the state of our nation and ask you questions regarding your beliefs and personal convictions. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Crossing The Bar by Alfred Lord TennysonSunset and evening star,And one clear call for me!And may there be no moaning of the bar,When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep,Too full for sound and foam,When that which drew from out the boundless deepTurns again home. Twilight and evening bell,And after that the dark!And may there be no sadness of farewell,When I embark; For though from out our bourne of Time and PlaceThe flood may bear me far,I hope to see my Pilot face to faceWhen I have crost the bar.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

We Honor You Today by Susan R. SmithTo all of our veteransFar and near.We thank you for your serviceFor all those years. You sacrificed your time,And some gave your life.You preserved our freedomBy willingly paying the price. Many of youWere sent overseas.You were wounded in battle,With scars and disease. But courageous and brave,You weathered the storm.You faced every battleWith faith and beyond. We honor you with joyFor all that you've done.You stood strong for our country,For our daughters and sons. So no one stands alone,We walk hand in hand.Remember, we are with you.Together we shall stand. We salute you today.Hear what we say.Let our words speak eloquentlyIn this special way. On this day,Let us express our love and thanksFor the sacrifice you paid.You served in honorFor many years and days,And we will never forgetHow you were strong and brave.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Prose and Cons Talk: Bald Women get no respect - Liberty, Justice and Peace.Join me for a brief discussion about the humor, positives, awkward experiences, and trials of being a bald woman. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

The Beatitudes, The Sermon on the Mount: Matthew 5:1-12The Sermon on the Mount5 Seeing the crowds, he went up on the mountain, and when he sat down, his disciples came to him.The Beatitudes2 And he opened his mouth and taught them, saying:3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.5 “Blessed are the meek, for they shall inherit the earth.6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they shall be satisfied.7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they shall receive mercy.8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they shall see God.9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they shall be called sons[a] of God.10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness' sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.11 “Blessed are you when others revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for so they persecuted the prophets who were before you.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Equality by Maya AngelouYou declare you see me dimlythrough a glass which will not shine,though I stand before you boldly,trim in rank and marking time.You do own to hear me faintlyas a whisper out of range,while my drums beat out the messageand the rhythms never change. Equality, and I will be free.Equality, and I will be free. You announce my ways are wanton,that I fly from man to man,but if I'm just a shadow to you,could you ever understand ? We have lived a painful history,we know the shameful past,but I keep on marching forward,and you keep on coming last. Equality, and I will be free.Equality, and I will be free. Take the blinders from your vision,take the padding from your ears,and confess you've heard me crying,and admit you've seen my tears. Hear the tempo so compelling,hear the blood throb in my veins.Yes, my drums are beating nightly,and the rhythms never change. Equality, and I will be free.Equality, and I will be free.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Happy Mother's Day Poem for Non-biological Mothers – The Bald-Headed Poet A woman gives birth to ideas, goals, and dreams. It’s more than giving life to someone she’s conceived. Being a caretaker is arduous but rewarding. Thank God for the non-biological mothers who deserve fame and fortune. Aunts’ godmother’s stepmother’s friends, cousins’ sisters, teachers’ leaders adopted moms adoptive moms and the rest. Your work is priceless, precious and unending generosity returns, and your blessings come from heaven. Although at times appreciation, gratitude, praise, money or gifts aren’t received. God is your source and will meet all your needs. We honor you for your sacrifices, and for going the extra mile. For adding value to others with love, joy and smiles. To the ladies who are considered barren. To the females who have fertility challenges. Motherhood is a quality and doesn’t mean you’re less than or defective. We acknowledge the selfless, graceful and virtuous women. God made us nurturers, emotional and perfect. A man can buy a house, but a woman creates a home. She makes less on the dollar, but wisdom is better than silver and gold. Women are the pillars of the world. She may be the weaker vessel, but mothers are powerful and strong. I hope you receive your flowers in the form of this poem. A small arrangement for the recognition you deserve. Happy Mother’s Day to you; A queen on her throne. Honorary moms should be celebrated all year long. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

The Most Beautiful Hands by Vinny Vi There are no hands more lovelyThan the ones that held you tightAnd soothed you through the night. There are no hands more fairThan the ones that brushed your hairAnd helped you dress with care. There are no hands more sweetThan the ones that cooked your mealsAnd tended to your needs.  There are no hands more dear Than the ones that wiped your tears And chased away your fears. There are no hands more blessedThan the ones that gave you restAnd held you close to their chest. There are no hands more kindThan those of your mother's hands,The most lovable hands you'll ever find. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Split Differential by Matthew McConaugheylooking for things that I have seen, on the outs and in the between.opening drawers that I've opened prior, this constant crying wolf's proof I'm a liar.imagining places it's perfectly hidden, just because it's gone does that mean it's forbidden?believing it is where it's never been, a penance I pay to atone for my sin?running out of age to find what's mine, believing I will if I have enough time.And I don't. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

All The World's A Stage by William ShakespeareAll the world's a stage,And all the men and women merely players;They have their exits and their entrances,And one man in his time plays many parts,His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchelAnd shining morning face, creeping like snailUnwillingly to school. And then the lover,Sighing like furnace, with a woeful balladMade to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,Seeking the bubble reputationEven in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,In fair round belly with good capon lined,With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,Full of wise saws and modern instances;And so he plays his part. The sixth age shiftsInto the lean and slippered pantaloon,With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wideFor his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,Turning again toward childish treble, pipesAnd whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,That ends this strange eventful history,Is second childishness and mere oblivion,Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Granny's Tree-Climbing by Ruskin BondMy grandmother was a genius. You'd like to know why?Because she could climb trees. Spreading or high, She'd be up their branches in a trice. And mind you,When last she climbed a tree, she was sixty-two.Ever since childhood, she'd had this gift For being happier in a tree than in a lift;And though, as years went by, she would be told That climbing trees should stop when one grew oldAnd that growing old should be gone about gracefullyShe'd laugh and say, 'Well, I'll grow old disgracefully.I can do it better.' And we had to agree;For in all the garden there wasn't a tree She hadn't been up, at one time or another (Having learned to climb from a loving brother When she was six) but it was feared by all That one day she'd have a terrible fall.The outcome was different; while we were in townShe climbed a tree and couldn't come down!We went to the rescue, and helped her descend A doctor took Granny's temperature and said,'I strongly recommend a quiet week in bed.' We sighed with relief and tucked her up well.Poor Granny! For her, it was more like a season in hell.Confined to her bedroom, while every breeze Whispered of summer and dancing leaves.But she held her peace till she felt stronger Then sat up and said, 'I'll lie here no longer!' And she called for my father and told him undauntedThat a house in a treetop was what she now wanted.My dad knew his duties. He said, 'That's all right You'll have what you want, dear, I'll start work tonight.'With my expert assistance, he soon finished the chore:Made her a tree house with windows and a door.So Granny moved up, and now every day I climb to her room with glasses and a tray.She sits there in state and drinks mocktails with me,Upholding her right to reside in a tree.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Solitude by Ella Wheeler WilcoxLaugh, and the world laughs with you;     Weep, and you weep alone; For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,     But has trouble enough of its own. Sing, and the hills will answer;     Sigh, it is lost on the air; The echoes bound to a joyful sound,     But shrink from voicing care.  Rejoice, and men will seek you;     Grieve, and they turn and go; They want full measure of all your pleasure,     But they do not need your woe. Be glad, and your friends are many;     Be sad, and you lose them all, There are none to decline your nectared wine,     But alone you must drink life's gall.  Feast, and your halls are crowded;     Fast, and the world goes by. Succeed and give, and it helps you live,     But no man can help you die. There is room in the halls of pleasure     For a large and lordly train, But one by one we must all file on     Through the narrow aisles of pain.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

A few lines can reshape how we think about blessing, prayer, and purpose, and Psalm 67 does exactly that. We read this short psalm straight through, letting its rhythm and repetition do their work: “May God be gracious to us and bless us” becomes more than a private wish, and turns into a worldwide hope.What stands out is the psalm’s logic. We ask for grace and for God’s face to shine, not so we can hoard comfort, but “that your way may be known on earth, your saving power among all nations.” That single turn reframes so much of modern faith talk about success, provision, and prosperity. Blessing is not an endpoint; it’s a signal flare that points beyond us.Then the chorus lands again and again: “Let the peoples praise you.” Psalm 67 widens the circle until it includes every people group and every nation, and it anchors that joy in God’s justice, equity, and guidance. It’s worship that refuses to ignore the world as it is, while still trusting God’s rule is steady. Finally, the psalm closes with harvest language and reverent awe, holding gratitude and holy fear together in the same breath.If you want a short Scripture reading for prayer, meditation, or a daily reset, press play and sit with Psalm 67. Subscribe for more, share this with a friend who needs hope, and leave a review telling us what line you’re still thinking about.Psalm 67, English Standard VersionMake Your Face Shine upon UsTo the choirmaster: with stringed instruments. A Psalm. A Song.67 May God be gracious to us and bless us     and make His face to shine upon us, Selah 2 that your way may be known on earth,     your saving power among all nations.3 Let the peoples praise you, O God;     let all the peoples praise you!4 Let the nations be glad and sing for joy,     for you judge the peoples with equity     and guide the nations upon earth. Selah 5 Let the peoples praise you, O God;     let all the peoples praise you!6 The earth has yielded its increase;     God, our God, shall bless us.7 God shall bless us;    let all the ends of the earth fear Him!Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Sick by Shel Silverstein“I cannot go to school today," Said little Peggy Ann McKay.“I have the measles and the mumps, A gash, a rash and purple bumps.My mouth is wet, my throat is dry,I’m going blind in my right eye.My tonsils are as big as rocks,I’ve counted sixteen chicken poxAnd there’s one more--that’s seventeen,And don’t you think my face looks green?My leg is cut--my eyes are blue--It might be instamatic flu.I cough and sneeze and gasp and choke,I’m sure that my left leg is broke--My hip hurts when I move my chin,My belly button’s caving in,My back is wrenched, my ankle’s sprained,My ‘pendix pains each time it rains.My nose is cold, my toes are numb.I have a sliver in my thumb.My neck is stiff, my voice is weak,I hardly whisper when I speak.My tongue is filling up my mouth,I think my hair is falling out.My elbow’s bent, my spine ain’t straight,My temperature is one-o-eight.My brain is shrunk, I cannot hear,There is a hole inside my ear.I have a hangnail, and my heart is--what?What’s that? What’s that you say?You say today is. . .Saturday?G’bye, I’m going out to play!”Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

National Poetry Month Poem: Poetryhttps://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12575592 John 17, Jesus Prays to Be Glorified | Spoken Wordhttps://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12598445Dark Knight - The Crucifixion | Good Friday Poemhttps://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12597460Jesus Christ Superstar (Easter/Resurrection Sunday Poem)https://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12611401*Add some Easter music to the list: Hymn: The Old Rugged Cross (Rap Version) https://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12605122Hymn: More about Jesus (Rap Version) https://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12610916Hymn: All Hail the Power of Jesus' Name (Rap Version) https://www.buzzsprout.com/2017713/episodes/12611407Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Proverbs 7 NLTAnother Warning about Immoral Women7 Follow my advice, my son;    always treasure my commands.2 Obey my commands and live!    Guard my instructions as you guard your own eyes.3 Tie them on your fingers as a reminder.    Write them deep within your heart.4 Love wisdom like a sister;    make insight a beloved member of your family.5 Let them protect you from an affair with an immoral woman,    from listening to the flattery of a promiscuous woman.6 While I was at the window of my house,    looking through the curtain,7 I saw some naive young men,    and one in particular who lacked common sense.8 He was crossing the street near the house of an immoral woman,    strolling down the path by her house.9 It was at twilight, in the evening,    as deep darkness fell.10 The woman approached him,    seductively dressed and sly of heart.11 She was the brash, rebellious type,    never content to stay at home.12 She is often in the streets and markets,    soliciting at every corner.13 She threw her arms around him and kissed him,    and with a brazen look she said,14 “I’ve just made my peace offerings    and fulfilled my vows.15 You’re the one I was looking for!    I came out to find you, and here you are!16 My bed is spread with beautiful blankets,     with colored sheets of Egyptian linen.17 I’ve perfumed my bed    with myrrh, aloes, and cinnamon.18 Come, let’s drink our fill of love until morning.    Let’s enjoy each other’s caresses,19 for my husband is not home.    He’s away on a long trip.20 He has taken a wallet full of money with him    and won’t return until later this month.”21 So she seduced him with her pretty speech    and enticed him with her flattery.22 He followed her at once,    like an ox going to the slaughter.   He was like a stag caught in a trap,23 awaiting the arrow that would pierce its heart.     He was like a bird flying into a snare,    little knowing it would cost him his life.24 So listen to me, my sons,    and pay attention to my words.25 Don’t let your hearts stray away toward her.    Don’t wander down her wayward path.26 For she has been the ruin of many;    many men have been her victims.27 Her house is the road to the grave.    Her bedroom is the den of death.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

A Friend by Edgar Albert GuestA friend is one who stands to shareYour every touch of grief and care.He comes by chance, but stays by choice;Your praises he is quick to voice. No grievous fault or passing whimCan make an enemy of him.And though your need be great or small,His strength is yours throughout it all. No matter where your path may turnYour welfare is his chief concern.No matter what your dream may beHe prays your triumph soon to see. There is no wish your tongue can tellBut what it is your friend's as well.The life of him who has a friendIs double-guarded to the end.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Women’s History Month 2026 Artist Spotlight: Tamara; Thanks to my listeners, and a shout out to Leo!Join me in celebrating honoree, Tamara as I finally recognize her album. :) Also mention my listeners and a good Samaritan. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uBm0uvAD7s4&list=RDuBm0uvAD7s4&start_radio=1Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

A Bird Came Down The Walk by Emily Dickinson  A bird came down the walk:He did not know I saw;He bit an angle-worm in halvesAnd ate the fellow, raw. And then he drank a dewFrom a convenient grass,And then hopped sidewise to the wallTo let a beetle pass. He glanced with rapid eyesThat hurried all abroad,--They looked like frightened beads, I thought;He stirred his velvet head Like one in danger; cautious,I offered him a crumb,And he unrolled his feathersAnd rowed him softer home Than oars divide the ocean,Too silver for a seam,Or butterflies, off banks of noon,Leap, plashless, as they swim.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

I Like Canadians by Ernest HemingwayBy A Foreigner  I like Canadians. They are so unlike Americans. They go home at night. Their cigarettes don't smell bad. Their hats fit. They really believe that they won the war. They don't believe in Literature. They think Art has been exaggerated. But they are wonderful on ice skates. A few of them are very rich. But when they are rich they buy more horses Than motor cars. Chicago calls Toronto a puritan town. But both boxing and horse-racing are illegal In Chicago. Nobody works on Sunday. Nobody. That doesn't make me mad. There is only one Woodbine. But were you ever at Blue Bonnets? If you kill somebody with a motor car in Ontario You are liable to go to jail. So it isn't done. There have been over 500 people killed by motor cars In Chicago So far this year. It is hard to get rich in Canada. But it is easy to make money. There are too many tea rooms. But, then, there are no cabarets. If you tip a waiter a quarter He says 'Thank you.' Instead of calling the bouncer. They let women stand up in the street cars. Even if they are good-looking. They are all in a hurry to get home to supper And their radio sets. They are a fine people. I like them.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

One More Round by Maya AngelouThere ain't no pay beneath the sunAs sweet as rest when a job's well done.I was born to work up to my graveBut I was not bornTo be a slave.One more roundAnd let's heave it down,One more roundAnd let's heave it down.Papa drove steel and Momma stood guard,I never heard them holler ‘cause the work was hard.They were born to work up to their gravesBut they were not bornTo be worked-out slaves.One more roundAnd let's heave it down,One more roundAnd let's heave it down.Brothers and sisters know the daily grind,It was not labor made them lose their minds.They were born to work up to their gravesBut they were not bornTo be worked-out slaves.One more roundAnd let's heave it down,One more roundAnd let's heave it down.And now I'll tell you my Golden Rule,I was born to work but I ain't no mule.I was born to work up to my graveBut I was not bornTo be a slave.One more roundAnd let's heave it down,One more roundAnd let's heave it down.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

In You Do I Take RefugeA Shiggaion of David, which he sang to the Lord concerning the words of Cush, a Benjaminite.7 O Lord my God, in you do I take refuge;     save me from all my pursuers and deliver me,2 lest like a lion they tear my soul apart,     rending it in pieces, with none to deliver.3 O Lord my God, if I have done this,     if there is wrong in my hands,4 if I have repaid my friend with evil     or plundered my enemy without cause,5 let the enemy pursue my soul and overtake it,     and let him trample my life to the ground     and lay my glory in the dust. Selah6 Arise, O Lord, in your anger;     lift yourself up against the fury of my enemies;     awake for me; you have appointed a judgment.7 Let the assembly of the peoples be gathered about you;     over it return on high.8 The Lord judges the peoples;     judge me, O Lord, according to my righteousness     and according to the integrity that is in me.9 Oh, let the evil of the wicked come to an end,     and may you establish the righteous— you who test the minds and hearts,     O righteous God!10 My shield is with God,     who saves the upright in heart.11 God is a righteous judge,     and a God who feels indignation every day.12 If a man does not repent, God will whet his sword;     he has bent and readied his bow;13 he has prepared for him his deadly weapons,     making his arrows fiery shafts.14 Behold, the wicked man conceives evil     and is pregnant with mischief     and gives birth to lies.15 He makes a pit, digging it out,     and falls into the hole that he has made.16 His mischief returns upon his own head,     and on his own skull his violence descends.17 I will give to the Lord the thanks due to his righteousness,     and I will sing praise to the name of the Lord, the Most High.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

I Do Not Love You Except Because I Love You By Pablo Neruda  I do not love you except because I love you;I go from loving to not loving you,From waiting to not waiting for youMy heart moves from cold to fire.  I love you only because it's you the one I love; I hate you deeply, and hating you Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.  Maybe January light will consume My heart with its cruel Ray, stealing my key to true calm.  In this part of the story I am the one who Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Be Nobody's Darling By Alice Walker Be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Take the contradictions Of your life And wrap around You like a shawl, To parry stones To keep you warm. Watch the people succumb To madness With ample cheer; Let them look askance at you And you askance reply. Be an outcast; Be pleased to walk alone (Uncool) Or line the crowded River beds With other impetuous Fools. Make a merry gathering On the bank Where thousands perished For brave hurt words They said. But be nobody's darling; Be an outcast. Qualified to live Among your dead.Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Never to Dream of Spiders by Audre LordeTime collapses between the lips of strangers   my days collapse into a hollow tubesoon implodes against nowlike an iron wallmy eyes are blocked with rubblea smear of perspectivesblurring each horizonin the breathless precision of silenceone word is made.Once the renegade flesh was gone   fall air lay against my facesharp and blue as a needlebut the rain fell through October   and death lay    a condemnation   within my blood.The smell of your neck in August   a fine gold wire bejeweling war   all the rest liesillusive as a farmhouseon the other side of a valleyvanishing in the afternoon.Day three    day four    day ten   the seventh stepa veiled door leading to my golden anniversary   flameproofed free-paper shredded   in the teeth of a pillaging dog   never to dream of spiders   and when they turned the hoses upon mea burst of light.Audre Lorde was an American writer, professor, philosopher, intersectional feminist, poet, and civil rights activist. As a poet, she is well known for technical mastery and emotional expression, as well as her poems that express anger and outrage at civil and social injustices she observed throughout her life. Support the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Galentine's Day is an unofficial holiday celebrated on February 13, the day before Valentine's Day, to honor and celebrate female friendships. It originated from the TV show "Parks and Recreation," where the character Leslie Knope created the day to gather her female friends for fun and appreciation. -newmodernmom.comSupport the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree

Poetry by Nikki Giovannipoetry is motion graceful as a fawn gentle as a teardrop strong like the eye finding peace in a crowded room we poets tend to think our words are golden though emotion speaks too loudly to be defined by silence sometimes after midnight or just before the dawn we sit typewriter in hand pulling loneliness around us forgetting our lovers or children who are sleeping ignoring the weary wariness of our own logic to compsoe a poem no one understands it it never says 'love me' for poets are beyond love it never says 'accept me' for poems seke not acceptance but controversy it only says 'i am' and therefore i concede that you are too  a poem is pure energy horizontally contained between the mind of the poet and the ear of the reader if it does not sing discard the ear for poetry is song if it does not deligh discard the heart for poetry is joy if it does not inform then close off the brain for it is dead if it cannot heed the insistent message that life is precious  which is all we poets wrapped in our loneliness are trying to saySupport the showPoems are green and Poetry is mean. -Poetry Beast Please accept my endless gratitude,I'm tickled pink,You're a gift!Thank you for your time and attention.It's a blessing you've stopped to observe and listen.ADDITIONAL INFO: @thebaldheadedpoet | Linktree