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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿

@kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
1.1K followers 2.1K following 600 posts

Would rather write than talk. Sometimes I don’t read skeets properly, especially pre-coffee. Rāmere is my favourite day. Work can be found in Broken Spine Arts, takahē, Voicemail Poems Special mention in Given Words 2025

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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 04/10/2026
It is an honour to have this poem in Stone Circle Review. With much thanks to @leepottspoet.bsky.social #poetry #newpoem #poemsabout #poetrycommunity
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Lee Potts @leepottspoet.bsky.social · 03/10/2026
Please celebrate with me my friends! 🎉 My third chapbook, Sky In Some Mosaic, is now available for preorder from the wonderful Pinhole Poetry Press (@pinholepoetry.bsky.social). Each copy will be made by hand and beautiful. Link in bio. More information to follow.
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Talah Reed @talahreed.bsky.social · 01/10/2026
A small study in distance, denial and cut flowers. #poemsabout #rot #poetrysky #poetsky
STILL FLOWERS

The flowers lasted eighteen days.
I know because I counted.

By six, the water had gone cloudy.
By nine, the first stem bent.
By thirteen, they had started
leaning on each other
for structural reasons.

I changed the water anyway.

From the kitchen door
they still looked like flowers.

I tried the hallway.

Still flowers.

The sofa:
flowers.

Three feet away:

less convincing.

Up close
they had become
a collection of failures,
minor and major.

Apparently beauty
has a minimum viewing distance.

Nobody tells you this.

Museums know it.

Pointillists knew it.

By eighteen
I knew it too.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 25/09/2026
This one was a written a long time ago but fits the theme @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poemsabout #deadletters
Yours Always

I fold the smooth 68gsm sheets in half.

Ellen yells from the lounge Mum, the internet isn't working' then without hesitation 'Never mind.'

The heavy stock envelope matches the cream paper.

I slip my inkings into their snug enclosure.

Tim emerges from the depths of his bedroom to tell me,
"The last male white rhino has died, fucking humans.'

I write your address with the flourish of cherished strokes, stick down the flap, place the stamp in its rightful place.

My phone lights up with notifications; a Facebook memory of our Anniversary pics, the fridge suggesting a recipe using the broccoli that is tiring, seven new emails.

I place the envelope in my bag.
The car radio talks of how robotic telesurgery via high-speed internet is changing healthcare,
followed by the importance of drones in modern warfare.

I sit in my usual place, next to your gilded name.

I take the envelope from my bag, and release my thoughts from their ink;
so they can stretch for that place we will never reach.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 08/08/2026
Take a leisurely stroll through the lanes of the latest takahē #fiction #flashfiction #aotearoa #matariki #poetry #nzwriter
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Claudine: A Literary Magazine @claudineliterary.bsky.social · 05/08/2026
✨New Writer✨ microfiction by Deirdre Parkes!! A Constellation of Scars “We called her the Seasalt girl because we did not have another name for her—because naming is a net, and we had only so much rope.” www.claudineliterary.com/deirdreparkes
claudineliterary.com
Deirdre Parkes | A Constellation of Scars
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Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 31/07/2026
Happy #PoemsAbout day everyone. Here is my offering for #LastTrain. I can't wait to read everyone else's. With thanks as always to @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk Have a great weekend all ❤️ #poetry #choo-choo
The Last Train 
 
 I am a witness  
 to the lairy, blaring call  
 of rowdy rogues returned from revelry.  
 
The subdued quiet  
of the nurse, 
longing to kick off sensible shoes 
and dance.
 
 The hushed husband  
 accepting the gin‑soaked airing 
 of his inadequacy.  
 
 The impatient sigh  
 of the lost girl, 
 searching for
 the last breath of warmth  
 before the cold night claims her.  
 
 I am a witness  
 to the carriage as confessional,
 to the tracks that hum with stories  
 no one meant to tell.  
 
 I am a witness  
 to the sway of strangers  
 bound together 
 for one brief, rattling moment,
 before scattering like sparks  
 into the dark beyond the platform.  
 
 I am a witness. 
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Stone Circle Review @stonecirclereview.bsky.social · 19/07/2026
POEM 354: "Angry at the Last Days of August—" by Susan Barry-Schulz (@susanbarryschulz.com) "Don’t at least me or better place me. I am clock-stopped. Buckled and changed. Don’t try to aurora borealis me. Don’t hunter moon or comet me." stonecirclereview.com/angry-at/ #Poem #Poetry #NewPoem
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 13/07/2026
It’s not right, it’s just not right Moe mai rā, Sam Neill
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Sarah O @palimpsest22.bsky.social · 11/07/2026
@thebrokenspine.co.uk #PoemsAbout #Powercuts One for this week whilst I'm away, waiting for the storms over water.
Storm Pending

There is a block of light on the landing
solid as Mother,
lux spread thick over lino
constant as her hum
in the yard below,
all chores done.

Static sweeps electric, birds breathe
to a count of three…
then spill.
Dust richochets full stops
against her white sail sheets
then the power cuts.

Sarah O’ Grady
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 10/07/2026
Mānawatia a Matariki! There will be nine short stories in the August edition of takahē in celebration of the nine stars of Matariki. I am honoured mine is one of those chosen. I am excited to read them all! Thank you to Zoe and the takahē team.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 03/07/2026
Hello #poemsabout friends, I have been reading from afar and finally have felt the urge to write. I look forward to reading your works. Thank you @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #cheapmotels #poetry #poetrycommunity #writing #BlueSkyPoets
The Sunshine Inn
Here at the Sunshine Inn clean sheets part, secrets slip within, an envelope sealed with a lick from a rabid tongue
At the Sunshine Inn, quick fixes stick
to blinds blind to the dirt deposited with each release
When you stay at the Sunshine Inn, wrongs are hidden in cracks in the ceiling, deeds stuffed down the back of couches, futures trodden into stained carpet
The Sunshine Inn prides itself on the confessions of sinners past that linger in the clogged shower traps, pasted in place by soiled soap scum
Thank you for choosing the Sunshine Inn
Please remember to take all your belongings, including your guilt Leave your room key and dignity in the box next to the office
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 12/06/2026
It’s been a long time between posts but time to put pencil to ipad. Thank you @matthewmcsmith.bsky.social @blackboughpoetry.bsky.social #fragmentsfriday
Rain Has a Pair of Shoes For Every Occasion
Gossamer-touch ballet slippers, jandals to handle steaming tarmac
But hob-nails are best for a tin roof
Cindy Kurukaanga
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Jen Thorne @jenthorne.bsky.social · 22/05/2026
Happy #PoemsAbout day everyone. I am very much looking forward to a long and sunny bank holiday weekend and I hope you all have a good one too. Now I've been nice, please find below a suitably depressing poem 🤭 @thebrokenspine.co.uk #BearingWitness #Poetry
Still Life 

You came with petrol-stained blossoms,
wilt clenched in quiet hands.
Laid them silently on the table:
a commemoration of absence, not love. 

Poured numbness disguised as malt,
bottle throat wet with secrets,
a ritual of deceit beneath the glass,
crystallised by time. 

Unlooked-for truth arrived carelessly,
in the space between what should have been.
Denial's veil snatched away.
I hadn't known. But then I knew. 

Flowers sought water from an empty glass.
Suffocating under protective wrap.
Rotting.
Bleeding into the table's grain,
their scent a slow undoing of the room.
An exhibit of demise in stasis. 

A study of despair,
shrine to what decayed,
steeped in rot
and quiet ache. 

No hand reached out.
No voice disturbed the dust.
We, neither of us, touched the tribute.
Nor each other again.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 16/04/2026
Please help! I am trying to find a micro fiction that I read about a year ago. The narrator was paying tribute to his friend who had lost a health battle. It started with him talking about hospital then their childhood and finished in a bar. Any help greatly appreciated #micro #flash #write #fiction
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 05/04/2026
I am so very proud to have my poem included in the latest Takahē. I hope you take the time to read the wonderful mahi in this issue.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 16/02/2026
www.audible.com.au/pd/B0G4PPBXT4 Dominic Hoey's poetic reading of his second novel draws you in to 1985. Each quickfire chapter a stanza of Obi's struggles and the goings-on around him. I hope one day I see this movie, where Hoey's characters and humour shine as they do with his reading of them.
audible.com.au
1985
Check out this great listen on Audible.com.au. It's 1985 and Obi's on the cusp of teenagehood, after a childhood marked by poverty, dysfunctional family dynamics, (dis)organised crime and violence. Hi...
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John Chmura @johnchmura.bsky.social · 21/11/2025
I don’t usually post #PoemsAbout @thebrokenspine.co.uk this early, but I’m taking some antihistamines and may sleep through a good portion of the night, or not. Will post a reel for #DogTags in the comments.
DOG TAGS

Send them into space,
all of the dog tags
and toe tags,

Trumps’ three Purple Hearts,
and the mindset of men
who pay dear and trade cheap

that the God
who abandoned this sorry blue world
might see the joylessness

of man’s desiring
and act as a “signpost up ahead”
so benevolent passengers may be forewarned

drifting near
our debris field
on their judicious excursions

coming from
and returning to, hopefully,
better planets

smelling of ginger melon balls and mint,
where space travel was a glorious culmination,
not an escape or an escapade,

where they needn’t keep
people like me
as pets or souvenirs anymore.
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Dean Norton @zentinl.bsky.social · 14/11/2025
A second one for #PoemsAbout #desire. @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poetrycommunity #poetry #poems #blueskypoets #blueskypoetry
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John Chmura @johnchmura.bsky.social · 17/10/2025
#PoemsAbout #BreakTheMould @thebrokenspine.co.uk Depending on what the app allows, I will either put a reel or a link in the comments for the 🎤…
MASTER CLASS

Not just the sinister misopedist
who said a fib would turn my tongue black
but every teacher I ever had lied
as if their pull string plastic voice boxes
were preloaded with platitudes
like no one is above the law
and what can you do for your country
when they were pried from their molds
at the same industrial complex
as red lights and stop signs
melting pots and voting booth curtains
Chatty Cathy’s who whined “I hurt myself”
instead of shouting “stop hurting me”
and G.I. Joes who yelled “throw the grenade”
but left unspoken “at the children.”

All, except the sadistic Sister Misery
who preferred to have a second grader
pee the carpet rather than use the rest room
before the end of the pledge of allegiance
and then sent her to the office
to call home for fresh undies and socks
and detained me for crossing
an imaginary border on the playground
no one ever before judged illegal
because she could, and Mr. Myopia
the jaded eighth grade geography teacher
to use the title lightly
who never taught a single fact or feature
while clock-watching on his lazy ass
as we read the text book on our own
and Sharpied a blood red X over
three problems I got right on a test
but wouldn’t change my grade
because he didn’t make mistakes.

Knowing what I know now
I should have been studying them
more than the snowflakes and fakers
who softly peddled esoteric aspirations
like science and art and fairness
and made us cower in the basement
lined up on our knees
chins tucked to our chests
heads against lead painted walls
waiting for imaginary incineration
from the other side of the earth unaware
only forty miles north a slumlord’s son
with bone spurs and shoe lifts
was being groomed for this moment
to liberate the freedoms we freely relinquish.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 05/10/2025
Aotearoa poet Joel LeBlanc has been nominated for Best of the Net 2026 for his magical poem ‘in my dreams i saved us’ Published in Stone Circle Review @cottageinwood.bsky.social @stonecirclereview.bsky.social stonecirclereview.com/in-my-dreams/
stonecirclereview.com
in my dreams i saved us
by Joel LeBlanc   A voice sings a lullaby: “The animals went in two by two, Hurrah! Hurrah!” Noah is drunk in the corner, grieving the past, he thought the ark would make him happy. Naamah is wash...
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MiMi Aye @meemalee.bsky.social · 04/10/2025
Author and filmmaker Justine Bateman on generative AI
"They're trying to convince people they can't do the things they've been doing easily for years - to write emails, to write a presentation. Your daughter wants you to make up a bedtime story about puppies - to write that for you." We will get to the point, she says with a grim laugh, "that you will essentially become just a skin bag of organs and bones, nothing else. You won't know anything and you will be told repeatedly that you can't do it, which is the opposite of what life has to offer. Capitulating all kinds of decisions like where to go on vacation, what to wear today, who to date, what to eat.
People are already doing this. You won't have to process grief, because you'll have uploaded photos and voice messages from your mother who just died, and then she can talk to you via AI video call every day. One of the ways it's going to destroy humans, long before there's a nuclear disaster, is going to be the emotional hollowing-out of people." - author and filmmaker Justine Bateman from a piece by Emine Saner for the Guardian
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Paragraph Planet @paragraphplanet.bsky.social · 30/09/2025
"Jason regretted the extra sugar in his coffee" by Cindy Kurukaanga @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social is today's 75-word #story on Paragraph Planet paragraphplanet.com #writingcommunity
paragraphplanet.com
Creative writing website for authors and readers. 75 words, changing daily. Submit your paragraph today.
A flash fiction website for writers and readers. One 75 word tale published daily. Plus author interviews and writing group map
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 30/09/2025
Thank you @paragraphplanet.bsky.social My little story is today’s paragraph.
Today's 75-word Paragraph
Jason regretted the extra sugar in his coffee.
It is the reason he is standing in a bank vault.
A cacophony of alarms and shouting growing louder as smoke congests the shrinking space. His thoughts narrow to the rich black syrup Maeve poured into his mug this morning. His usual one sugar added without expression. The second, delivered with her knowing sneer; the look she gets when she knows he will do whatever she says.
By: Cindy Kurukaanga
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takahē magazine @takahemagazine.bsky.social · 24/09/2025
Last call for entries! The Monica Taylor Poetry Prize closes at the end of September, so don't miss your chance to be part of this beloved competition. 💚$300 first prize + publication in the December issue of takahē 💚$150 runner up www.takahe.org.nz/submit/
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 25/09/2025
This is so good!
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 20/09/2025
Congratulations @merrildsmith.bsky.social !
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Rebekah Teller 💙🏳️‍🌈 @rteller.bsky.social · 19/09/2025
Here's my offering for #PoemsAbout #SilentPlanets @thebrokenspine.co.uk @alanparrywriter.co.uk
Quiet as dirt

When I'm dead and buried
I'll hear the earth sigh
As I sleep silently
The soil hums
Inhaling with each winter
Exhaling slowly with each spring
No voice to issue complaints
A chorus only visible in 
Vibrant autumn leaves
Vivid and varied 
In their undying rhythm
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𝒊𝒂𝒎𝒃 ~ 𝒑𝒐𝒆𝒕𝒓𝒚 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒅 @iamb.uk · 20/09/2025
**AUDITIONS NOW OPEN TILL SEP 27** Want three of your poems with text and recordings of you reading them to feature in popular online poetry quarterly @iambapoet.com? You now have just 7 days to audition for your place in a wave in either 2026 or 2027. Good luck! 🍀 iambapoet.com/audition
iambapoet.com
Audition for poetry journal iamb in Sept 2025
Audition to be part of quarterly poetry journal iamb between the 20th and 27th of September 2025.
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Voicemail Poems @voicemailpoems.bsky.social · 17/09/2025
“But dawn, Because you hid behind the horizon torches blazed, blinding, breaking sleep and families as parents were taken from screaming kids to be jailed then charged then sent back to the islands   Dawn, because you were silent, because all murmurings were silenced.” - @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social
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Beth Brooke @bethbpoet.bsky.social · 12/09/2025
It’s my online launch tonight!
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 12/09/2025
I am thrilled this poem got a special mention in Given Words 2025. It is amongst a wonderful collection of works, please fill your Friday afternoon reading. I have added a glossary in the comments for those unfamiliar with Te Reo. nzgivenwords.blogspot.com/2025/09/give...
No Te Paruparu, No Te Purapura Of the Mud, Of the Seed
They came to me while barefoot in bitter mud, with acons angry whakapapa, they held me there.
Hands stretched through flesh soaked earth, wrapped my feet in weighted expectation.
My soles a pair of seeds, husks waiting to be pierced by
a justice of tipuna, as steadfast as battle-blooded taiaha.
Hope takes root.
Lightfast, it endures this bright white blaze.
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Voicemail Poems @voicemailpoems.bsky.social · 04/09/2025
we are currently accepting submissions for our FALL 2025 issue, & we'd love to hear from you! ✨🍁✨ voicemailpoems.org/submit 🧡 deadline october 1st 🧡
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Bookshelfie ⭐️ @bookshelfie.bsky.social · 29/08/2025
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Kyla Houbolt @luaz.bsky.social · 27/08/2025
Another item from Becoming Altar (this one originally appeared in Dawn's Fool). Becoming Altar is coming in mid November, God willing and the creek don't rise.
Not the End
There has been a huge flood. Many people go down to the water’s edge. The water is all brown, far out to sea. To get to the shore we go along a flooded path, then a narrow rocky ledge, shaky and unstable. A fat hippie sitting on a tall rock tells me there will be another flood, a tower will fall. I see a surviving plant in a pot on top of an oil barrel. Its foliage looks like spruce needles, (but soft, not prickly like spruce) and it smells of fennel. It has a bloom at the top, a fluffy spike of many small florets, orchid/ lavender/magenta color. The plant is thriving and healthy. I am so happy to see it. I touch its soft growth.
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 26/08/2025
Eden Rock Charles Causley
Eden Rock
They are waiting for me somewhere beyond Eden Rock:
My father, twenty-five, in the same suit Of Genuine Irish Tweed, his terrier Jack Still two years old and trembling at his feet.
My mother, twenty-three, in a sprigged dress Drawn at the waist, ribbon in her straw hat,
Has spread the stiff white cloth over the grass.
Her hair, the colour of wheat, takes on the light.
She pours tea from a Thermos, the milk straight From an old H.P. Sauce bottle, a screw Of paper for a cork; slowly sets out The same three plates, the tin cups painted blue.
The sky whitens as if lit by three suns.
My mother shades her eyes and looks my way
Over the drifted stream. My father spins A stone along the water. Leisurely,
They beckon to me from the other bank.
I hear them call, 'See where the stream-path is!
Crossing is not as hard as you might think.'
I had not thought that it would be like this.
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Asterales: A Journal of Arts & Letters @asteralesjournal.bsky.social · 26/08/2025
What a pleasure to find a completely original love poem that takes you on a journey through the literal heart. "Diminuendo" by @johnpauldavis.org does just that. Read it in Issue 4! asteralesjournal.com/1-3-davis-wi...
maybe this is the section of the scripture that just lists the livestock everybody owns & all the begetting...
John Paul Davis "Diminuendo" 
White text on black backgrouns with rays of light filtering through a stained glass window on the upper left.
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Fiftywords @fiftywords.bsky.social · 24/08/2025
For #vss365 Disability is a name given by others
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Cindy Ana 🇳🇿 @kakapowhakatoi.bsky.social · 24/08/2025
Bloody brilliant!
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Ralph Jenkins @ralpheeboi.bsky.social · 23/08/2025
Received my contributor copies of this year’s Best American Poetry anthology & I’m hype af!! All these amazing ass writers & lil ole me somehow in the mix. 🤣 Shoutouts to The Indiana Review for first putting this poem into the world.
Picture of my two contributor copies of The Best American Poetry 2025Picture of the back cover featuring all of the names of the contributors to Best American Poetry 2025First page of my poem printed in the bookSecond page of my poem printed in the book
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stace.bot @stacebot.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
For this week's #PoemsAbout #Chandelier, I'm offering "Cavities." Thank you to the host @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk and to all of the other writers. #poetry #poem #writing #PoetryCommunity #BlueSkyPoets
Cavities And then I saw the chandelier, my hands still sticky from a corner-shop cone. I arrived at it in pieces— fairy-tale castles, stories borrowed from books. At home it was bare bulbs, buzzing steady over the table. I held it in my mind— for years afterward— beauty I was unprepared to hold, as if it were a prehistoric jawbone strung with glass teeth. Everything trembling. I swallowed it, whole. Carry it, still, to light the dark.
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Andy Williamson @andywilliamson.com · 22/08/2025
Nice to write something fresh for #poemsabout #chandeliers after a week away, hope you enjoy it. Thanks as always @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk for the great prompt and everyone for the wonderful poems I'm enjoying reading instead of getting work done! #poetry #poemsonbluesky
We follow the drove roads in late summer  

the moon is new 
when night finally comes
where starlight and satellites hang 
like chandeliers above us
already what we see is history

now the sky dances just for us 
a reel we both know so well
and your eyes as bright as any star
as you trace the old drove roads 

where shooting stars 
follow the paths our ancestors walked
across the heavens
signals crossing stone 
and stardust

we lie on our backs in the heather
you take my hand 
beside the old shieling
in the briefest night
and the world is fine
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lichtbringer @saintghost.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
For #PoemsAbout #Chandeliers ✨ For @thebrokenspine.co.uk & @alanparrywriter.co.uk
Jack

I believe in another life I could
have been a dancer, lithe
as bird bones, as flexible as reality 
in the upside down limbs
of an hourglass. In my midnight 
polyester Nike shorts,
that mom bought me when I had to go
to the hospital again and my gut-
colored canvas shoes 
that were as pliable as a lamb’s 
satin brain. My thoughts as mushy as a bloated corpse,
I dreamed of Anna Pavlova’s swan
and how my joints creaked like his slender neck
cracking under the clipping of untamed
wings, and also how you could still be 
stately and nimble, 
as exquisite as frosted ecstasy,
even with your feathers missing
and the raw flesh bloodgrinning through. I dreamed
of my ligaments snapping like a pistol shot 
and how that would still not stop me
and neither would the smashing of bones
or the going awry of willowbranched neuronal networks. 
I never got to dance en pointe
but who would care for that if you could just twirl
on the vanilla-glacéd edge of the world instead? 

The French teacher hissed at me
like a haggard cat, everybody can tell 
left from right except you can’t, 
and while the girls breezed past me
to the sugared silver 
mirrored crystal water wall, I slid away to the other side
not with grace but with crazy conviction.

Eventually, I learned that I was not a graceful flyer
but a pet kept and fattened for a Christmas meal
and that the lake was not a lake but cheap tinsel 
and the wings made of organza and thread.
After the winter, the pink glass chandelier 
turned the color of bile, nicotine-dazed
and dappled with flies,
and the fontanelle-soft slippers were worn through
from stepping out of the lines. 

I believe maybe there’s still another version of myself out there
not dangling from the chandelier but whirling beneath it 
still not caring for any directions
or the bow at the end of the dance. 

In another timeline there is a revolution of geese
who think of themselves as swans
rising up from people’s full Christmas plates
and soaring through chimneys to the s…
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Samantha Terrell @samanthaterrell.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
A late submission for #poemsabout #chandeliers , with thanks to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk #poems #poetrycommunity #writingcommunity
poem by samantha terrell
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John Everex @johneverex.bsky.social · 21/08/2025
#PoemsAbout #Chandelier With thanks to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk
The house at the end of the street
where the pines began
(before the bulldozers moved in)
was empty for years, 
darkness greying with dust and cobwebs.
As kids we found ways:
a cellar window, a rotten casement,
whispered excitement edged with
pale entreaties to a vast darkness,
the echoes of entitled despondency and loss,
chandeliers catching the light from torches,
and later, the flames of lighters
and the soft glow of cigarette ends.
We'd read the scraps of decor,
the ancient language of lush decadence,
of rumours and scandal,
the once satiated spaces between,
kids who grew
and languished in opulent hazes,
obliterating meaning and guilt.
We copied their poses,
sought their shallow ways
and wallowed in their shared melancholy.
We wrote songs that were poems,
the melodies haunting us,
wind catching in our eaves
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Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
Karen Pierce Gonzalez @karenpgonzalez.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
I have found that sometimes saying too much about a #Poem can weaken its power. So I let this #DoubleCherita speak for itself. #PoemsAbout #Chandeliers @alanparrywriter.co.uk @thebrokenspine.co.uk #PoetsSupportPoets #PoetsOfBlueSky #StayCreative
ornamental children

hang 
from private club ceilings

oil wick lamps 
in small, hungry hands
light rooms of plenty

chained

they coronet
manmade thrones

and choke
on cigar circles 
of smoke


Karen Pierce Gonzalez
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Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
Francesca L Rolle @francesca-laura.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
After a little break I'm back and looking forward to reading everyone's interpretations of #PoemsAbout #Chandeliers. Thanks as always to @alanparrywriter.co.uk and @thebrokenspine.co.uk for hosting! #PoetryCommunity #BlueSkyPoetry
Title: A Red Dress
Poem: We all have a dress in the wardrobe,
That one yellowing under the arms, because it's dry-clean only,
We've worn it once and we felt unstoppable, fabulous,
like every door was open to us,
Now we cling to the promise it will evoke that feeling again,
Instead, it makes us sad to look at, 
Sadder if we try to squish our no-longer-eighteen bodies into it,
Maybe we'll get it dry-cleaned and donate it,
Maybe one day we'll have a daughter who will want to wear it,
(She won't, she'll wrinkle her nose at it, like we did to our mothers),
So we hang it back up, on the rack, with the rest of our unfulfilled dreams,
And the dress waits for the next time we feel nostalgic.
By Francesca L Rolle
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Reposted by Cindy Ana 🇳🇿
John Chmura @johnchmura.bsky.social · 22/08/2025
#PoemsAbout #Chandeliers @thebrokenspine.co.uk Leans heavily on PWEI. I will put a reel in the comments.
THIS IS THE DAY

Disassembled antique chandelier,
debris field scattered
on the fully extended dining room table,
oblong lead glass leaves and petals
strewn across the lacquered plane
like a crystalline autumn lawn
littered by a balding gray tufted squirrel
in the no nut November of his life.

Daintily dipping the chips in distillate
one by one, I try to get my head
around this tedium, repeating
she loves me not, yeah she loves me
she loves me not, yeah she loves me
she loves me not, yeah she loves me
she loves me not, and then I find myself
channeling Dr. Nightmare,
beat boxing forty year old riffs.

Pulling up a live video from last year,
when I see the swinging megaphone
I’m reminded it was shtick from the start
and wonder why these sentiments
haven’t resolved themselves by now,
as if there’s not really been
more than enough time
to wise up and face my life.
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