MIRROR POEMS

THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN POETS THOW A PARTY

Some of the poets have been at play these past few days. Our new game, Poetic Ensembles, began when @Allan P Trottier left a poem on my comments page instead of a simple comment. I found it there like a small gift waiting for me, and of course, I was delighted. I picked it up, read it, let it settle, and restacked it with care. As Allan continued to leave these little gems, each one a spark of something vivid and strange, I continued to adore them, and somehow, in the way of poetry, they seemed to call to one another, as if they carried their own quiet life.
Wildwood Writer and I have even wondered if the poems themselves reach across the screen, pulling each other closer, forming their own secret conversation. Whatever the cause, by Wednesday, when I opened my comments page, there were poems waiting for me by @Allan P Trottier, by @Wildwood Writer and by @Voices From Morocco, or Ahmed. Their words mirrored one or another of mine from the previous two days, echoing, bending, answering, as though the poems themselves had learned to talk.
It was then that Wildwood Writer and I began to shape a concept, a vision we called Poetic Duets, later to become Poetic Ensemble, a space where these voices could meet, collide, and harmonize in ways that only poems can.
(KELLY’S CONTENT, WILDWOOD WRITER'S PROSE)


@Kelly Russell Trost

As many stars as grains of sand
Earth ground by ocean, now grains on this strand
Alone do I roam, ‘neath mist do I stand,                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                             
sea glass reflecting these stars in my hand



@Allan P Trottier

You are not alone,
though the night may whisper otherwise.
I walk here with you,
hearing the same tide,
feeling the same sand sift beneath my feet.
The stars you cradle
shine for us both,
and the glass in your hand
is a lantern against the dark.
Let the mist wrap around—
it cannot hide the nearness.
I am here,
and with me, the world is softer.



@Kelly Russell Trost 

The stars, your companions,  
are shy tonight

Sifting and shifting, sand tells a story
of what it once felt like to burn with your name

Glinting and gleaming,
stars keep their secrets but remember the same



@Wildwood Writer

The stars are not promises, 
they are confessions burning in the salt.
You hold one, trembling, 
and it remembers your name.
Sand keeps score of every time 
you stood alone and still stayed.
I want to tell you the night lies. 
You were never walking solo.
Our hands glow the same 
when we lift them toward the tide.
The glass cuts, yes, 
but it also catches the light.
And that is how we survive, 
bleeding but bright.



@Glen Woods

Stars illuminate the still water like a runway
Steam drifts upward from the warm spring, 
freezing as it touches the ground 
No sound is uttered, no movement observed. 
The stillness runs as deep as a dream 
If only I could linger her a while longer



@A Writer's Voice

The stars are eyes that dream of me,
their lashes made of galaxies.
I raise my hand—the glass becomes
a window into what I’ll be.

The tide hums soft, a cosmic throat,
it whispers truths no god has wrote.
Each grain of sand a dying thought,
each shimmer something I forgot.

The sea inhales, the world dissolves,
the moon unbuttons, light evolves.
I see my shape in rippled foam,
a phantom searching for a home.

I hear the universe confess,
its pulse within my hollow chest.
Mist wraps me close, a lover’s guise,
as aeons blink behind my eyes.

And though I bleed in every sphere,
I glow—I am the lantern here.
The glass cuts deep, but still I stand,
a mirror—holding all of sand.



@Chris B Writes

I look down as they look up at me,
their eyes full of wonder, mine full of ache.
For every glow they long to see,
I trade my warmth for all they take.

They whisper wishes to the sky,
and hope my light can bend their fate.
I watch their dreams drift slowly by,
and burn in silence on a slate.

They see a spark, but not the flame,
that feeds on solitude and air.
They call me magic, give me names,
Unknowing I am lonely there.

They pray to me, I look within,
the mirror of imperfection.



@Harinath

“What stars are you talking about?  
I see a whole constellation in this thread-  
each one alive, exchanging light,  
telling stories that stir the night.

I often wonder what the stars  
are trying to tell me…  
and now I see them gossiping,  
their laughter twinkling across the sky.

Tell me... is this only a night talk?  
Where do you all hide in the day?

Wait, let me zoom out a bit —  
look, you’ve formed the shape  
of a greater, brighter star,  
happier, humming with life.

Tell me, what do you see from up there?  
Do I look beautiful to you,  
a little bright, like you?

Maybe it’s too much to ask,  
but someday... if not today-  
I wish to drift among you all,  
matching my tales with yours,  
learning how you slice through darkness  
and scatter hope to distant hearts  
you’ve never even known.”