Small daily events
wrap tendrils about the heart
and keep it floating.
—Cave Outlaw (1900–1996), Autumn Walk, 1974
Small daily events
wrap tendrils about the heart
and keep it floating.
—Cave Outlaw (1900–1996), Autumn Walk, 1974
God completed my heart
then you finished it —
mortal combat style
—Terri Guillemets
her smiling girl-heart danced
behind the grey, grey hair
—Terri Guillemets
scrambled blackout poetry created from Enid Bagnold,
to cry is beautiful —
the beauty of one’s pain
leaving the heart
—Terri Guillemets
blackout poetry created from Maud Casey, The Man Who Walked Away, 2014
We thank
on our knees
with folded hands
for full bellies
and fuller hearts
—Terri Guillemets
Love letter: an inky heartprint.
—Terri Guillemets
Sometimes what gets to you most isn’t the large holes that get ripped from your heart but the fraying of its edges — when what held you together isn’t anymore.
—Terri Guillemets
Grief is looking up
and seeing Never
at your window —
rapping on the pane
of your heart —
—Terri Guillemets
Those we love and lose are always connected by heartstrings into infinity.
—Terri Guillemets
snowflakes fall from the sky
in peppermint perfection —
i kiss you with quivering lips
but cold is not the reason —
you set my winter heart on fire
and keep me warm all season
—Terri Guillemets
A philosopher lives in your mind,
a lover in your heart,
an alchemist in your soul.
—Terri Guillemets
Hating withers your heart. Hearts that don’t pump love, atrophy.
—Terri Guillemets
A clock is ticking
in my living room —
I never even noticed
that it makes noise —
my mind is ticking,
my heart is ticking.
Everything quiet
is audible at 3 a.m.
—Terri Guillemets
graves are not limited
to the cemetery —
they lurk in our minds,
and buried in our hearts
lie garlanded stones
marking loved ones lost
—Terri Guillemets
Three A.M. is when
all the quiet things
become loud —
the drip in the sink,
that clock on the wall,
our hearts, our minds.
—Terri Guillemets
Journal: fitting your heart and soul into ruled lines.
—Terri Guillemets
I love you with all my bones — the heart is too ephemeral.
—Terri Guillemets