mastodon.xyz is one of the many independent Mastodon servers you can use to participate in the fediverse.
A Mastodon instance, open to everyone, but mainly English and French speaking.

Administered by:

Server stats:

854
active users

#MastoPrompt

39 posts24 participants1 post today

massed there's a menace to them
feathered violence
illusions of intelligence

for all their aerial beauty when distant
this grounded thug waddle and comic honk
feels like a stag party gone rancid

or a certain type of political mob
or swaggering jesus freaks
chuntering prosperity gospel heresies

grounded ugly
hard eyed avarice
our picnic is over

#SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 12 March 2025 - geese.

Above our formerly friendly skies
a flock of Canadian #geese

violated our soverign airspace
without paying fees
that we artificially deemed
as a needed source of revenue

So they were grounded

Now our bird natives
are victims of fowl retaliation
by former allies
as an eye for an eye
move of self respect

assembled curves and lines
like light on quick water
or the sleeping bag crumple

sundried dust that lived
where a river is remembered
by the scarred dirt

fingers read rib cage
hear the plaint of gripped hair
tongue-tips tell veins tall tales

morning heat like a warning
tented air unbreathable
zip grumbles but then the sky

from high it could be seen better
perhaps - close reading heals
salt and wind and the scent of the pages

#SmallPoems #Poetry #Writing #MastoPrompt 11 March 2025 - text

I studied her in puzzlement as purple tears rann down her scaled cheeks. "Your boon," she said, and lowered her head to her paws, great tail ckrling around her.

"I..."

"Do not understand," she rumbled sadly, cutting me off. Her tears started steaming on the stones. "No one ever does. My boon is my heart, my vulnerability. I allow you to see it. The question is, what will you do with the knowledge of my sorrow?" #MastoPrompt #MicroPrompt #WSS366,

"The Todo List"

Some days
I struggle for even a lick of inspiration.
Other days
I have forgotten such a struggle even exists.
Some days
I recount the bucket list tapping against my life.
Other days
I let the impulses in my head rewrite that list.

But through each revision, each draft,
each edit and checkpoint the list slides through,
its contents sliding like cars in a flood,
the wreckage will never be enough for me.