Sue De Nimes
Take a walk on the weird side. Love playing with words, exploring all sorts of genres, themes and forms.
Sue De Nimes
Take a walk on the weird side. Love playing with words, exploring all sorts of genres, themes and forms.
Take a walk on the weird side. Love playing with words, exploring all sorts of genres, themes and forms.
Take a walk on the weird side. Love playing with words, exploring all sorts of genres, themes and forms.
Where shadows play, and light grows thin,
Clocks whisper secrets of what might have been.
Each tick a sigh, each tock a pause in time,
Where moments stall and thoughts sublime.
And in a realm where clocks tell not of hours,
But guard the depths where time devours.
No hands that chase, no gears that grind,
Only echoes of the peace we find.
In chambers silent, where time's hands rest,
Clocks watch...
In the veiled corridors of thought,
Where memories twine and fray,
A whisper winds through silent lots,
"Decide, before night swallows day."
Shadows stretch with each passing hour,
Mingling dusk with threads of fear,
Their silhouettes, like old towers,
Marking time's relentless smear.
This voice, how faint yet clear it rings,
Through the fog of yester years,
A spectral guide with unseen wings,
U...
Beneath the city's sharp contour,
Steel frames etch against the blur
Of swirling skies; their stark allure
Echoes the rush that streets endure.
A quiet park resists the sway,
Old trees stand firm in rows of grey.
Their leaves whisper of yesterday
Beneath the towers that stretch away.
The green, ensnared by spires of stone,
Breathes a life distinctly its own.
Amid the concrete's monotone,...
Don't wake in the world where the trees died,
Beneath skies heavy where no birds have cried.
Inhale the void, thick with the ash of despair,
Each breath a reminder of the wounds laid bare.
Feel the Earth's pulse, now silent and slow,
Cracked and dry, where nothing can grow.
Hear the hush of deserted plains,
Echoes of footsteps, forgotten rains.
See the oceans, their rise and their rage,
Against ...
Don't wake in the world where the trees died,
Where the mist clings low, and the grey skies abide.
The whisper of leaves, once a susurrus song,
Now, but a memory, as shadows grow long.
Feel the earth underfoot, bereft of green,
Where once the vibrant moss and ferns were seen.
Taste the air, bitter with the tang of loss,
Where frost lies thick, and waters are gloss.
Hear, in the stillness, ...
Rules: Create a meaningful poem, whilst making sure your poem avoids contain the words 'and' and 'the'.
In a cityscape's ceaseless hum,
Veins of streets pulse beneath moon's quiet gaze.
Subway breathes—a giant's slumbering sigh,
Echoing whispers, laughter; cries within.
Echoes lace through myriad minds,
Windows flare with life's unscripted plays.
Damp asphalt catches neon lights like dreams
Sna...
When Alyx's reality crumbles at the stroke of the impossible hour, she is plunged into the heart of a labyrinth where not just the walls whisper but the very air breathes with consciousness. With every step deeper into the maze, the nature of her world unravels, revealing layers of deceit stitched into the folds of her existence.
Navigating this enigmatic world requires more than courage; it dema...
**Constellations of Self: Navigating Life's Hidden Scripts**
Step quietly into "Constellations of Self," where every chapter unfolds like a secret scene from an unseen play.
This isn't just about self-improvement—it's about tuning into the subtle cues and whispers of the universe, aligning your actions with a rhythm that feels both ancient and freshly scripted.
Discover Temporal Syncing, a met...
In the half-glow of my sanctuary,
where shadows flit across the boundary of day and night,
my thoughts spill—uncensored, raw, unbidden.
Mirrors in my mind, not polished, but fogged,
reflecting fragments of what I've lived, what I've felt.
Snapshots flutter: a cascade of laughter, choked sobs,
dreams I sculpted beneath a canopy of stars now dimmed.
Faces—faded photographs in the attic of my memory...
In the quiet clatter of a midnight thought,
A mirror lies awake—trembling, wrought
with reflections more than the eye can see:
Flickers of dreams, whispers of a future to be.
Each mind a hallway, lined with glistening glass,
Memories marching past, where shadows amass.
In these reflections, a world slowly unwinds,
Echoes of moments, both lost and entwined.
A child in Aleppo, under stars obscured...