Episode 106: Poetry Reading
Written by shona_alysa
"Hiraeth"~
Somewhere in Edinburgh,
beneath grey skies and rain.
Little cafés glow in gold,
through misty window panes.
Violins drift through alleyways,
old church bells ring.
Fresh coffee and warm bread,
on cold windy evenings.
Books resting by fireplaces,
cozy corners beckon you.
A city that heals the heart,
without even meaning to.
Some souls truly belong,
to places they’ve never known.
To cliffs, clovers and castles,
that somehow feel like home.
~
Episode 107: Poetry Reading
Written by mellie.melts.into.wonder
under the weeping willow
evening gathered in celadon tones
tears circling the roots
like small forgotten moons
the river carried petals
charred leaves
the faint gold of extinguished daylight
I thought how quietly the world departs
moonmilk fading beneath wet bark
seasons vanishing
from the bones of the garden
one luminous thing after another
between one breath
and the next
a white petal loosened itself into the current
silence
neither refusing life
nor grieving the dark water ahead
~
Episode 108: Poetry Reading ASMR
Written by joni.ta125
when the night settles
and the world softens around the edges,
my thoughts drift to you,
steady, warm,
the glow I lean into.
your presence lingers on my skin
like the memory of a touch,
gentle but certain,
a warmth that spreads
from my chest outward.
I close my eyes
and feel you there,
not in the stars above,
but in the quiet heat beneath my ribs,
the place where longing
turns into something tender.
you are my evening star,
but also the warmth
that never leaves.
~
Episode 109: Hot Vampire Summer
Written by the.insomniac.in.black
Hot Vampire Summer
I want to sit beside you
Next to the lake
On a little blanket
Having a sweet escape
I want to laugh and dream
But it never stays clean
Something in me turns sharp
When the world starts to gleam
The daylight drags me open
Like I have no skin left
Like every thought gets louder
And every calm gets theft
I try to act like normal
Like I belong in heat
But something in my chest breaks
Each time I hit the street
I watch them move so easy
Like bodies made for sun
While I am splitting slowly
Into two halves undone
One half wants to be there
Wants laughter and your face
The other wants to vanish
From every open space
I want the night beside me
Where breathing feels less wrong
Where I don’t have to fake it
Where I can still belong
The lake at night feels softer
Like it knows this kind of man
Like I don’t have to fight it
Or explain what I am in
And I keep thinking quietly
Through everything I feel
If I should stop pretending
And make something feel real
Can I ask you tonight
To come down to the lake
Just you and me and silence
No daylight left to break
~
Episode 110: Poetry Reading
Written by lifeispoetrytoo
The wind, green fields, trees, wildflowers, lakes, rivers, oceans— in them the voice of the ancestors speaks to my soul. I stand on their shoulders, with kindness, strength, and love rooted in me.
Roots run deep; when storms come and wind lashes the hedges,
I bend and do not break.
I keep kindness near as a quiet reflex,
believing it should be a birthright, a rhythm in my breath.
Love begins and ends with me, even when given and not returned,
it does not die and it does not come back void.
It travels like light through the quiet rooms of memory,
lighting the corners where doubt gathered, turning fear into dawn.
Like the trees, like the green fields, like the flowers,
we all carry a unique beauty. No one is more beautiful than another.
We display our beauty in harmony, each hue a note in a living chorus.
Lakes, rivers, oceans are powerful,
whether standing still or moving, they keep ancient time.
Mighty enough to create paths, to carry you on journeys,
with currents that whisper beneath the surface, guiding toward truth.
The voice of the ancestors flows beneath my feet,
a chorus in the wind, a hammer on the forge of my heart.
I carry their maps in my hands and their songs in my veins,
learning to walk softly, yet with a will that never yields.
In open skies where horizons meet,
I hear promises in the rustle of leaves, in the hush between breaths.
Promises of kindness, of courage wrapped in gentleness,
of love that grows stronger when shared, not hoarded.
The earth remembers every footprint, every act of care,
and I tread with gratitude, leaving footprints that heal.
I bend toward mercy, I rise toward justice,
speaking with the patience of rivers and the quiet endurance of mountains.
If storms return, I cradle the inner garden of my spirit,
watering it with hope, feeding it with honesty, pruning what harms,
letting resilience bloom in colors I name and in colors I cannot.
For I am made of wind and soil and singing seed,
a chorus of kin across time, braided by memory and dream.
All around me the world testifies with beauty—
and I, too, am a proof of grace, a living note in the symphony of becoming.