We all need someone with whom we can be one hundred percent us. Somebody that quietly understands us. Someone who we can find shelter in their arms when the world is too much. Someone you can speak with in the language of silences. Someone whose heart is ready to accept you in whatever shape or form you come, bloody or pristine, happy or in tears, a place of peace and renewal. For me, that is you, and it fills me with so much gratitude that I have the miracle that you are to be my own unadulterated self with in the sweet acceptance of your embrace.


The house is so quiet;

they have fallen asleep,

The mice, they are silent,

not a squeak or a peek.

The night is all hushed,

they have both gone to bed,

and we are all shushed,

As they rest their sweet heads.

Exhausted and tired,

they fought sleep 'til the end,

Excited and wired,

endless energy to spend.

Chattering and nattering,

and laughing so much,

And their love is so flattering,

and so easy to touch.

How they love to sleep over,

and they come as a team,

And one without other,

will never be seen.

They squabble and bicker,

and they fight over toys,

But it's only a flicker,

and the fighting subsides.

Ivy and Zak,

our grandkids are here,

And when they come back,

our hearts fill with cheer.

But now they are sleeping;

not a squeak or a peek,

And off we go creeping,

for an hour of sleep.

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

Stop searching

in the shadow of my breast

the curvedness of my words,

and find

between the lines

what quenches your thirst.

At the moonshine dawn

sew a piece of my night

on your curtains.

Find it




around the curve

sink your finger into it

and swerve

make ripples

take the yardstick out,

Outsize Master !

Show me

the bigness of your nerve...

Did we know in time

how to sweep

our pantings’ steam

over the glass

of interposed screens ?

Wait !

taste just one drop of it

and drop

into its taste...

In verses I

name you king of the red mountain.

The king who slides on the sly,

each night,

down the steep slope

to the valley

where the moonshine water


and bows me.

And each night

he dives into it

and drowns.

✒ F. J.


Sometimes I say the stupidest things,

When my tongue, I should have bit,

And the hurt my stupid tongue doth bring,

Is far worse than being hit.

I should think before I speak,

Instead of shooting from my head,

Because once the dam doth leak,

I can't retrieve what has been said.

If I say things without thinking,

Whilst not meaning to cause hurt,

Then I feel my insides shrinking,

Because of silly things I blurt.

It's just, I don't mean what I say;

I can't control what's blurted out,

So I have got to find a way,

To put a zipper on my mouth.

Ambrose Harte

Scattered Thoughts

No quiero tropezar conmigo... Tengo miedo de caer en mí y darme de golpes con mis pecados, con mis faltas... No quiero que me señales lo que no soy y que me hagas creer que te he fallado, porque eso es anularme y, a la larga, castigarme. Me he estado callando por eso, porque me cansé de ser señalado... de quedar como el tonto, el mentiroso, el que dice, pero no hace... el que escribe, pero no siente cuando, en el fondo, todo lo que hago es eso: sentir. Eso soy. ¡Eso soy! Soy puro sentir, por eso navego como un papalote. Un día estoy en lo alto de las nubes, al otro no puedo ni arrastrarme porque no hay suficiente aire para respirar. No sé ni a qué le tengo miedo, ahora que lo pienso. Me duele tener miedo, pero más que miedo es... inseguridad... una inseguridad que me hace desear que el mundo desaparezca, que la gente que he conocido se borre, que nadie me busque ni me nombre. Anhelo la libertad de ser transparente, invisible, desconocido... así podría arrancarme el temor de caer y de matarme, porque yo sé lo que soy... no tú... tú no sabes nada... tú sólo ves lo que quieres ver, lo que imaginas que ves, y dejas todo lo demás a un lado, dejándome a mí en ese todo que no te importa.

Esu Emmanuel©, I don't want to trip over myself... I'm afraid of falling into myself and of being struck by my sins, by my faults... I don't want you to point out to me what I am not and to make me believe that I have failed you, because that is to annul me and, in the long run, to punish me. I've been keeping quiet because of that, because I'm tired of being singled out... of looking like the fool, the liar, the one who says, but doesn't do... the one who writes, but doesn't feel when, deep down, all I do is that: feel. That's what I am. That's what I am! I am pure feeling, that's why I sail like a kite. One day I'm high up in the clouds, the next I can't even crawl because there's not enough air to breathe. I don't even know what I'm afraid of, now that I think about it. It hurts to be afraid, but more than fear it's... insecurity... an insecurity that makes me wish the world would disappear, that the people I've known would be erased, that no one would look for me or name me. I long for the freedom to be transparent, invisible, unknown... so that I could tear away the fear of falling and killing myself, because I know what I am... not you... you don't know anything... you only see what you want to see, what you imagine you see, and you leave everything else aside, leaving me in this whole that doesn't matter to you.

nostalgia is picky

there you were – still casted in amber, sunlight still sprawling over you like hibiscuses in the summer, and for that i must apologize. i was not truthful - i took to the past with rose-tinted glasses and have forgotten about the periods of dormancy, and the periods of growth – well not that, i've forgotten per se, but rather i could not bare to live them again. you were always a sunflower, so i've painted the past as the summer of sixteen, at the disservice of you – equal parts beautiful and brooding, you’re meant to be admired in full.

to say “I love you” to a ghost.

now that we have parted, I look for you in my dreams.

like the fragrance of the wild frangipani that blooms near my window, I have filled up my lungs with your scent. I have hidden your face under my eyelids. I have dissolved your essence softly, within my being.

you are a teary-eyed ghost that embraces me when we meet, before you break away into the clear blue sky and the falling petals of the ruined flower that I love so much.

© SoulReserve 2021

I cannot perceive with my naked eye, because somehow, you are more than a feeling I tried to grasp, more than what I can imagine, more than the bricks I build in the cathedral of my heart, you are a soul touched by God, and you have come to me like a butterfly standing on my fingertips, or a white dove hanging on my collar bones, because as you can see, if you have ever pertain to yourself, what this love can do, or somewhere in between, I am not tired loving you, I am not tired doing this, again and again, until you will become a starlight, until you promise to yourself to love a little, to die a little, to be carefree in my arms.

— Chuck Akot, starlight

No estás del todo roto si continúan brotando de tus dedos palabras de amor… y tú no has dejado de regalarme versos perfumados con la tintura de tu corazón; me hablan de lo que yace vibrando dentro de lo que has creído está vacío, simplemente porque no puedes sentir lo que llevas en ti.

Esu Emmanuel©️, You aren’t entirely broken if words of love continue to flow from your fingers... and you haven’t ceased to give me verses perfumed with the dye of your heart; they speak to me of what lies vibrating inside what you have believed to be empty, simply because you cannot feel what you carry in you.