early August swelter
banana leaf shaped
fan blades
spin 15 feet above my head
the old plaster ceiling
full of cracks and divots
my eyes follow the broken rhythm
of the lines
as if they were etched
by a low slung blues guitar
graffitiing my field of vision
with morse coded messages
as we lay tangled in linen
your damp hair is like a cold compress
on my aching soul
a wave of magnolia flows
across my face
as you settle in place
your fingers tracing across my chest
speaking a powerful pantomime
sign language to my heart
I sigh a pleadful prayer
for mercy
for there is no doubt in my mind
in Nola
May through November
you, are the goddess
of hurricanes

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Whisper and the Roar


She lay back
into the plush green
of the meadow
with lids closed
she turned her face
to the warming embrace
of our radiant star
hands cupped under her belly
she pulled back against
the soft velvet of her skin
an embrace of singular passion
for herself
the birds in the conifers
around this arena
burbled and whistled
like the voices of so many
just outside her peripheral
always pontificating
always instructing
do this
say that
be humble
be a lady
be demure
be a pleasant decoration to the room
a china doll
wrapped in taffeta
on a shelf
not to touch, engage or hold
to be seen and admired
but not to be heard
she was to be expensive and fragile
and placed behind glass
to sit upon a mantle in the parlor
for the sport
of the rich
to be won as a prize
for expertise in misogyny

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Redolence – Eric Syrdal

Once again, honored to be on Free Verse Revolution. ❤


When I passed

this pretty flower

I thought to bring it to thine heart

For all things beautiful

must attract

and in each others company so create

a world in which I wish to live

For all things beautiful

I had thought to have seen

but never so lovely as thou art

but in presentation

of such a gift

I have o’er cast my soul with shadow

and my heart skips a beat of distress

for your bowed head

and dark lashes closed

to enjoy the redolence of my gift

I have deprived myself of the world of your eyes

and in doing so

though your beauty smolders in still life

and all of nature would hold its breath to admire you in this moment

I find my spirit stands upon the tips of its toes

like that flower

upturned its face to the sun

to better grow in the…

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By what will do I live?


aye a heart to move
crimson rivers betwixt
my wingspan
an aging man who sweeps his arms out wide
to encompass the soul of mankind
and like a hearbroken father
whispers unto his child
be still
I know that you are frightened
and I know that life is unfair
but do not throw yourself so carelessly
against the glass walls of this prison
lest you take
what is dear to me
and the sole light burning amid
this wretched and dark world
I would not see it snuffed
under the cold iron of panic and doubt


yes, tell true
without a breath of air
I cannot tell you
all the things that are written
upon my soul
all the stories there
written in secret pain
I could not take enough
wind into my lungs
to tell you of all the dreams
I wish for you to see
and how I hope that you will walk
in a garden of eternal light
when I am gone

and how I pray
that when the wind is at your back
and across the glittering sea
you watch the falling sun
slide into its shimmering bed
you will hear my voice
calling you by name
and feel my fingers in your hair
and know that where I am
I think of you

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Eric Syrdal Reviews Conversations With My Higher Self by Rachel Finch

My Review of Rachel Finch’s new book. It was an honor to be asked to do this. She is an amazing writer.

Indie Blu(e) Publishing

To walk outside your own body. To look back and see yourself
as the universe sees you. To see the
entire story of your life laid open before you and to thumb through it page by
page and truly understand. To see
clearly, all the events that have lead up to where you are now and the choices
you made, actions you took, and to gain a snapshot of your soul.

Pain, loss, joy, grief, death, and rebirth. To know that you have done it all the best
you were able and that above all else you survived. And love, the greatest of all emotions, is
within you. You are loved, you have
loved, and you deserve love.

Most of all the deepest love possible.

To love yourself.

What would the scenario described above look like? If anyone is capable of drawing out a sketch
of these events, I believe…

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I carry the blade over my shoulder
it used to ride upon my hip until it was needed
but now
I carry the blade over my shoulder
the weight of it reminds me
of the burdens I carry
the prickle of its edge against my neck
reminds me
that I am mortal
and cut easily and bleed often
I crush my fingers into the soft leather
of the wrappings around the pummel
I can feel the thrum
of my heartbeat in my palm
I am alive
right now, today
In my other hand
my fingers close around the edges
of a talisman
something cold and hard
a relic of yesterday
constructed and imbued with incantations
to make me strong
to give me courage
but courage is not found within objects
courage is a blue eyed woman with raven locks
who stands at my shoulder
one hand on the small of my back
and whispers to me
with a gentle strength in her tone
and offers me her sword
if mine should fail
ahead of me
looms this dark and terrible wood
some claim
at its heart, lies a place
where death resides
others say all who venture into it
are lost and never seen again
I only know
that it lies within my path
and my journey demands
that I travel

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We the broken…

Hundreds of gallons
Of water
Rumble and crush against
My feet
Standing here
I feel the sands
Pulling at my skin
Ever downwards
To drown the light
Behind the shadows
Of a ribcage split wide
Upon this shattered shore
She took the white froth abeam!
Rolled against the rocks
As I gulped down the brine
my hands grasping for nothing
And filled with so much nothing, they clung
For dear life
To the flotsam
Of this derelict existence
As crawling upon blooded knees
I made my way to this spot
And with heaving gasps of sanguine pride
I look out upon that raging sea
We the broken
We are parts searching for a wholeness

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Eulogy – Eric Syrdal

So honored to be featured on Free Verse Revolution. ❤


We laid him down

on a field of flames

in the ruddy glow

of sunset’s blood

Upon his breast

lay his shattered shield

in clenched fingers

was his notched blade

Upon his cheeks

was Woden’s sign

upon his lips

the pale name of death

Within his hair

bramble and holly

broken charcoal

and earth

Upon his skin

the wither-rot stood

sculpting each bone

with time’s harsh tongue

We carried the dragon

to the water’s edge

and cold the fjord

around our feet

Set sail to wind

and gathered voices

rouse the gods

call for safe passage

We drank his name

under the fires of dawn

and wait to see him

at the end of all things

Eric Syrdal is an independent poet/author. He’s an avid gamer and Sci-Fi enthusiast. He enjoys reading science fiction and fantasy literature and spends a great deal of his writing time focusedinthose genres. He is…

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Reflections 6

with reverent awe
the cradle of my blasphemous hands
lowers her foot
into the cool water of the tub
her skin shimmers
beneath the aqueous barrier
lifting the dust from her travels
from her tired flesh
no words are spoken here
as head bowed and eyes closed
I listen to the silk within her sighs
and as the burden of her journey lifts free
of her weary shoulders
these voices I carry within my shattered heart
whisper a prayer of thanks
to the universe
that she is delivered back
into this small grey circle that is my life
once again to be bathed
in her incandescent

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Reflections 5

In this moment
her eyes ceased to be
the placid pools
as I had always known them
This feeling welling up inside her
set them a flame behind them
and as such
they defied the word, hazel
they were suddenly alive
like a forest
somewhere deep
within the earth’s memory
a place where no human voice
was ever heard
each orb was
a vast viridescent landscape
streaked with the color of earth and stone
each, was a virgin Eden
that my heart yearned to live within

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