Deosil is brought to you by Mark W. Law & Miss Frieda
May 23, 2026

Poetry

I have been writing poetry since the 2nd grade. Why stop now?

Poetry

Caviar and Crackers

Salt taste,rippling across my tongue,rolling black pebblesbursting at the edgesymbolic lifeto slake my thirsty palettelong drafts of femininityat its’ sourcereduced to here and nowencased in the soft tangslipped between my lipsand then the cracker,bitten…hard! ml’00

Poetry

A Mixtape of Memories

There comes a time,when Jack Daniels,road runs,watching the dawnrise over Mt. Tolmie,being sillyin Hyde Parkand Hurricane Floydon a Hyannis beach,gives weighto ibuprofen,comfy shoes,and playing fetchwith Friedabefore breakfast,when what mattersare friendsnear and far,past, presentand future,Where they are,what they are doing,are they happy,or needing a shoulder,or just in a box,on the shelf,waiting

Poetry

Apartment 2B

2 floors up,above the swirling littered dreams,I watched – eyes red.He came – shuffling, head down,gnarled bony hands hung loose,A ravaged fedora perched,on bleached white straw.I stepped outside myself and stared,feeling his age and pain.And for a moment forgot my own,began to smile,realizing as he passed,he was whistling… ml’98 (New

Poetry

Electric

Feel the electric – ions charged,swooping down – bending trees, whole,it roars – in my ears. I stand – feet planted,and wait – for the tiger,to lick my face – in the dark. Hands touch – silent static,burning – unspoken heat,shadowed dark – in the light that flashes. Feel the

Poetry

Marionette Messages

Willow marionettes dancewaltzing on tender stringsslowly, to the lullabyof a river breeze.Gently she callssiren hidden from sightby an overhanging firdipping its tips in the eddy,mischievious lurefor a lurking trout.I stop and listena message in the windin a language beyond soundfelt and not heardpresent, future, distant pastkaleidoscope images streammaybe, yes, nevermorea

Poetry

Love Is An Avocado

Love is an avocado,tough leather skinprotecting from hurt,pain and griefonce we piercegentlyleather turnsto soft fleshsweet and smilingnurturing our belief,a warmth clinginglike a mother’s armsaround the stonethat holds our hopesand dreams,but wait too longthe leatherhardensand fruit insidepast its’ best before date. ml’24