It is difficult to break off the rust after not writing for a while. I am finding it odd the direction my mind turned after being force-fed a constant diet of Christmas music, movies and advertisement since the middle of November.

Time was, when a poet sat upon a stool in a public place and mused in the sight of men. The following video clip by Francis Chan was emailed to me a couple of weeks back and has had me thinking.

In the memory the landscape etched. Younger times auctioned to the highest. Primitive minutes spent in purest aw. The strike of a line the pressure rises. Ripped away as it thought. Yet all revealed the cards always show. Decisions made intent on the prize. Battle as you must to reach yours. The hurried rustle pushes us forward. What dawn has yet to bring, mind sets. Even tattered thin papers weigh down the scales. The present darkened, as the future blinds.

Is here to encourage communication and constructive criticism between people who write poetry online, inclusive of all aptitudes and writing styles. For the time being The Poets Union is just a link exchange site, but we plan to expand it in the future.