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XXXVII. "Marcescence".
The oak keeps its dead close to protect what has not yet lived.
A piece about two trees, two kinds of grief, and the strange envy of those who let go.
Charlene Iris
11 hours ago1 min read
XXXI. There Is Stoning and There Is Birding and There Is.
A recursive poem about birds, stones, and the inefficiency that might just save us. *This poem's visual structure is best read in desktop view.*
Charlene Iris
Dec 10, 20252 min read
XXII. Ethically Sourced Contrition.
What if your dining table remembered the forest?
This spoken-land acknowledgment isn’t ceremonial, it’s personal, physical, and deeply inconvenient. A poem that walks barefoot through the house, naming the cost of comfort, and whispering sorry to every floorboard.
Charlene Iris
Jul 24, 20252 min read
XVIII. Things I Don't Understand: "Up" (Part I).
There are signs that point left. Signs that point right. And then there are signs that point "Up"... Without explanation, context, or the courtesy of being metaphorical.
Charlene Iris
Jul 12, 20253 min read
XV. Don’t Watch Our Alien Movies.
The aliens came for insight. They left clinically depressed. A darkly funny monologue on observation, spectacle, and socks with Crocs.
Charlene Iris
Jul 7, 20253 min read
XIV. Ode to Chicken Wings.
Twelve chickens. One plate. And the haunting begins. A surprisingly spiritual dive into a late-night chicken binge.
Charlene Iris
Jul 6, 20252 min read
V. Attached to Some Ducks.
A quiet ritual. Some winter ducks. I didn’t mean to get emotionally attached. But I did. And then they were gone.
Charlene Iris
Apr 6, 20252 min read
IV. The Church of Self-Checkout.
A first date. A plate of fries. A spiral into the spiritual architecture of capitalism, tenderness, and credit limits.
Charlene Iris
Apr 3, 20255 min read
Musings
Wander through the dusk-lit rooms of SomEpiphany.
A living archive: the tender, the tangled, the mildly ridiculous. Fragments of life that insisted on being remembered.
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