“Anchor” published at Gobblers by Masticadores

On By Mike U.In Poetry

Just a note to let you know Gobblers by Masticadores has published my poem titled “Anchor.” Thanks to editor Manuela Timofte for her kindness in sharing this piece with all of you.

“Anchor”
© 2022 by Michael L. Utley

“she sat there
9,000 miles away
on the edge of her bed
or the ledge of her building
I never knew which
and talked about anchors
and the black depths
of depression
and what it would feel like
to fly…”

You can read the rest of my poem here:

Anchor

Also, don’t forget to follow and subscribe to Gobblers by Masticadores, where you’ll find some wonderful writing and plenty of food for thought.

27 thoughts on ““Anchor” published at Gobblers by Masticadores”

    1. Thank you kindly. It was a rough time, and to this day I don’t know whether she sought help and found happiness or chose the alternative. Without closure, it’s so hard to move on, and I think about her often after all these years.

      I really appreciate your generous support. I’m a huge fan of your poetry, by the way. Just sayin’. 😊

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  7. Michael, “Anchor” is breathtaking—your words dive into the depths of human struggle and rise with poetic grace.

    The imagery is haunting yet beautiful, and it lingers long after reading. Truly superb work, my friend! 🙏
    I’d be honored if you could also visit my blog sometime and share your thoughts there—it would mean a lot to me.
    Keep inspiring with your gift of words.

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      1. Your words are a true gift to me.

        Your appreciation adds depth to my writing and inspires me to create with even more sincerity. I promise my next piece will carry the same warmth and truth. My friend, may peace and joy flow through your week like a gentle river.

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    1. Hi, Diana. Always a pleasure to see you drop by to say hello. I hope everything is okay in your part of the world. I’ve missed reading you. I’m still blocked. My older poetry is being published currently, and I hope I’m able to clear my head enough to write soon. With all that’s happening here and abroad, it’s hard to think clearly without wanting to scream, you know? I hope all of this passes, criminals are held to account, and we all can get on with our lives very soon. Wishing you some peace of mind, my friend. 😊

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      1. I’m doing okay. I find this time of year stressful (I loathe shopping), and my dad’s needs continue to escalate. I’ve started writing a little (if an outline of a book counts), but I have to keep putting it aside. I see cracks forming in our fascist government, and expect that things are starting to fall apart. We can hope. I hope you’re doing okay too, and that your muse is lurking. 😀 ❤

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  9. Dearest Mike, What an amazing piece of writing. You can feel the tension as the writing moves along in as you try and grasp this desperate attempt to console someone you care love deeply. The sense of helplessness not being able to talk to the person on a phone or hear their voice, having to rely on a keyboard to express your feelings and that long wait or pause. What a powerful and impassioned piece of writing this is my friend.

    This description is so splendid – my friend.

    “and we passed
    through columbines
    lupine fire-weed
    monkshood sun flowers
    while conifers and aspens
    susurrated, whispering secretively
    in the language of the trees
    amid strange atonal birdsong    “

    I had never read this piece before Mike, I think we started writing on-line at the same time and I believe I started reading your work because you also wrote for my dear editor and what I think we would both call our friend, Terveen.

    Thank you for sharing this Mike, we both send our love and appreciation for your gorgeous work and love of nature. We have a new movie suggestion for you especially due to your and my mutual love of trees, “Train Dreams,” on Netflix. What a beautiful movie it is, visually and emotionally. 🫶🙏

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    1. Kindest thanks, Joni. Your appraisals always delight me–so deep and contemplative. It’s hard to console someone who’s 9,000 miles away, and the sense of helplessness is so tangible. She deserved some happiness, and I hope she found it. To this day, I don’t know if she chose to live or chose the alternative. There was no closure, just silence, and the feeling that I’d failed to save her. I still think about her often after all these years.

      Thanks for the movie recommendation, too. I’ll look into it, for sure. Here’s wishing you and Scott a peaceful rest o’ the week, dear friends. 😊

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  10. Mike, I can’t even imagine what that must have been like for you. The devastation, and horrible feelings of helplessness. How do you recover from that it is almost impossible to forget something that tragic. I am so very sorry that this happen to you. You are so right everyone deserves some happiness in life. Not having closure especially with a person you truly loved or still do is extremely hard. I know from my own experiences with my parents there is nothing you can do to stop someone from killing themselves if they decide to do so. It is not another person’s responsibility. I regret that you have that feeling of not knowing and guilt. I too felt guilt after both my mom’s and father’s death. Thank you, for sharing this piece as it truly resonated and touched my heart. Big hugs and love, from both of us!

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    1. (I just noticed this comment–sorry for the delayed reply.)

      Thank you, Joni. Growing up in a dysfunctional family resulted in my adopting the role of The Rescuer regarding protecting my mom, and that role was so ingrained in my psyche that it carried over to other aspects of my life. Even after learning about co-dependence and rescuing behavior, and taking plenty of steps to unlearn it, I still found myself in that role in this instance. But distance prevented me from saving her. I’m not sure where she is now or if she still lives. I’ll carry that with me forever, I suppose. That’s something love does to a person–we want to help those we love, but sometimes we can’t, for whatever reasons. And that powerless feeling can haunt us for years.

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  11. A beautifully tender piece, my friend. It reminds us how easily we anchor ourselves to hurt, hope, love, or loss without realizing it. Your words gently urge us to look inward and see what holds us down and what could finally help us rise ❤️

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    1. Thank you, Saima. This is an intense piece, based on certain aspects of a relationship I had years ago with someone who was deeply troubled but who deserved happiness. She just couldn’t find it, and her only remaining anchor to this world was me. And when she turned her back on me, it felt like the end of both of our worlds. I hope she still lives, and I hope she found happiness at last.

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      1. Thank you for sharing that, Mike. It must have been incredibly hard to love someone carrying so much pain, and even harder when she turned away. The tenderness and hope you still hold for her say so much about your heart. I truly hope she’s found some peace — and that you have too.

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