Featuring:) Giorgio Veneto
She writes about Fall's beauty in the rain
The falling raindrops' dance ascribing thence
Bespoken verse that lightens her refrain
before the time they met - her steps commence.
She listens to the soft and rhythmic thrum,
her love turned to escape and cloudy string
Where nimbus mistletoe fell, tears to become
Their kiss of Autumn was symbolic ring.
The first light cotton mists with summer rays
While skyward cheerful laughs adorn the land,
their ceremonial dance diffuses grays,
affectionate embrace, where dreams expand.
Upon September's sky the raindrops gleam
With half of hidden Sun to laugh and beam.
Enjoy the FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
FRAGRANCE OF RAIN
~A Poet Destroyer Collaboration~
You have caged me for too long
I want you to just let me go,
I have to spread these feathered wings
I need to feel the wind's blow.
You know that I love you truly
I said that I would never leave,
I want to see the rain's dance
Not just sit here and perceive.
The scene never changes, day after day
I want to go where white roses bloom,
I have never seen an ocean's wave
And neither have you, I assume.
I need to see the autumn tree's change
I want to see the snowflake's glisten,
I am wishing on the stars as they fall
This is my dream, so please just listen.
I want to fly in the sky's blue
I need to feel the sun's burn,
When I have experienced these wonders
I promise that I will return.
Words tumble from my brain
like boulders down sides of mountains
where they rest for millennia,
only to be carried away by ancient tribes
building their ancient temples.
The perfect stanza has struck me
like an arrow deftly navigating an ancient forest,
only to be completely obliterated
as I awaken from my Mayan dream.
The trees of the forest cut down,
now feed their ancient pyres
upon which they burn my poems
as offerings to their ancient gods.
Archaeologists will find the ashes and line them up,
and when they are unable to decipher them,
they will toss them aside.
Rains will wash them away
into the streams that travel to the oceans,
to be snatched up by the krill
who are devoured by behemoths.
Expelled through blowholes,
carried away by winds,
joined by other words,
they become the air that I breathe.
Words inside oxygen, oxygen inside molecules,
enter the bloodstream, travel to the brain
and wait patiently to tumble out, again.
[Honourable mention: Polar Expressions Publishing 2014 Poetry Contest]
[Published in The Warbler’s Song (2014) by Polar Expressions Publishing]
Raindrops don’t know themselves,
only becoming aware
when freed of their teardrop forms;
becoming the surface of things,
tracing the rounded stone,
the languid curve of a blade of grass.
Raindrops caressing the skin,
washing upon our teary faces,
disguising our sadness with their own.
Their rounded bellies reflecting
raindrops, a millionfold,
mirroring each other,
as we are mirrored
in each other’s eyes.
This unified sacrifice,
dangling on precipice of cloud,
as each breaks, as hearts break.
Fall came a trifle early
And it caught me unaware--
Seems the leaves began their falling
Turning circles in the air.
I could hear the end of summer
With the rustle of the trees--
As I latched up every window
To escape the chilly breeze.
But the cold it overtook me
As it slipped beneath the door--
And the moaning wind, it whispered:
"The summer is no more!"
The sweetest sounds of burning trees
A gentle stroking in the breeze
The calm has lasted past the storm
Cloudy visions, Satan’s roar
Too many sights have passed my way
A time found only in the haze
The softest screams are running bare
My aching bones creak as I stare
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark
The battle’s started at the end
No one is coming to repent
The sinners grab their wine from prey
No judgment calling here to stay
The sport is reckless to be told
The one is laughing at his souls
It falters nowhere to be sure
The power grows forevermore
Like a spirit in the wind
I have no say in where you’ve been
But cross the line to come to me
And pay the price for ecstasy
You walk a distance towards me
The fall’s eternal, can’t you see?
I’m a memory in your heart
I whisper to you in the dark.
The limbs of the tree are now cold and barren
as they reach up into the sky above
searching for what was lost,
as the playful, fallen leaves are now gone,
taken away with the winds of time.
Nothing but a gray cloudiness
overtakes the skies
the warm sunlight disappears
more and more each day
as the darkness closes in.
Frigid winds come down from the North,
bringing with them a reckless abandon
with no care for the warmth
of the human heart.
Cold raindrops evolve into icy snowflakes
that fall for miles
before they reach the earth
and are caught by the barren arms of the tree.
The world is now silent in the grace of wintertime.
A stubborn chill surrounds the human heart
trying to instill itself into every chamber
yet, it cannot end the beating drum
when there is a song of happiness
dwelling there forevermore.
Some days the sun still shines,
yet, it changes nothing
the warmth lingers somewhere else,
until the sun decides to stay
a little more each day.
Eventually, the warm-hearted will melt
away the frost around them.
The frozen ice will begin to thaw and disappear,
soon a small crack forms, and spreads across
separating the ice
where a trickle of water is finally free to flow
out into the warmth of springtime.
And the world comes back to life,
re-awakening and reborn again.
She is the muse to her own sorrow;
She is the digger of her grave.
She is the painter of her ocean view
and every fatal wave.
She is the shadow of her Father;
She is the darkness in your sight.
She is the night without the stars
surrounding pale moonlight.
She is the music with no words;
She is sweet love without the reason.
She is your dreamer with submission
cold by warmth with every season.
She is your pet with cold intentions;
She is your baby scared and shaken.
She is the bold and pure- the lost and found,
She is a soul awakened.
So sweet a kiss
The murmuring tunes of Spring
In the fragrant breath of night
Hums within my slumbering ears.
Like the whispering trees dancing
In the softest dews descending
From the vapours of the skies
When the soothing night
Was young with the glimmering moon of May.
The poor labouring clouds expanded wide
In the muted distance ripe with coldness
While the storming of the Eastern wind
Drifted through the blossoming fields
Graced by the sultry springs in the lulling hours.
I pulled the weary drapes
When the night grew old with silence
From a crystal window
Mirrored against the dumb fields
Black with the night.
A soft mist exudes the dead wind
Curled around the nodding branches.
Then I stealed away to the vacant spot
Where a crackling fire
Invaded the mournful breath of silence.
Lipsing sounds intrudes the night
Upon the quiet slopes and verdant span
Where the blossoms gently bow
Kissing soft the silver spray
Fluttering in the starry distance.
There sauntered I
Under the gladsome sky
To pluck a cherry from its stem
Outstretched beneath the sobbing moon
That in the dawning misty hours
That silver orb of light expires
When the sun had greet the day
With a golden sigh!
breezeless summer day -
motionless on lily pad
frog waits for victim
Enter a storybook tale
Where I can be
The heroine you hail
Lucid dreams of soft reflection
A touch heated with lust and desired protection
A breathe a gasp as we succeed
Join the fairytale with me
Valiant night within dark eyes
the right movement and I make them shine
like moonlight on the steamy hot spring
care to follow for a little dip with me
Trailing like the water at my fingertips
Grasp me around my hips
As close as the breeze on my skin
Whisper lies as I let you in
Lips mumbling up my thighs
bare heart exposed to the sky
fire burning in my veins
Am I a mistress of this lust or simply a slave
Trembling with desire
Take me till we've lost count of the hours
enter this storybook tale
Where I can be the heroine you hail
What does it feel like to wake up into your skin?
What do you feel first most days?
Is it in any way influenced by gratitude,
or totally given over to worry,
anxiety about your shortness of time?
Is this life the one you had in mind as a child?
When did this that you do to fill your days and years become your dream?
Or is it your nightmare?
Or something in between?
If so, which parts are closest to your dream
and what were you doing
with whom and why
as this became your dream?
Were these relationships good dream mentors for you?
How did you get to this day, this place, this vocation?
When did your nightmare start
and is it something more than the fear
of your own cherished dream's loss?
What is that one thing that sets you apart,
that is your unique character fingerprint?
How is your identity unique from all others alive now,
or in the past,
or in future generations?
And, if your uniqueness is no one thing,
but a constellation of attributes,
characteristics, dreams, fears, wisdom,
aspirations, relationships, memories,
then how is any one of those unique to you,
and if none is,
after due consideration,
then how are you not part of me
and all that is related to you
that is also related to others
that are less directly related to you,
on back to the emergence of memory capacity itself?
What do you imagine was that first memory?
Do you think it was of longing or belonging,
or somehow both,
like the contentment waiting within harmonic contention,
resolution waving toward our future revolution,
still redeeming in noncontentious background?
Is contentment intuited as informationic,
to know and love nature's wise resolving resolutions?
Evolution and Revolution each grow, respectively,
Yin- and Yang-tempered resolve,
slow and fast-paced momentum
optimizing balanced incoming diastolic form,
with outgoing memory-folded contentment,
Prime permacultural balance,
optimizing enculturation's meaning
by minimizing future's monoculturally rapacious dissonance
and co-passionate awe.
O'er tempest,soars the
eagle with wings
stretching towards the
Up the sky,a figure
with outstretched wings
battling the turbulent
wind and frowning sun.
Soaring like an eagle-
Never an eagle.
Gliding like an eagle-
Never an eagle.
Mistaken for an eagle
in the sky-never an eagle.
Utter's sound as the
eagle-never an eagle.
under a stormy wind.
For paid price-loss of
The works of mother-
nature can never be out-
dated or equalled.
Frog-men under sea
and frogs in the waters
can bear witness.
The Color Missing
Red, black, and blue are the colors of our work pens. Red is the color of the blood we spill on other people’s mistakes. Blue is the color of the songs we sing on tax forms or pay stubs- every page has a secret melody. Black is the color of the streets we fear most. Black is the color of our signature of approval. Black is the color of our death.
‘But what about the Green pens?’ I ask. They say ‘the ink is too hard to see.’
I first met Autumn when I was very, very young,
she was just a shy, quiet girl, but so very bright.
These maple trees were our favorite to play among,
as our laughter faded away with the falling sunlight.
I can still see her brown sweater, and reddish-orange hair,
blowing around her smiling face, like a flickering flame.
Her innocent voice still whispers on October's cool air,
near the place, where our lonely swing remains the same.
As the summer days said goodbye, and welcomed September,
the death of my dear, young friend came all too soon.
Autumn was one of those whom you'd always remember,
her soul was as beautiful as the shining, harvest moon.
She was here, then gone, leaving words that were never spoke,
to this day, I have never understood why Autumn had to leave.
Her presence lingers on the wind, like drifting wood-smoke,
as once a year, her playful spirit arises on All Hallow's Eve.
August, 4th, 2014
A void of Facebook
Creativity dies here...
Sometimes I admire the littlest things
A simple rock. A blade of grass.
They need no future goals, no tax exemptions
They don’t need to go anywhere or be anything
They just are.
Sometimes, especially when I’m reading life insurance policies,
I envy the rocks and the grass
And try to be like them for a moment.
I sit perfectly still and give myself to the wind-
And it whispers in my ear:
And for that moment I don’t need to go anywhere or be anything.
And at the snap of my fingers,
All the complex widgets and gizmos that make up my life
Fold into paper airplanes and fly off in the wind.
THEY graze in beauty on the land
of grassy glades and dewy dales,
and all that's best of dark and tanned
meets in their aspect and their tails;
thus mellowed to that tender hand
which Shepherd to gentle glen compels.
One fleece the more, one hair the less,
had half repaired the shearless grace
which wreathes in every woolen tress
or darkly tightens o'er their face,
where mouths serenely sweet express
how pure, how dear their grazing-place.
And on that rump and o'er that round
so strong, so firm, yet elegant,
the baas that win, the hooves that bound,
but tell of days in meadows spent—
a flock at peace with all around,
a drove whose milk is innocent.
01/26/2014, "First Poem On Soup" Contest
A new photograph floats to the surface
Playfully dressing up as the world around me
Hat, striped socks and all
Tiptoeing at the top for one last sweet moment
Before sinking back into my ocean mind.
One after another they arrive
Steeping my eyes in the world
As the minds shutter, ever fluttering
Strings together this conscious stream I play in.
My photographs fade in time’s wrinkled arms.
Joining their brothers and sisters at the ocean floor,
They hold hands and try to answer the question that is always asking itself:
Who am I?
You have led me beside the azure seas
to see the crimson coral of the fallen leaves
so like the rainbows that exist within our kin
the colors that lay upon our souls within
There drifts our souls in the shades and hue
where we slip the streams of the colors blue
or light their soul in softest shades of yellow
when in company as delighted companions fellow
Or quietly lay in shells still and tinged of pale grey
like the clouds that hang within the low of day
or to climb the hills the foliage with its glistening sheen
are painted trees and meadows in the depths of green
Here in life the blooms that every spectrum see
and offered us its view the veneer of eternity
and not so transparent the crystals of our glass
and our lives the shadows of pigments cast
The cosmetic gloss that we can wear like makeup
that dyes the actions which our souls we take up
some like varnish are just cover for what is dull
like the iron and the steel that contains our hull
But the tints that wash and stain our soil
can be the colors swirling within the gleams of oil
where they run together as the eddy's in the water
there each soul its colors is contained a single star
COPYRIGHT © 2013 C Michael Miller
via Duboff Law Group LLC
three japanese trees
this spring only five feet small
their shades spread new light
(c) Elly wouterse
Peering through plate glass at a puzzling view,
In the midst of hot coffee’s morning ritual brew.
Staring out with amazement and wonderfully struck,
By our Cherry Tree’s overnight sensation run amuck!
By nature’s own standard, cruel joke she has played,
Million blossoms wide open one February day.
This juvenile sapling knows not what it feels,
Sprouting vivid Pink colors, the show it now steals.
From those all around laying dormant in state,
Expecting nature’s cue to blossom their own petals awake.
And by then poor young cherry will have muted her splash,
Replaced by green leaves summer storms will soon thrash.
But alas all this splendor making warm visual sense,
In the short time required for fresh java to dispense.
Tomorrow I’ll once again observe through plate glass,
The wonders waiting just beyond cold winter’s Rye Grass.
Submitted to Giorgio A. V. Contest themed: Impress me with a small poem II!
1) user name: wedge
2) choice of motif: nature
Strokes after midnight
received a distant sad news
a swallow has flown
Watch over us dear
I kept my prayers for you
frosted in flowers
Standing out in a field alone, a little white flower named Daisy longed for someone to share her world.
One day a blue flower named Bachelor Button entered her world they became friends.
She knew by his name that he was not the propagating kind, but that didn’t stop their relationship she called him BB short for best bud.
The seasons of Spring & Summer they enjoyed the sun, laughed in the rain and held on fast in the Fall.
Winter came it was long and hard they were both covered in a blanket of snow, not knowing whether they would ever see each other again or even survive .The snow fell then came the ice, this went on for months.
The Sun shone brightly the first day of spring. A few days later warmth of the sun melted the snow, Daisy popped up .
I’ve been waiting days for you to come out, said BB, they both chanted hooray!
The snow was completely gone in a few days, the birds started building their nests , bugs were crawling around ,butterflies began to visit the two flowers. I wish there were more of us Daisy said, to BB.
They laughed as the sun and wind blew through their leaves. Then it started the sun and rain took turns until one morning the air & field was filled with the smell of flowers.
Daisy and BB looked at each other and asked what kind of flowers are these ? they’re not white like daisies they’re not blue like bachelor buttons. They did not know the birds and bugs carried the seeds from the two of them and the caterpillars buried them under the soil.
The seeds from the new flowers were then carried by the winds many miles away, they landed in fertilized gardens and flourished, although they faced danger everyday.
as they were called WEEDS ..
The Gardener pulls weeds out of the garden so they don’t choke the flowers, which cost a lot of money and require lots of maintenance.
However there was a Gardener who saw her friends spending hours weeding their garden , that they didn’t have enough time to admire and enjoy the labors of their love
So she set out to give a home to all the weeds ,she provided a place where they could fit in and multiply, they required no maintenance, rain provides their water .
The best part of all is their beauty is in the eye of the beholder.
Ask my granddaughter-- What are those flowers in the garden ?
She will answer "WILDFLOWERS " their parents were Daisy and BB
smoother than most, all moving no boast, shooting a moon to toast, to our beautiful host
revolving no doors, just opportunities score marking the entrance ways pores
fracking a lack of communication crashing breaking backs and racking our foundation
till were screaming take it back
unpacked and all out, dig deep for the fall out, kettle blackened from potty mouths,
busted missing a tea spout
pour me a gallon of chandon the whole sip for your front lawn, till the bottles dry
like jokes from monty python
silly satans salivating sighing and spraying your favorite simon's saying cause piles of money and ego feed are waiting for the generating
nothing new under the sun but above clouds I found me some, cause ignant bliss still exists even if you wear a cummerbund
tell all your facts and try to catch my glazed eye, cause compromise can be the do or die, to where ever future lovers lie
this blueberry from space ferry might fit in a test tube in perspective
or we just miss the point why evolution was so selective
A little boy and an ant became great friends one day.
But how to live drew them apart, and this is how they ran astray:
In the Ant’s heart was strict authority and constant work to rule the day.
Why wasn’t the boy toting behind someone, collecting for the food array?
The ant would always build everything in exactly the same proven way.
The anthill, underground, protected them perfectly as shown, every day.
Not adding to the hive was a horrible crime, none would ever display.
The ant knew all would be perfect, if everyone did their job, and obeyed.
But the boy wanted to build bridges and trestles, just like his Dad, each day.
All of them out in the open, none of them under ground or hidden away.
Inventiveness came with the notice, of new and exciting things in daily play.
His life was really cool, not boring, as standing in a line would convey.
He’d invent, ponder, and build in exciting, new ways, to fit each new byway.
Quick minded, resilient he’d build, many fascinating and unique causeways.
The boy and the ant eventually went away, not happy with how the other lived.
They thought the other shortsighted and scorned, at what the other could give.
But they went away without realizing, how very similar were their lives.
For each would spend their time endeavoring to help others with their drive.
But understanding is a harder concept than building a bridge or storing food.
It takes a true gift to see the world as others do…
The moral to this story is really quite easy for all to see:
You can’t expect others to live lives, how you want them to be.
Each was adding to their different worlds, only they could see.
One building for a smaller, singular hive, the other the hive of mankind, you see.
Each in their own way: truly cast a long shadow to fill… an important need.
a weeping willow
never really shedding tears
branches trailing to the ground
green leaves sparkling in the wind
The Rose innocent white, soft pink, yellows
colors touch your soul vibrant red to amethyst
enhances beauty yet a thorn awaits to break skin
as life does piercing your heart with a thin pin.
My life has shed drops of blood through each petal
as if in return for the love and beauty you feel
hence pain underneath patiently waits the bloodletting ~
The rose symbolizes love yet vulnerable to hold
for when you open your heart it can be left bleeding
The best of surgeons can not beat your heart
It is the inner faith and God himself whom gives strength
whispers in your ear you shall live you will exist
your life meaningful as the water and sun to the rose
For I am your God your existence is not over yet .
You must Live ~You must Bloom
There's something unspecific about the autumn nights
A certain shade of color that uplifts my inner child's eyes
Beside a cashmere moon Venus and Jupiter shine bright
Complimented by a sea of blinking infinite twilight
The scent of burning oak lingers in the air from home made fires
Reminiscent of a time when this man was just a child
Careless and so free to dream and any dream to live
Like feathers floating across a field carried by the wind
As a gentle breeze blows through the leaves shivering delightful gloom
Unlike flowers of springtime the disheveled autumn vibrance bloom
Leaves crackle beneath my feet along the skeleton tree path
Where I try to find my peace or a song to make me laugh
The air is so much crisper and also soothing when I breathe it in
Underneath a starry sky and brighter constellations of Heaven
Amidst the trail I pass a lovely couple holding hands
While their children run aside frolicking in a playful dance
An old man and his wife admire the view from a wooden bench
With smiles on their face as if nostalgia is still their closest friend
Its these specific autumn affects that bring me sorrows and joy
Reminding me of all theses things Ive wanted as a man since I was a little boy
Its times like these that I wish I wasn't always so alone
Because I would light an fire with my family and call it home
Are we not all
The night sky for our atoms,
A brilliant display for our elements,
A grace for our composure?
All are vivid; All are rich,
But as with any star,
Dimmer with distance.