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Samuel Marlatt Lll Poem
--Her Name is Synesthesia --
I imagine color so vivid
leaving those lips--
as if a doorway
to another dimension.
Each hue a photon fingerprint;
appearing in this moment
a manifestation--
lovely, serene, glowing.
The visible spectrum
of your soul dancing
like willows in mid September.
Green goddess of dawn strolling throughout the night sky;
forest hiding its identity; snow covered and silent--
horizon bursting into flames a million miles away;
mere abbreviations of you.
Shimmering foam gliding
across the shoreline
before retreating back home--
I long for such dedication.
Where have you been?
During the tens of thousands
of circles the clock hands ran
while I sat as a delphinium
missing the sun in December.
While needles surf my skin
carving among this canvas
I can only wonder--
daydream and decipher;
Yes, I remember.
Copyright © Samuel Marlatt Lll | Year Posted 2014
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Samuel Marlatt Lll Poem
The crystal clear image
of her face tattooed
on my inner eyelids.
Delicate blonde hair;
snake bitten lower lip—
tender gaze of pacific.
Memories inscribed in jet black ink--
my anchor when tides would swell;
breath of ocean breeze- the hurricanes eye.
Blue irises you keep
remind me of those
summer sunsets.
Evening constellations—
what cinemas
they were.
Vocal cords could harmonize an angelic
melody of sopranos singing in perfect unison;
even slurs that spilled in your slumber.
Again last night I dreamt of bliss—
wishing you'd been there
for my ecstatic expression.
Our retinas reunited;
the song of ours
was playing again.
Awakening only to find this
barricade I built between us
remains anything but a dream.
Copyright © Samuel Marlatt Lll | Year Posted 2014
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Samuel Marlatt Lll Poem
Sweet morning sunshine --
Damn you how I
despise this labor
that lies ahead.
The cousin of Grizzly Adams’
patiently waits with the
ancient white pickup truck
he ran me over with while I slept.
Off we go with the toolbox
dancing in the bed and it’s a band
of pots and pans, the opening act for
our weapons of mass construction.
Murph says he’s a team player,
although I don’t recall a sport
consisted of getting wasted
and having shameful sex.
He grumbles and curses about
the day ahead hung-over with
his perfume from the distillery and
gum he must’ve marinated in an ashtray.
We better do some stretching
before the circus begins—
watch me as I carry an elephant
up the twenty year old ladder.
From two stories above I witness
the war forming between
old rusty nails and the tiny,
soft green blades that stand no match.
The ground has become a grave
of tetanus but the old umbrellas
we toss down from the house
cover up the battlefield.
(To Be Continued)...
Copyright © Samuel Marlatt Lll | Year Posted 2014
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Samuel Marlatt Lll Poem
Maple and Cherry Oak
deciduous delight;
a new wardrobe.
Another marriage;
violent waterways
racing traffic.
Cremation of
fallen family
lingers onward.
Reincarnated
sweet scent--
Lavender & Lilacs.
Desiring exactly
what we despise
as dreams drown.
Twenty branches above
percussion solos begin
between wings while
lead singers gather on
electrical tightropes
of music notation.
Trade-winds whisper
as the ocean above
remains motionless.
Until next
December my
dear winter.
Copyright © Samuel Marlatt Lll | Year Posted 2014
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Details |
Samuel Marlatt Lll Poem
Your lips;
I kiss--
so soft,
such bliss.
Your body;
I touch--
an overwhelming,
adrenaline rush.
One love;
two of us--
a single lifetime,
isn't enough.
Perfect together;
infinite hope--
we're squirrels,
no joke.
Just nuts;
for each other--
loving most,
one another.
Copyright © Samuel Marlatt Lll | Year Posted 2014
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