Bozhidar Pangelov Poet Free verse

The Voices

I collect eyes. Burnt ones.
Of the last summer.
Arms chopped off. 
By a tide of sand.
Reflections of uncollected water. 
You, hunter of flowers…
Oh, wharves! 
Oh, sea goings! 
Winds in the sails of the white ships.
High wings.
The swelter of August swallowed you.

But today it’s September and the oval autumn.
And your voices I hear…

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Jancarl Campi January 21, 2011 at 8:43 AM Just stopped by to read your work. Interesting words are flowing here. Thanks for your comments on my poem "sparrows", Jancarl

Dr.Ram Mehta January 21, 2011 at 4:24 AM The words flows making it a piece to read, Bozhidar

Carol Sunshine Brown January 21, 2011 at 4:11 AM I am stopping by this morning to read your amazing poetry, and to thank you for your kind comments Bozhidar. My poem (Old Loving Ways) is indeed fiction. Love, Carol