Best Weaving Poems

INDIAN INK

Indian Accent, form the whispers inside
Chanting from long ago
Echoes come and go
Losing time in a soft eternal glow

A beautiful and delicate autumn mountain scene
Dry...

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CAMPFIRE 

I thirst to taste your solid wood stare
I see you and no one else 
Nestling under the stars
Hungry for each others ears

Chasing every comet across the...

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"Poetry is a life-cherishing force. For poems are not words, after all, but fires for the cold, ropes let down to the lost, something as...

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Ink of life cannot bleed for eternity,
so I place dried petals in between,
crucial chapters of my memoirs.

When we stop breathing poetry,
our crestfallen pen, left in...

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I am here now
Presence my companion
Rising I put my two feet
On the ground
I give thanks as I open my eyes
To this new day
A divine delicious...

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The moonlight bathed her cell in pallid light while she sat hunched over her desk, clutching her pen between her confound fingertips. As she bled ink...

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Can it be, into this world we are dropped
from heavenly streams that have never stopped?

With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight,
oceans of love and...

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Fall glides in on the wings
of migrating monarchs,
stained glass visions seeking respite
from a tedious journey
signaling a change in our surroundings

Blushing, the complexion of November
slips from...

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When heinous fangs
of life drain
the amethyst glow
flowing above 
infected ripples of time,
I question the 
chaos that claims
serenity through 
saline serenade 
of sirens, composed 
with midnight...

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I am an unvoiced breeze~
a sea warrior 
    kite-surfing through 
    heinous waves, 
knitting cobalt chronicles 
  ...

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"Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."~...

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The Amorous Mystique

Can it be, into this world we are dropped
from heavenly streams that have never stopped?

With sweet hope gifted to our souls delight,
oceans of...

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Hey are you still breathing?
Are you still believing,
or is your heart seething?
Does life still have meaning?
How's the word weaving,
is the ink still bleeding?
Tell me, does...

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among green foliage and slender twigs, perched a graceful mellifluous Nightingale.
Chickadees, Robins, Orioles stopped their synchronised cadence of rhythmic tweets, in anticipation..
a tranquil silence fell...

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Abandon through the flowing blue ice streams, 
          then rise to thirsty trees and fields of...

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