he collected all his hopes, dreams and wishes
hid them under floorboards of his room
letting them all rest in darkness
while burning in fire that comes from loss
he collected everything he had in himself
every star that was showed him
and when nights begin to bleed memories
they all rose back like ghosts in the fog
he collected every last bit of innocence
it was no longer the way to live
he must abandon the house he lives in
in order to fight something that isn't his
he told his child version to stay quiet
listen the voice through the cracks
silent all the voices from under floorboards
and rest in peace if he can't run away
The first Wednesday of the month
we sit around the table and share
poems written with care and revised.
We take in their shapes and forms
and read between the lines.
We gasp with wonder about creations
and search for other words
to make each verse stronger.
Each of us has written volumes by now
the lives we shared month-by-month.
A retired lawyer has returned
from his vacation in Spain
and I’m back from four years
of traveling through the Midwest for work.
The sights shape nuances of our pieces.
Each of us takes the time allowed to read
and get feedback but time slips from our fingers.
At eight PM, the library closes.
Our conversations continue in the hallways
and as we move toward the stairs.
I take in the sight of paintings and stop
when I see the shadow of the group’s founder
on the wall. She nods at me.
To preserve, in words, what is on the verge of ceasing to be heart,
To transfer, onto paper, what is on the verge of ceasing to be words,
If one seeks reasons to write poetry, countless can be found from here.
To entrust to the book what is on the verge of ceasing to be me.
balsam scented room
candelabra glowing red ~
festive spectacle
red bubble tree lights
dance amongst silver tinsel~
an old-fashioned flare
laughter and chatter
warm the home with joyful cheer~
holiday party
sweet savory scents
inviting holiday feast~
edible presents
diamond ring surprise
an enchanting engagement~
holiday magic
newborn in velvet
cradled by his grandmother~
celebrated life
How slight
The petal of
A poppy,flowering-
So much like us,beautiful,yet
Fragile
Hurry
Takes its toll as
In our daily stroll,we
From deepest ruts of blind alleys
Quicken
Beauty
free from above
embedded in our heart-
His loving-kindness ..ready to
impart
The warmth
Of love's invite
Encompassed my desire,
In two soft whispered words of love,
Be mine !
Eyes closed
As lips caressed,
Mouths joined,impassioned
Tongues explore,in our love's embrace,
Time-framed
My love
Beguiled me,with
Soft sensuous lips,sleek
Long thighs with rounded hips,twinned heart's
Enlaced
Long days
Of August sun
Where nature blinks and shrinks
The dying grass,yellowed in sleep-
Held fast
Night chills
the aging bones-
blowing on the east wind
flurries fine and dry settle on
new graves.
These be
the keys to life,
faith,hope and agape,
love,the greatest gift of all three-
to thee !
Desire
welled within-
words became a promise
so sublime,to love now and for
all time.
We had
met and conversed,
a rapport on first sight-
a chance meeting to a life's time
delight
seashells in the sand
washed by the ocean's waters
glisten in the sun
So exquisite Claude Monet
colour filled never gray
A nebulous impression
from each plein-air session
Arthritis afflicted H Matisse
but his art he did not cease
He switched to coloured cutouts
to give his reputation more clout
Abstract artist Mark Tobey
loved his calligraphy
White writing was a theme
in later years to come onstream
Jackson Pollock loved artistic drips
a form most of us can get-a-grip
Arrested moments one-by-one
careful don't let them run
Strasbourg's Hans (or Jean) Arp
with random art was quite sharp
Everything was made by chance
why not give his art a glance
Troubled soul Vincent van Gogh
yes,the one with the ear cut off
Painted sunflowers so yellow
was in fact a talented fellow
A collection of flowers-House becomes a funeral home
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@adecvisions.com
Another sun has risen
And those dreams forgiven
Past miss takes were illuminated
And in sleep they were illustrated
Shown pictures of pleasures and pain
Painted on my mind it all seemed so plain
At the moment when hope had left me
The sun is rising, and I finally see
It was not a dream, but a nightmare
You screaming I was never there
And maybe you were right,
another sun has risen
And I find the light in my eyes now
Yes, it was a dream but some how
The darkness still sticks like glue
When every night,
I think of you
My collection of poems I've shared with you.
To Poetry Soup I am grateful it's true.
We all put down thoughts with paper and pen
Or is it, " type on computer" so as not to offend ?
With a network like this my mind is amazed
We've all something common, just in different ways.
My Mast
It’s time to get my life together
I have travelled through the stormy weather.
I have eaten the bad fruit before
Many times, I have hit the floor
Now I want to rise. I was never one for lies
The clouds are parting to sunny skies
I still remember your deep blue eyes
Like a comet you came into my life
One day I did hope, to make you my wife
But I couldn’t contain sanities grip
And I couldn’t control how much I’d sip
Now it is time though to give you my all
I do still regret our last call
But before my fall, I found this by my side
So now, before I slide
I want you to know that my love is pure
I will never forget you, or who you were
My scars. Like a storm have past
One thing will remain
You are still
my mast
A collection of ‘Love is…’ Poetry
Giraffe
Love is here!
Love is now!
Got to get my hands on it!
Somehow.
(C)2023 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.
collecting corals
child feels rich in their richness ---
waves snatch them away
citrine sun rises
nude limbs, one lone leaf awaits
cardinals singing
12/26/2023
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