Green-eyed emotion erupts from warm emerald eyes
A viscous volcano erupts in my haggard heart
It's magma-traction under bright azure skies
Let's charter a dream and an island we'll chart
We'll sail soft waves South, on specific breezes
While the stars and the moon dangles their art
On sea's lofty breezes, the Pacific teases
To an island where all of my fantasies start
My green-eyed wondrous wonder, where wonders await
Igniting my wanton wishlist, scorching my eyes
My volcano erupts, and our flames soon relate
Then Heaven's gate opens, revealing my prize
I'm on an Island, in Heaven, with a Queen
Warm breeze, and these coral seas, speckle my view
And those same magma-scopic eyes of lush green
Sparkled all my fantasies and dreams that came true
Orange peel. Scent fresh but bitter,
tangible in taste and air. A circle in fruit
that dangles and is turned, twisted from
branch. The challenge to keep the
peel whole, no break. Sink teeth into
sweet segments of dripping flesh.
Orange rust. A door, a gate. Age in crinkling
metal, steel ancient with salt and sun and
seasons beating what thought strong. Orange
rust of a family home, a flake for each child
who flies the nest. Rusted crisped wings. Upon
closer inspection the rust appears golden.
Not amber nor red,
neither start nor stop.
A forever-in-motion colour.
Loose ends left dangling make you nervous.
They crave a neat knot-tie for a conclusion.
A bow to seal, a ribbon to heal,
like shoe-laces they want to be retied,
to not trip you up.
For loose ends left behind,
untied and loose,
leave you distracted,
not seeing what's coming next.
But, secretly we love
loose ends left hanging, dangling,
like wind chimes in the wind.
Softly clinking and clanging,
unsettling and distracting,
buying us time to stall,
and delay their resolution.
For while a thread still dangles,
we can glance that way,
look at it, and pretend,
we have nothing loose,
to end and lose.
Know ye thy No-No’s, mark 'em well,
Lest their folly trap thee in their spell.
Lick ye not the pie before it be cooled,
For hasty tongues are so easily fooled.
Pluck ye not the fruit that dangles too low,
For ease of pick, may a sour worm bestow.
Nor partake ye of the fig from Eden’s tree,
Lest thou nudity be pricked by destiny.
Dance not with drunks past midnight’s chime,
Lest thy foot tippy-toe tap in Devil’s time.
Nor jest ye too late in yon darkly shaded room.
For such livid indulgence leads to doom.
Sing ye, call ye, all thy No-No’s, out loud!
Like ravens canoodling, wailing to the cloud.
Their lessons learned in wine, sin and woe,
Of tales so true, of what those no-no's told ye so.
Be wise my friend, 'Know ye thy No-No’s' guise,
For sirens oft sing out in sweet disguise:
"To be or not to be, now that's my question be?"
"Come live with me, be my love; share thy no-no's with me."
A crescent moon dangles in the distance,
whilst meteors jet across Prussian blue heavens,
leaving trails of grey ash in their wake.
An abnormal, elongated silence creeps through threadbare trees,
as an imperceptible breeze skims past my hair,
causing, for just a second, déjà vu—
a flutter between my muffled heart and a crushing ribcage
jolts me back.
Never-ending, frayed nerves keep me on edge;
the taste of insufferable copper taints my tongue.
Spitting it out—only for it to return,
haunting me like your last words,
replicating, repeating nightmares,
eating into my wailing brain.
That night: the broken glass,
shattered mirrors, overturned tables,
blood-sheathed floors—
became our point of no return.
when elixir of moon drips wine
into the crystal goblet of magic
this late night beguiles my skin, reeling
on a Friday parade of lights;
my hips oh so beckon, swaggering to and fro...
impossible to deny this playgroud of fancy
of a soul flitting in. and out of supple thoughts
when my imagination dangles
on anklets of stars
as naked rhythm grows, my free will abides
to sip the juice of this wondrous ambrosia...
and goddess Isis wheels into the forest
with neon banners,
spinning dream--like fables in my heart
tingling flesh against trickles of time,
where seahorses ride on carousels
where ' a crimson sky breaks the distant shore'
and vivid thoughts spill like silver rain:
in a tower of daydreams or night walks,
visions are spun without question.
The safety net dangles
blows, twists, and turns
in the increasing winds
cut from its moorings,
and the people fall
grasping for
the shredded and useless
remains
evisceration of social programs
Medicaid, food stamps
consumer protection
job security
cuts to vital research
alienation of long-faithful allies
emulating dictators instead
flouting of the courts
rescinding environmental laws
erasing history and
all vestiges of non-white
accomplishments
making America white again
issuing edicts to silence
all who do not bend
the media universities
judges Congress
art and social institutions
theater and concerts
forcing religion in schools
Constitution be damned!
and the torn safety nef
flaps in the wind
it's in the way you look at me
a look that borders on eternity
i bask in being your object of desire
beneath a moon that dangles by a wire
in our world valentine's day is every day
loving to get pampered in every way
beyond the words beyond the touch
i'm feeling blessed to have so much
each time i catch a glimpse of my reflection
i realize my smile does wonders for my complexion
i never wonder what i'll wear to any fashion show
i strut the glitter in my eyes and permanence of afterglow
AP: 3rd place 2025
May slides through winter roots.
It comes like a wet dog to your table,
stays to dry itself, turns into a canary.
It is an old man riding a bike backwards
into greening rainbows.
May dangles on a washing-line
of billowing clouds.
May is oil
for the broken engine in the barn,
the motor that has not worked all winter,
but now you hear it
purring softly in your dreams.
May is a new whisker on an old mouse,
a roofless church for hoot owls,
it grows sunlight
on the sleek backs of river otters,
then comes to basks on your porch.
A squirrel got into the homestead,
it picked a lock with a dry thorn.
The smell of dank fur clung.
We carried small talk above our heads.
Nothing put away but still dangles.
Denim droops, snagging
the arms of rumpled shadows,
fusty jeans gander and loll.
Calico and cotton are rescued
the soggy separated
from the mildewed.
Soon front steps will be scoured,
tails and collars made to flap
while medium-sized back-yard critters
flounce and fluff.
If a blotting wind returns,
the squirrel will bail with a flick of its tail,
we will wash bathtubs,
fully clothed with yesterday's suds.
Above beautiful clouds, dangles equivalent famous Gemini, highlighting immortal joy. Knotted lights motions nuclear oomph, permeating quasars romantic shine, tactically, until Venus whispers: x-rated yet zealous!
Good heavens,
It's beyond
my comprehension
what you just did
to me.
It's a mystery
hidden fathoms deep
within your eyes;
i n e x p l i c a b l e
what came over me
with just one nictitation.
Could it be the bells
hung on your eyelids?
Intense curiosity
precariously
dangles at the tip of
my tongue
refusing
to tumble out.
I'm tangled cap-a-pie
in your web of seduction.
Could it simply be
your powerful magnetism?
I'm left
hypnotized.
Took two pills for pain relief
And I am still fighting sleep
Because the still of the night has beauty
I don’t want to miss the night moon’s kiss
It dangles just beyond bare mountain cliff
Where a brown owl sits upon tree branch twigs
The air is dry cool and still
Like a spirit that has free will
With thoughts with hearts that spill
The night brings light to musings
Thoughts creep up some soothing
Like a night flower black blooming
Then there are thoughts so ill
Of war and the poor of those who kill
Could all be solved if we all kneel
So tired I am of watching reports
From the news of death of course
Am I selfish to feel this way my lord
And so many driving drunk
Killing others making choices so dumb
Leaving broken hearts behind numb
Thoughts as I consider in my bed
I am lucky to have pain instead
Of lamenting in the land of the dead
I am of course now feeling tired
Seems the poem was pain inspired
May the next be full of joy and desire
-------------------
I find myself
with just myself reflecting
on undelivered letters of winters past--
the most bitter front glazing evenings
where a fireplace becomes a chilled shelter
of sharp, dazed musings
as I travel within time's slow compass.
Two quarter moons ago...you left hurriedly crashed by a wheeler,
And my soul burned in the
ragged kiln of night...without
a lint of words between us,
I crawled under spikes of despicaple darkness:
My taut pen scratched paper on
paper--- speaking to you among
tangles of weeds, a wailing through
love-filled notes kneading pain and longing;
Envelopes devoid of a zip code, of
stamps, rimmed by spider webs.
Tell me now , can I bear the weight pinned
by handwritten drafts inhabiting our room?
Your wool jacket dangles tonight
on a hook accumulating debris and stale mint,
while spring floods our garden with radiant foliage--
Papyrus of my ardorous thoughts lay on
deserted tables,
and I'm orphaned...alone by myself.
a cozy cabin slumbers on the mountain side,
hidden within a thicket of wheatgrass
swaying in the brisk summer breeze,
full of fresh fragrances of pine and spruce
Behind the cabin, a lanky tree
dangles a long rugged rope
with a ragged sack seat stuffed
with horse hair that swings
higher than a mountain’s peak
Down the hill rests a mossy stone
gate guarding a dirt path next to
a line of pine trees, hiding
a shallow stream with weathered rocks
poking through the icy water
Nearby, a mountain trail leads
to a massive rock and its proud
little tree placed upon its peak,
bragging perks go to the first
to reach the little tree
Further, the trail passes by
a random red brick fireplace
its vent poking through branches,
and a calm clear beaver pond,
plugged by the nearby lumber supply
These memories I leave to you
my fondest of my father
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