In hues of sepia she maintains
her web of life, Mother Nature;
from smallest seed to greatest
creature her umbilical sustains.
The fate of all life resides
in her consciousness and flow;
like a machine each part depends
on the other parts smooth glide.
Pollinators nurture flora,
food is recycled and regenerates;
feeding others of her children,
from trees to abundant Passiflora.
Through our big blue marbled macrocosm
she weaves her web of life;
from Terra-firma are many birthed
abundant arising microcosms.
With light and pigmentation's work
amazing color floods her realm;
from greens, golds, reds and browns
she paints such serene patchwork.
Wondrous miracles she has birthed
within her spirits sylvan seas;
a universal soul, our Mother,
captured by the poets in verse.
The finest artist of her kind,
with unlimited imagination;
her womb is quite a fertile one,
life’s threads are fragilely intertwined.
6-27-2021
ALL YOURS (Jun 27) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Standing alone in a festive crowd,
silent tears falling
to
the
ground
amid
the
gaiety
rising cheerfully loud
Twisted emotions is a troubling soothe
When out of the corner of your teary pout,
you notice her
compassionately looking at you
Then she comes your wintry worn way,
and offers a warm and gentle snowflake hello
Such butter sweet kindness
melts the pain in your pretzel heart
Still, she goes one step above
the Good Samaritan royal standard
of delivering cherubic wingspan comfort
She taste the salt of your suffering
with her naked fingers
Ungloved ... her bare hand
feels the long cold
settled in the hope shortened pulses within
She delicately senses that
you’re fragilely hanging on to the joy of living
And she intuitively knows ... with a frosted eyelid twinkling,
you’re in desperate need of a lonely holiday saving friend
Someone who will patiently hear the leaven fears,
and help tenderly
with the cordial unbending
of a sad, winding path —
Sorrows fraught with tears over the frozen years
Solitude by the Reverie
What is a rose, that’s not been held?
adorned or gazed upon…
What are hands that haven’t been touched?
caressed or kissed…
What is a slow beating battled heart?
fragilely fettered flaccid…
What is a smile standing still?
seduced by simulated seduction…
~
What is a life lived without love?
a staccato shattered symphony…
What is the wind without direction?
a cognitive dissonance dessert dust…
What are eyes that cannot see a face?
inept illusions of silent seclusions…
What is a soul without love’s embrace?
a sailing solitude sequestered and scorned.
May.30.2018
Free Verse Only
Sponsored by: Laura Loo
hope perched in my heart
small bird, joyfully singing
fragilely balanced
feasting on faith's mustard seed
contented with Love's promise
Copyright, August 24, 2014
Faye Lanham Gibson
I’m sorry to tell you my mind has fallen apart.
As I hide in the cracks of the sidewalks heart.
A piece of bone, fragilely approached the surface.
An old man so strange reached for my brain.
He told me,
That the candle in my mind has flickered into nothing
More than a spark in space.
Technically none of this happened.
Just a waste, you must forget the taste.
Walk away with nothing but a pale hand.
Use your mouth to curse the breaking sun.
And you were told as a kid never to step on the cracks.
It’s a wise choice.
The life down here isn’t so great,
Even if the one you loved took you all the way.
Smart lies hide behind your eyes.
As I wait in the morning frost.
The dew on my cheeks melts into summer showers.
Not mentioning the burning desires, my minds on fire.
Eyes a blazed, my skin so hot.
Prick me with a needle and lava will spill out,
You’re mistaken that’s just smoke for the taking.
I’m filled with it and once you see.
I am soon going to be your enemy.
Now don’t leave yet. That means it will end.
I smell nothing but the breath on the back of my neck.
Let the mysterious flower divide her petals.
A reflection
Is that enquiry
That touches
Our past
My wintered rose
As centered
My prose
Life
My splinter
As the mist rose
The path taken
The path of that
No often chose
And in the ending
I say goodbye
To those
Whom greet me
“Hello”
The cure
A smoothly
Moved cello
Snow flakes
On days
It doesn’t mist
The spectacles
That un-flower
Within
My fist
The seasons
Of my life
With told
From an
Hour hand
Symptoms
Of a glass
That fragilely
Stands
Tragedy
The treasure
Abroad
Our collapsing
Days
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