sight
5-6-6
lake ontario
as the warm orange sun
sets on a clear evening
smell
6-2-6
fresh hazelnut coffee
brewing
late, one autumn morning
touch
4-10-3
soft fingertips
gently massaging the bottom of your
naked foot
hearing
7-2-7
the length of a sharp knife blade
being
dragged slowly down a chalk board
taste
9-2-3
a leaf of maple sugar candy
melting
on your tongue
Beneath the eyebrows, windows.
When I was a child- fresh of life;
Seasons flew past my watching,
Mountains of newness grew before me-
-And I conquered Everest...
Ran like the wind,
Now;
Taken like an autumn leaf-
Weathered and ready for composting;
They give us mood, gesticulation;
Always moving, eyes are on us-
Tell me a story of your ways; what did you see?
Just now or many years ago.
Windows-
To earth, arriving home
Sitting on its clay- waiting
Watching-
Beneath the eyebrows,
Through windows fixed once,
So I could continue to see my view;
A way of life- real and lived in full.
These I will leave to watch over you,
My spirit and soul are my vision now.
Outside, Autumn shows
Yesterday's life was in bloom
My life, it mirrors
http://www.thehighlanderspoems.com/life-14.php
far
from
a
flowering,
fluorescent,
flourishing,
&
pleasantly
fragrant
facsimile of
flora herself,
the
stapelia star &
the
s. pulchella,
the
s. hirsute &
no
one
can
forget
the
s. variegate
(that special
phosphorescent
“beauty’)---
all have
gained
the nickname
“the rotten-
egg plant”
for a reason.
avec a
coriaceous
constitution,
the stapelia
spits out a rancid
stench
reminding one of
rotten & decaying
animal flesh,
or decomposing fruit
left too long in the
sun---
mephitic & aesthetically
shite
to the close observer.
staring at you like a
zebra starfish
out for the
kill---
professed through
a
fantastically
fetid
fart---
the stapelia
remains one of
south africa’s
sparkling
&
sensational
crosses
to
bear---
boisterously blossoming
in the autumn &
summer months---
for our
“enjoyment.”
love born ‘neath star sequins
a hand extended and life’s slow dance begins
confidential whispers exchanged
vows professed on a sun-kissed beach
eternity held in promises
leaping dolphins revel in joy
and they return when azure skies beckon the first-born’s toes to touch the ocean
when the family erects sandcastles while waves lap the shore
when the birds have left the nest as autumn fog covers the sea
when aging lovers see sunset casting a pink aura on lazy clouds
when the final glimmer of light surrenders to celestial curtains
until the surviving spouse emits a sigh in the solitude of darkness
*Entry for Nik Kulik's “Darn, I Wish I Wrote Whis” Contest
Amidst the mists and coldest frosts,
With naked wrists and darkest souls,
She slams her fists against the bars,
And still she screams she sees the ghosts.
Through summer days and autumn nights,
Through season’s end and blinded sights,
They keep her down and clip her wings,
To mute the lovely song she sings.
In troubled times for modest lives,
To see the truth beyond the lies,
As time goes by and death comes 'round,
Her body’s cast upon the ground.
Through hearts of ice and hands of stone,
The devil’s wife’s possessed the throne.
But even though pain’s at it’s most,
She’ll still admit she’s seen the ghosts.
White lies and black lies…
Yellow words and pink smiles…
Blue tears and red sights…
Rainbow colours..is the life…
Grey cloud and pink sky…
Yellow moon and dark sky…
Darker colours are the life…
Leaves falls in Autumn time…
Fruit bears in summer time…
Souls are met in spring time..
Death is met in winter time…
Life is mixed in all the time!!
Dilupa Wijegunasekaera…
I am a thousand winds that blow
I am that diamond glint on snow
I am the sunlight on ripened grain
I am the gentle autumn rain
I am that thought that runs through your brain
I am the one with no shame
I am the one who plays no game
I am the one you blame and watch me burn in your flame for now i am the one you left in pain
Drifting languid, light
upon the damp breeze,
the seeds of milk weed fairy fly
upon the aching air.
Snow white, weightless, dancers
skirts upturned before the coarser green
of velvet lawn they flee.
Backlit as virgin lovers
upon the meadow’s spawn.
The castle walls dare not belay
the upward loft with daunting gray
for on fragile wings in autumn damp
The world is full, a whorl in white.
Today I have a day off from work,
The first of seven altogether.
Summer is gone, Autumn chills the air
So no co-operation from the weather.
I spent the morning reading poetry,
Trying to find inspiration.
So that when I finally put pen to paper
I would come up with a fantastic creation.
My mind keeps wandering to things I should do,
Not things I want to, I'm afraid.
For there's errands and shopping and cleaning and such
And of course there's bills to be paid.
So instead of wonderful poetry
My pen seems to be making lists
Of all the things I should do today.
I think you can get the gist.
But even if today is a wash
I still have six more to go.
Perhaps tomorrow I'll find the perfect poem
To create... You just never know.
On distant hills the golden rays of autumn sit
For just a moment, sparkling like a sequined gown.
So beautiful-this morning hope alluded me and
the world was hard . Their was no looking for
tomorrow, my grief was as urgent as crashing
waves upon a rocky shore.
And now this small gift makes my heart explode
with joy. I see the painting before me and feel
the stirrings of promise. Grass, dry and rustling
beneath my feet, is no longer my enemy. Like the
changing seasons it has its place, its time.
As I have.
So many years doing what I should
Daughter, sister, wife, mother
Expectations to meet, unrequited dreams to fulfill
Oh how exhausting it all proved to be
Stretching myself thin, reaching for the brass ring
Child, woman, seeker, believer
Knowing all my dreams were just around the bend
Always just around the bend
Is it any wonder I lost myself
Naive, hopeful, loyal, passionate
In time the girl I was found her voice again
To damnation with their expectations
A mid-life crisis they say
Foolish, anxious, emotional, angry
Not herself, just a phase to be endured
Oh how great was their surprise
Standing like an autumn maple
Strong, confident, colorful, true
Singing a familiar song not heard in decades
Finally rounding the bend
If a mid-life crisis it be, bring it on, I say
Dreamer, achiever, lover, friend
I am the butterfly emerged from sleep and ready to fly
Fly with me, see the beauty in life, or be left behind
I watch spring bud from my window.
I watch my life go by without a flicker of hope from my window.
I watch summer blossom from my window.
I watch and wonder why from my window.
I watch autumn turn to a spectrum of color from my window.
I watch as time starts to die from my window.
I watch autumn fade from red and orange
to winter white from my window.
I watch as I die from my window.
© 2010 Charles Dennis
http://www.charlesdennis.netne.net
I was scolded for littering an orange peel.
I and this couch and an iguana melt.
I am longing for things to be more than real.
She blushes like a child in an autumn fog.
She bleats to scare winter from the ridge of her nostrils.
She grows like a berrypatch in moonlight, after the thaw.
He is my friend’s iguana there.
He looks comfy on the couch.
He only wants to feel good.
Bound by preconceptions of what is and what cannot be,
we condemn and deny life's inherent duplicity,
that birds sing the songs of God is truly reality
and our thoughts and dreams take flight like leaves from an autumn tree.
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