lifting
softly
from the
pond’s still
mirror—thin
threads of dawn
unspooling into
quiet air, rising
in a pale column
of breath that learns
how to become light
as the forest listens
to morning begin again
Misting
The dancing mist
at morning dawns,
It flickers, rises,
settling down-
and joins the grass
of green below,
"til wind once more
against it blows-
then up and up,
it floats anew-
to seek the sun
the clouds (though few)
disperse before
the warming breeze,
while I, in wisdom,
do perceive...
missing intangibles
kissing everything
thats
tangled
frozen
robin
feet
claw me
hear me
as we
cry
each teardrop
canyon soaked
caves sponge soaked
with sorrow grown wings
bound
am
i
each drip
of
sorrow has me
consumed
still we breathe
still we breathe
still we breathe sorrows last breath
exhale me she cries from depths
screams echoe my throat walls
sound circles into my lungs
this pain is beyond mines
grinding into me deeper
deepening me scream
each echoe echoes
tormenting me
traveling
voices
hearing me
this poetry
hissing
man
handles
missing intangibles
?
misting submissions
raining cats an dogs
casualties
in
the
distance
clouds sifting
on through the fog
misting submissions
raining cats to beat dogs
casualties
in
the
distance
memories drowning
in
fog
?
Thought about a memory just a moment gone.'
couldn't recall it all; though.. Effects have lasted long..
a flash it was..' it is..? not sure.. I'd like to hold it again.!
Its so important to me now, though each day I'm facing strain
The man whose face reminded me, had a familiar look I vow..!
something about his eyes it was.. Oh' & there seems more somehow..
he brought to me of a host of names; of thoughts to close to divide
recollections gathered round his form, but now I seek ernestly; they hide.'
Maybe upon a restful day my chance again will come?
Yet I must now hurry, my silvered friend to leave
I hope we can connect again despite the daily grief
Perhaps it'll be in memory's.? or mirror image glimpsed gleams..!
Breathless......
She starves me for words
making
it
hard
to describe
such picturesc beauty
with a face
that stops my pen.
But I stumble on
grasping at words
being spawned
by her presence,
in my mind
I see her
standing by
a secluded pond
with cliffs
on the far side,
six slender waterfalls
raining down
spraying off
protruding rocks
causing a mist
to dampen
her lushes
curly redish golden hair,
and here I sit
within the edge of the woods
staggered
by the appearance
of a wood nymph.
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