Mote Poems - Poems about Mote

Soft motion on a moon swing, big wishes waltz slow dancing. The skyline starts romancing with a glow that’s trumpeting. Constellations glow and ping like a young prince whispering ‘Let us make music all night. The air is tight and pulsing.’ As shooting stars create trails, all that surrounds you just pales. Just one touch of fairy tales, such innocence your soul wails. Falling...

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Aromatic alleviation that you need; the secret to having anything succeed? A blanket fort and peppermint pillow mote; Sea of calm spiked with crimson passion; If you get high on imagination? That’s the turnkey to get inside; I dare you to try and break the fire wall if there’s nothing of childhood you recall; Forever locked outside your...

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She appears nursing a child. Her body leaks into my mind on a busy street. Desire nurses the imagined into secrecy. A dark bed hides dark hungers. One small image attached to her attractive form speaks. It leans over her arm... “If you keep breathing life into a lust,” it says, “desire grows a plasmid body.” I create again its mother, her enticing smile. That sexual magnetism I took home...

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It’s sad to see a foreclosed soul Stacked in white sheets rising Or elephants that die a “noble death” To hear the passing sirens That dare disturb our sleep Give us pause to wonder Whose last breath. The plot we’re given Slow or fast unravels Lunatics in fringe worn clothes Dance on as mortals weep Laughing Gods amidst Their armchair...

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A good mote, something to imagine upon with sin in mind. Near strangers in the same office, clothed only by levels and walls. From two floors up she let her dark hair down. Hour after hour he running fingers through strands, twisting ropes of sensuality. A married mote, a thought made flesh that grew too large for eyes. A bad mote, a succubus in the den of...

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She appears again nursing a child. Her body once leaked into my mind as we passed on a street. desires nurse children imagined into secret. One small image can speak like an adult. It leans over her arm. “If you keep breathing life into a lust,” it says, “it grows, a plasmid body.” I remember her mother: A brief conversation that I took home to undress. The child moves...

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Quasi Mote - Oh Ephemeral Transit Across Proto Zones! Strictly speculation from this mind, who contemplates stripped down version bajillion eons ago cosmic bit sized dots pinwheeled thru spatial void repulsed and/or attracted colluding (putin on the Ritz) infinitesimal show stopper devoid of prior rehearsal since previous cosmic contraction absent remembrance tabula rasa, viz consciousness if rebooted, reincarnated, repurposed, et cetera, asper knowing nothing perchance if previous rendition courtesy big bang phenomena commissioned...

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Cry me a River By Charles Gerald Patrick Chard 2nd Chevra Gavri Hanita Hazaka Abir Selek 2nd I feel like crying in this mote, Will it ever stop raining its wet cloak? Enough is enough let the sun shine through, Why must the rain make me feel so blue? The drudgery of what I must endure, It’s constant drudgery of...

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A mote of dust travels through the air blown this way and that across the lands. Finally after many miles it is entrapped in a rocky crevasse where it joins others. In time the wind blows in many more motes and something wondrous starts happening. These motes give birth to little plants that struggle at first then bind the land. Encouraging new birth...

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Knowing that this must be done I head out in the dark of night Knowing none will have their fun Nor will they have any delight. I call upon Spirits of the Earth. Air, Fire, Water, Earth, Spirit, I beg of them to consider my worth I hope that my plea they hear it. Lightning sizzles the air As if my plea was heard Oh...

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I sent these inner tears out, to the Heavens above, and the Earth below. Let my sorrows flee with the wind and bring me happiness once again. I wish for a Love, that no longer exists, too afraid to open old wounds yet again. So I ask, quietly plea, that the Powers that Be, set it free. And only return, if it is meant to be. So mote...

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