Light evanesced upon his leaving
with the final choke of dusk--
the fragrance of orchids wisping softly
and I shiver...vapid, empty
clouds swallowing the kiln of lamppost-
and into the restless clang
from winds booming,
the dirge of hummingbirds stutters
which makes noises louder
than my groans-- the ceiling of sky
breaking like splinters of glass-
and among incandescent stars,
our distant, intermittent rendezvous
withers as my peppered tears grate
the bitter tincture of night's burial
from all his trespasses,
a body language
coiled in stale cocoon...his words
barbed as jailed verses ...
unuttered ,unsaid.
Cherish & Love
Swift breezes wisping by
the exotic and wildflowers are fading, the leaves changing hue
share your kind warmth with another soul while the time is opportune
God's graced love for sharing
another of the reasons he created people loving just like you and I too.
Light vanishes upon his leaving
with the final grip of dusk--
the perfume of asters wisping softly
and I am by myself again...
alone into the restless clang
from winds booming ;
a melody which makes noises
louder than my roars--
and within luster of stars,
I long for lusty music
those whispers of craving hummed
where smoke flares of red summer days--
my man slowly slithering
lifting from brewed flames.
his sun over a raging river
propelling layers of dusky groans
and peaking drips of sweet sweat :
alienated, the cloud spills a thousand
secrets of co- owned trespasses.
How morning spills tantric samba notes --
aromatic robusta beans stinging
my damp eyelids ...my fingers
love- drunk on desire this mouth
sipping coffee dark, stark black
that not a tincture eases this heart.
We are all schizophrenic-
But with minds that aren’t defined.
Wisping reality to a picture of
A reflection of our minds.
We all have mental illness
Or we all are men
Whose constant visions and desires
Create the what, where, when.
We all have gone half crazy,
Chasing all the naught.
Forgetting all we dreamed to become,
To carve a heart we sought.
We all are schizophrenic-
Making fact what we want it to be,
Combining all our lies and light
To form our own reality…
Not the wisping grasp against the parchment
That licking click of writer as he tpyes
The cold inanimates touch of skin on screen
Memories only shorter I eye aye the Scottish yes
Scrapes and scrawls on cave dwelt walls
Truncated truck trimmed in intricate trestles
Who was the first message in a bottle for
Bobbles of sheerest ink like Scottish lochs
as.morning mists turn solid for a movement
I enjoy being wrong
Keeping pictures of the dead to the soon to be
Words the unleashed an atom
Words that end wars
illlusions putting fuses to the con
My muse has left
So I better be …….gon
Not the wisping grasp against the parchment
That licking click of writer as he tpyes
The cold inanimates touch of skin on screen
Memories only shorter I eye aye the Scottish yes
Scrapes and scrawls on cave dwelt walls
Truncated truck trimmed in intricate trestles
Who was the first message in a bottle for
Bobbles of sheerest ink like Scottish lochs
as.morning mists turn solid for a movement
I enjoy being wrong
Keeping pictures of the dead to the soon to be
Words the unleashed an atom
Words that end wars
illlusions putting fuses to the con
My muse has left
So I better be …….gon
Wayward son
lost in the maze
of fleeting days
following a path
of wisping wind
and whipping flame,
a labyrinth
of choices lost
in shadows,
seeking destiny
on shifting sands.
Dearly beloved moonlight snow, falling on fir trees
Dimly illuminated throughout the night, a beautiful sight to see
Arctic winds cause crystal to dance throughout the winter air
Hair blowing to and froe, as all I can do is stare
Oh my lovely moonlight snow, so peacefully wisping down
Wherever you go, my lunar heart, is surely to be found
is off the ground
my thoughts would eat yours
Standing in silhouette
holding
a candle held a softness
to her curves
and shade
lanquished in her
deepest cuts
go back to line 2
and just divert your eyes
i can disguise as a wisping why
creating waterfalls with rolling
----------------------------------- -------@
----------------------------------- ----------'@
----------------------------------- -----------@
____________________________@
----------------------------------- -------------@
----------------------------------- --------------------This you
Now did he just make me sneeze
What for await a weight a
wait
the grey is unsure of sides
meant to be mean
but met a t coming here
i could tri
p u
p words
sitting comfotably without an r and a sigh
In the stillness is where she found her peace
Sinking into the sheets
The silk covered pillow supporting
Her every woe
The unrehearsed melody of rushing water
As her eyelids get heavy
Catching the flicker of a flame
Taking her away
Into the wild she goes
Where crickets are the music of the earth
The faint breeze of mother nature
Wisping, awakening all senses
Releasing the complexity of reality
When the dew rests upon all that is hushed
The master of the tides dancing off her now cherished scars
Through the swaying of fully clothed outstretched hands
The carefully hung sparks align
It is her
Whole
Unleashing all that had been
Once locked away
I think I've always seen the world in color
Bright radiants wisping within
There was no realization discover
It's something that always been
Others around me paint in black and white
Expectations are set and matched
But they seem so persistently in fright
That what they know is coming unlatched
There may have been a point
Where denial was in my pulsation
A young girl afraid to disappoint
In the center of invalidation
Trying to label the unknown
My mind is like a prison
But to overcome is to grow
And I grew in between the marmalade and crimson
Maybe not the warm shaded dinges
Maybe just in the void with plum?
I'll stick to the basic umbrella of tinges
Saturated by the pink, purple and blue hum
Why do I need to use permanent paint for myself to avow?
My sight is ever-developing and wayward
No, I will stay in a comfort pigment for now
Only purple can reside with my heart’s favored
Vicious circle - I see in the bruised scene
Purple - somewhere in the in between
of paper unwrapping
that cloud wisp of wisping cloud
that turns to eagle talon
that acrobat plastic bag
flirting with the breeze
scampering ant trying to avoid the falling droplet
curled leaves that adorn
the face of tree forlorn
cursing clouds
as the splinter's emerge
written on back yard step
Colors living in my head,
paint pictures bold.
My soul receives the mystical light;
art in an etheric paint tube.
My soul, it mixes blues and greens;
a palette only God and I can see.
Wisping loaded brushes here and there;
alive they come, painted dreams.
These are the songs of my soul;
painted in my own life view.
An old master I am not;
my cosmic coloring book doesn’t care.
Soul-songs are vibrant and rarely on key.
Some art collectors,
prefer little imperfections,
like me.
4-2-2021
ALL YOURS (Apr 4) Poetry Contest
Brian Strand
Let Me Share the Winds Flight Today
Let me share the winds flight today
Moving to and fro knowing no boundaries
Lifting the fall leaves in a beautiful twirling song
Scattering seeds here and there to rest all winter long
Let me share the winds flight today
Moving without being visible yet being seen
Brushing faces gently like butterfly kisses
Flowing past the stars filled with a thousand wishes
Let me share the winds flight today
Soaring into places nothing else can enter
Giving flight to the wings of eagles and hawks descent
Driving the snow in pillars of white glistening winter events.
Let me share the winds flight today
Reaching speeds powerful enough to move the mountains
Scattering raindrops to fall gently on flowering rose petals
Wisping chimes in a beautiful chorus produced by useless metals
Let me share the winds flight today
Unknown and unafraid able to reach even the lowest places
Touching every person along the way with love
Spreading the Good News of God like the purity of a white dove.
Sadi
I was just standing there
beside the Tumtum tree
and stood awhile in thought.
Feeling like a dancer -
wisping, waltzing, wandering.
Arms akimbo, then widespread
turning to the tune of
my own voice's mellifluous music,
floating on life's lonely stage.
Thinking the thoughts of the inner me,
the universe and all it can be.
Then to dance with the wee deaths,
the trying troubles to rearrange
only to have sudden joy
in impermanence and change.
Once finding illusive certainty
revelling in it, savoring of it.
The trite things one thinks of
while just standing there,
doing nothing at all, soulful sighs.
Fluttered flicks of awakening.
Colored Pencil illustration by G. Gaul
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