not yet there

.
we lie like dreamers
between yesterday’s sun
and the rippled hopes
of tomorrow,

squished tightly
into sandy silence,
bound to the base and

covered with seaweed,
we patiently wait

for the open sky to
breathe the breath
of its children and

bent low,
knees covered with mud,
we scribble
bits & pieces of our life
into wobbly ground,

the wind blows us
even and
your stubble on my skin

feels wild like the waters
we rise

Today’s one shoot sunday prompt was shot by UK photographer Fee Easton

no winners left

they say War Will Die
left bleeding
on the side of the street;

dust on blind men’s blades,
still warm and
lips in sneers

They want to sing rosy cheeked
kids to sleep before
darkness reaches them

and the scent of steel still
on their tongues as they
lick their way up her
thighs to drink to life, to

shut out the swords, the spears,
the coughed blood and
the – he didn’t make it…

They greedily gulp
humid warmth, suck
parted lips, tasting freedom and

See the trenches in her softness
There are no
winners left

..woo hoo it’s One Shot Wednesday again and the wonderful Adam Dustus will be your host tonight…write a poem and join us or just jump over to read what some fine poets brought to the table..sign up opens at 5 pm EST

don’t move so fast

i wonder if you can,
if you stand in the rain,
if you stop to move,
just allow

drippy drops
licking your ear
’til you hear
water’s whispering

want, can you tell
the shape
of what flows
cool & damp
on your skin, feel ‘em
sing of spring, notice
what key they’re in, taste

thursday rain pear-sweet
on summer-soft tongues

knowing you know,
by the sparks in your eyes,
water-wet trees breathing sighs,
bent low, pressing their lips
into squishy earth,
quietly rooted

with stillness-wrapped wings watching
wantonly seeds give birth

…just a quiet spring moment…

intentional fallacy

instead of
playing soccer versus palm trees,
romping like baby turtles over white-washed sand,
get wet  in “love me ocean” arms

instead of
drinking your azure blue treasures
and drowning splish-splash in your boyish smile

life hit me
like an avalanche
one-fifty miles per hour
oxygenated suffocation
before we crash

snow-swept

haven’t linked up with Galen’s friday flash 55 for a while – but today i managed to say it in 55 words… 

>thirsty for life

>bowing low

next to B3, the road

which runs 

from south to north, north to south

without ever breathing 

or sighing or loving those who travel it. 

he, grey hair, back bent in sorrow,

flowers in hand, small cross

morning, mourning

rips my heart raw, bloody

as we pass, blowing

fourteen meters swaying wind into his face, 

then leaving him alone again,

touching concrete grief for seconds, wish

i knew the story

wish i could – hold him close,

laying down

blossoms of sadness, of hope

for the people i’ve lost on my way

to speed, to carelessness & lovelessness,

toss the driver from his seat, take

the steering wheel & turn on the wipers, erase the tears,

tears welling up like mean dwarves

and i long

for petals raining down,

for a cross to bow before and

an arm, wrapped ’round my heart,

telling it there’s a new road,

another north to south, an

east to west and a hope

to find what gets lost

so easy at the side

of madness-covered routes

and i’m breathing, breathing tears and their taste, 

salt on my lips

makes me thirsty for life

linking up with One Shot Wednesday - and i’m still on the road, still traveling – but will try to comment back by the end of the week…

>Sakura

>

you feed me
on raw fish
when our world’s
upside down,
chaos around,
people drown, small
as bugs in the
sink
while forces of
nature
grow tall and
blossoming cherries bleed,
spilling red, white -
hopes like vomit on
shaking ropes,
will they hold?
sing, sing sakura ‘cos
spring
is just ‘round
the corner
miwatasu kagiri – as far as i can see
destruction
kasumi ka kuma ka – like fog, like clouds
descending, tears
blind my eyes,
close to the coast
the giants crack loose
and still
nioi zo izuru – the scent, the colors
of strength in the air
raining rosy,
holding my fear
izaya izaya – let’s go,
let – go,
bow low and pray
for the melting to stop and
you feed me on
sushi
‘til I’m silent, ‘til
I know, hana zakari – blossoming time
is close

Sakura – the japanese cherry blossom is one of the most important symbols in japanese culture. It’s an omen of good fortune, new beginnings, beauty and also a metaphor for the fleeting nature of life.

yep – and it’s OneShotWednesday again - come, write a poem and join us or just enjoy to meet a group of amazingly talented people over there. Sign up opens at 5 pm EST

>fragility

>tonight
is about pages of unread books,
sparks left on busy streets

when i break
into fragments of what i am,
what i fear, want,
hide & hope

and you love me until morning,
until rays of light
split our pride into tiny stains,

until you no longer
call me a foe
and what stands between us
stays back on the floor,
scattered clothes.

breathing blue, drunken dreams,
soaked in kisses like wine
we drink greedily,
with love-rough lips,
from broken glasses.

.

>blackbird

>

he chirps into my day’s gray,
black charcoaled wings
against the fade-out
of an azure sky, dripping
ebony into my lunch break.

dim eyes sink softly
into darkest gowns, rest blanc beneath
smooth feather pools, dive deep until
i quiver – synchronize our hearts
and soothing feathers
wrapping me, stirred hungry

for blue mountain tops, i disappear
without a trace in sable patches “call it freedom”,
melting – melting with the sky.

stopped talking long ago,
dying of hunger 
from the food on my plate

what was it about flying?  
on pale days,
a pulsing body next to mine,
without fearing the storm’s sway,
singin’ voiceless songs, cascade into
the sun’s bright heart, ride stormy breezes
into emptiness and color-drunk, we mock
the paleness of a fading now, he chirps

into the gray of my day,
black charcoaled wings against the 
wash-out of an azure soul and

when he flew away, i hid
beneath his wings;

and left in the canteen – behind

some lonely crumbs
on a half empty plate

(if you wanna hear me read it, click on the above player)

i have the pleasure to be the host of this weeks fantastic One Stop Poetry – party – put on you swim suit and join us for a deep dive into poetry…sign up opens today at 5 pm EST

>13:27

>

standin’ in the kitchen,
coffee in hand and with the
dishwasher humming comes the sea,
a gentle breeze;
pizza rests, crumbling my view
and salt on my lips, i dive
the moment with
black coffee bitter on my tongue.

not that far from the ocean as
dreams of wet sand on my toes lull me
in and outside is winter waves,
dragging my footprints
to the deep, the base, the ground, the

well and the black where it all started;
your marks, etched on my skin like
sunburn. i finish coffee and smell
the salt, it tastes as –
i lick my lips and it’s 13:27, high time
- to leave

The following poem is offered in response to the One Stop Poetry Sunday Picture Prompt Challenge. This wonderful prompt was shot by photographer Iquanyin Moon, featured today on One Shoot Photography Sunday. Come check out some great shots & the interview by Chris Galford! 

>become, become..

>a stream like colored drops of rain
springs from its well in tender heaps
become, become, not merely claim

a painter – and i paint in vain
my rainbow sparkles as it weeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

how can i stand this sizzling pain
no shapeless slow-go, jerky leaps
become, become, not merely claim

my dream is spilled out to maintain
the low, the flow – and on it creeps
a stream like colored drops of rain

life seemed so easy to regain 
live for the day and play for keeps
become, become, not merely claim

and in the end, what will remain
when drop by drop your pencil seeps?
a stream like colored drops of rain
become, become, not merely claim

We have a second Villanelle round running over at One Stop Poetry‘s new Poetry form class.

Join us for a closer look at this musical poetry form, evolving from italian country songs and with a structure, dating back to the 16th century.