Jupiter in the 21st Century
Traveling without wheels
on a morning with Mozart.
En route to meet St. Jane of Grape street,
Symphony #41 in C major
begins just beyond Rita's house.
A walking meditation
performed on aching feet.
When traveling without wheels
ignored rhythms become ghostly memory
faceted by sensory recall.
Time seemingly stands still,
grounded by a gentle spring snow fall,
resurrecting the tulips.
They rise to the occasion enthusiastically
in the neglected gardens of foreclosed homes
where the columbines have returned to the wild
and the neighbor's dog has left his mark.
I miss my car.
Not far away,
in the fast lane,
the new world order has arrived
heralded by many twittering voices
echoing talking head sound bytes.
Suspiciously green busses lurch to a stop
inhaling and exhaling passengers,
then lurch forward farting eco-friendly fumes.
Cars school along asphalt paths
transporting passengers with no sense of purpose
Story Time“Tell me a beautiful story.”Story Time1 year ago in Traditional Fixed Forms More Like This
© L. L. Kelly 2013
Childhood Thoughts...AlwaysChildhood Thoughts...1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
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©L. L. Kelly 2014
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© Rocio Belinda Mendez 2013
Where's Your Self-Esteem?"I'm a mess."Where's Your Self-Esteem?1 year ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
"A beautiful mess."
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Heart's ApocalypseYour lips on my lips-Heart's Apocalypse2 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
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2 Years"Here. She's smiling in this one."2 Years7 months ago in Flash Fiction & Vignettes More Like This
AsphodelA beckoning:Asphodel1 year ago in Free Verse More Like This
watercolour sky shrinking,
too late, teeth fall; pearls
from a broken string.
Blink and the moon ignites—
but the sheets are still
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Issue No. 3|Archives
Poet of Lovers & Rebels, Poet of Dreamersby MARX77
As is the case with all artists, poets too are greatly influenced by the world around them and how they perceive it.
The splendor of the heavens above, the dynamics of the earth beneath their feet. The uncertainty of life, the inevitability of death. But more importantly, a poet's inspiration comes from what they carry within themselves; their memories, relationships, their dreams, joy and grief. Verses borne of turmoil and tragedy decades ago continue to resonate to this day and are as relevant now as they were back then. Truly poetry is an art form for the ages!
Among the few greats still spearheading the world of literature today, long after they themselves have pass
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on evacuated wastelands
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"Neither do you."
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the genius laughed.
thursday [wood].木曜日thursday [wood].4 months ago in Haiku & Eastern More Like This
light drapes itself onto
the smell of wood-fire
disturbing pantomime –
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across a mess of sheets;
a tilted query masked in breath...
...perhaps someone just spoke.
Cold fingers against moist skin,
blinking at those floating protein strands,
back and forth into breathless silence...
as they say..."better out than in."
Rolling that curl around your tongue,
while my mouth goes numb with cotton;
because that ceiling is falling...
...with a twilight that just won't come.
And the onyx is as sweet,
as the darkness beneath
laughter dances....finality drenches the tips
of weary wandering feet.