Not that the ambulance men look like white vultures, but
I can see them stooping over the roadkill that
they peck at with needles and monitor leads,
not that it'll do any good because
I can see its eyes bleed every time
they pump what's left of its ribcage,
not from hope but procedure.
I wave through the black van;
they lift it on, shrug,
"Not much left there,
I'm afraid."
They cried
not.
She stands rooted; a wild tower
grazing the translucent shroud
at her hip.Her color is purple, passionate
for the flower that roots itself
in the rock.Her heart is that calm before
the storm - steady, brash.Her taste is of suckles born of Summer,
her smell an erotic incense
to the wind.Her home is a split amid
wayward wisps during
the golden tide -
and she knows
She outshines the stars,
even to eyes of fire.
A
sunset
or two could
bring coming days
slowly around, season
by season, and will pause
on Autumn, watching a
myriad of leaves drift
softly so, coloring
the grass
below
our
feet
summer children, we were' by jonzoiplu, literature
Literature
summer children, we were'
ii. we carved animals
from ivory castles
floating in the sun. we were
the doting spring mayflies
twisting upon meadows,
wreathing lilies between
toes, breathing --iii.between the sheets
of golden chaff,
she whispered, “let’s dance in the rain
on the cobblestone streets
before the singing rosebud
mutes her swollen gown.’
:
past the shivering
moon we snuck
with shadows tucked
into dreams. we were
waltzing toy soldiers,
our peace-broken holsters
licking the finger-drawn...
A Contract of Initials by neoHephaestus, literature
Literature
A Contract of Initials
A Contract of Initials weaved we,
as children,
happily lost—in forests of insouciance
eclipsing neither’s light, casting no shadow;
(the shells of our previous lives,
gladly trampled underfoot)
as she and I marked our intentions
(of do not disturb desire)
upon trunks of every palm.the laughter was to be
infinite,
was it not?—between
the delicate clutches of tense (the afterwards
rapture); our
gasping hearts
granting summer no leave,
as we let slip the bonds
of our decadent desperations.but as always, dreams give way to realities;
grandeur retreats,
swiftly—
measured returns to our other selve...
Dandelions our summer fantasy on the isles;
(with heavy heat from an
Omnipresent sun)that left snatches of laughter ringing
in our ears, and emboldened our hearts—
now resides in tactile memory;—held fast by gentle determination
to never forget that sweet lesson
learned ‘neath stars and sun,
amid dandelions that tickled my thighs;—to stop needing an excuse to run,
and take pleasure of wind in my hair
Chicago—Sleeping In a tremulous yawn to rouse her trees,
the city awakens;hush of night wanly surrenders
to serenades ... a lark’s swelling chatter;
—weather predictinglegions of Early Risers
greet the morning sober with dreams of sleep;
—schedules keeping, (those poor souls)school-children, ambling in their sweet daze,
hopeful of Nature’s favor ask;
does it snow? does it rain?the sounds of progress invade
my urban hamlet and hollow,
hasten a pulse, low and increasingfrom the window
I consider your slumber, your bliss;
passing contented, the weightless moments
in this idle break of daysilent,
I draw the silken veil
against morning’s wideni...
Hehe, I'm sure that in the long run it's for the best. I suppose with the advent of that happening that I will have a plethora of poetry to add to my gallery...