Writing our names with sparklers in the August twilight ...
Drinking homemade milkshakes , tying June bugs with sewing thread ,
Collecting fireflies in the humid night , the tail of the Milky way
in the diamond studded skies ...

My mouth is wrapped in razor wire. The less said the better. Whole worlds are caught between my teeth. My eyes are somewhere between moons, and my nostrils breathe the mist of demons. My earlobes have the jewelry of vast continents. And my throat is strangled with amethyst tears. My hair wraps your shoulders. My pearls touch your belly. And my hands? They flutter like leaves in the wind to catch galaxies. I long to say the three words. But deserts live on my tongue.

Yet it takes only a moment to say goodbye.


SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/7/2016

I've worked with shovel and
trowel half of my life but right
now if I could recall the hypo-
tenuse of a right triangle I'd
try another angle for putting
those tools to use digging a rect-
angular hole so neat and six feet
deep then sew my mouth shut
just so I can't tell the devil where
to go when it's cold and I'm sleeping
with white slugs behind my ears like
big Beltones so I can hear the mock-
ingbird sing those words on my stone.

my sounds will penetrate your
skin, soak deep within
and begin a tuning.

my sounds will dig and bury
causing an infection
one that needs no healing
the sound of One.

the sound of love, of creation.
the sounds pound along
the waves, gliding along
the stage of life.
this play,
this sound game.
someone's mental ways.

my sound resonates with
you.
you hear me. you know its true.
we are vibrations
pulling together for the You.
for We, just to be anew.
this love game, creating
for beauty.

the sound a bird can make,
like the perfectly tuned
instrument,
the horn that sound makes.
the steps an ant takes, those whisper
steps.
shuffling quickly, walking the Earth.

sounds make everything, your voice,
the creator.
speak what you want and invite it in.
call in the love.
it awaits our reunion.

Hypnotic days
hypnotic nights
our bodies have burnt
all clothes
and several lives

we are
as hungry as the world
as old
as young

our bodies
two motionless stones
in a mountain river

Ioana Ieronim, from *The Lens of a Flame

A clove of garlic keeps vampires at bay
keeps a cold away
wish the lady would stay, but
she goes too.

I'd ban 'flu
man 'flu
nothing new there.

A pillow
to lay low
and under
the duvet, eyes closed
a rainbow of light.

I read Tolstoy
oh boy.....

,,,,spotting a Beano at the end
of the rainbow
I read that as well.

Garlic stinks don't ya think
I don't think at all
as I fall
asleep.

´

You  came to me
as a vision
as a mirage
as soft shadows
landing low

Warmly loving
the hot bouncy
paws
and their
delicate dance
across Dali's

Tangible
soundless motions
obssesive mushy
desserted sands
of time's

Kaleidoscopic
fractal falling

Swirling
back into
the theatre of dreams

Tuning a
migrating
midnight to
those silent, evanescent
melodies
yearning
craving
to be played
once more
and adored on longplays

Spiraling and spinning
in my memory
like a skilled
reindeer wafting
wet air through fresh
nostrils, a defiant elegance
fluttering around as colourful
wings move the magnificent
leap of a sinew lyinx
to tremble
among spring greenery

Got to develop gentle moves.
Silent. Soundless. Elegant.

thunderstorms the soil fertilized by those before
the long score dread of autumn
the killing cold of three months of winter
the bones calcium

the work of maggots
the rotting excrements
the boiling mad wolf growl
the poor rabbit's soul gone

the world spinning around an axis
of the strongest surviving hot gasses
or the moon influencing the rising
fall of tides

mountains of ashes oceans of sediment
the seeds left last year
and those long forgotten
that keep

in their knowledge their inevitability
the genetics the flowering new rose
brightening in the sun
this spring

I have to close my eyes
fold my hands into prayer
what good what shining foil
upon the darkness boiled
gave light to many dark nights
what orb magnificent
comes forth
in ruby red
then shines
with an incredulity.

He pulls away, precariously balanced
above the raucous creek slicing through
the campground’s city-like togetherness

she protectively hovers, hands cupped
inches from his slender back, prepared to grab
honoring his need for independence

the crooked lodge pole leans
toward what little sun is bestowed
upon it by its larger brethren

a mother, a child
a tree, a stream
soft light.

love me
elemental as
wind, water, fire
wild in billowing fields
drenched watery wet in sweat
of all other things make me forget
igniting dreams of lightening steam
all the ordinary world evaporating

I swam the night
to reach the shore
and today with baited lines
I fish for half remembered dreams.