Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Apr 2016
Makenzie Scott
I saw our moon die last night
my love
you were away.

I cried alone
before digging a grave.

At dawn, I pretended
that you missed me
and called  your name.

I must have cried so loud
a little bird from unknown skies
tried to console me
perched on the window sill
next to our bed.

Your space still empty
the moon still dead
and the bird chirped
the saddest song
my ears have heard at dawn.
 Apr 2016
Nite
With a gentle flap of his wings
He settles on a branch
Unseen by mortal eyes
The immortal retrieves an arrow from his quiver

He looks down his bow
Looking for someone, anyone
That might need a shot to the heart
To give them courage to confess the feelings this cherubic angel is known for

As he scans the horizon
He spies them sitting side by side
Oblivious to their surroundings
They only have eyes for each other

The Roman God of Love
Puts his arrow to his bow
He draws his arm back and prepares to shoot
He strains his ears to listen for a perfect moment to strike

And with a widening of the eyes
And a sharp intake of breath
He lowers his weapon
And with a smile and a voice not meant for earthly ears, he says
"I am the Son of Venus. I am the god of love and I am not needed here. True love has triumphed once again."

With a mighty beat of his wings
He shoots into the sky
Leaving the lovers whose hearts the husband of Psyche heard, beating in time with each other
Hearts filled with the flames of love that needed no help from Cupid
To all the lovers out there who have found the person that their heart beats for and having their love reciprocated by that person.

Also to everyone who has yet to find their one. Don't despair.

I love you
 Apr 2016
Denel Kessler
He is
walking the white line
his arm a repetitious arc
sounding a single tone
timed to the pace
of hiking-boot feet
treading the pavement.

Saffron robes have grayed
over long meditative miles
witnessed by curious commuters
riding the pendulum away
from his purposeful daily counterpoint
the freedom held
in rhythmic ritual

how the mind stills and gathers
in the swinging blur of hand and stick.

I roll the window down
seeking precious solace
as I hurtle past
knowing
he walks for me too
I want to stop the car
fall in behind

feel the timeless drum
the stillness of salvation.
This monk where I live does a walking mediation while striking a traditional drum, usually along a busy highway.  He's done this daily, for many, many years.  Every time I pass him, I feel this way...
 Apr 2016
Pixievic
Let me dance for you
For I am a dancer
Let me sing to you
For I am a song
Let me arouse you
For I am a lover
Let me sleep with you
For I am a dream
Let me soothe you
For I am a healer
Let me comfort you
For I am a smile
Let me protect you
For I am a shelter
Let me show you
I could be yours

Let me
Love you
Forever

(C) Pixievic
One from the archives!
 Apr 2016
Torin
Deep water
Let me swim
Night sky
Let me fly
Flower
Let me bloom
Into you

I love the lake
The haunting song of the loon
I love the moon
If its new or a fool
I love the rose
And the way the thorns cut me
I love

Deep water
Let me drink
Night sky
Be my star
Flower
Let me grow
Into you

I love the ocean
The waves on the shore
The riptides
The sharks
The sunken ships
The lost sailors
I love the ocean
I love

Deep water
Let me drown
Into you
 Apr 2016
brooke
I want to tell him that I
love everything from a distance
but can cross oceans in seconds




that the people before him sopped
through my fingers like wet sand,
were ever flat and disarranged, empty
men with waterless words and exigent
appetites for my body--(that this is where
i learned the only way to please a man was
to give him myself)

I'm still undoing the knots, unraveling the little girls
coiled in lies, and taking mallets to the plaster molds
I built up around myself, mannequins for different men
and if there is anything I am confused
about it is him, his I-could-nevers, his frightening
absolutes, the ways in which he vows he can never change

you think you want me but at the back of your mind you want
something else


I don't want you--not like that. Not  as if
your worth was based on how quick you jump into the fray for my sake.  How many times you make me smile or say your name--however
you are soaked in rosemary and oil, folded up out of my notebook
into a thousand paper cranes--no, not even like that.

How do I tell you that I see your soul? Your threadbare spirits peeking out and the willowy fibers unraveled in your wake, that you are more than your mothers many marriages, more than the women you did not
want to have-- and deserving of a lasting love that transcends your mistakes and leaves your mirrors remarkably clean, did you know you can be clean?

How do I tell you that the broken do not fix the broken, how I cannot share the blueprint for healing but the burden if he asks--are we in the same book? The same chapter? I once heard that two people must grow in a similar direction at the same pace--are we on the same boat? The same road?  On the torrent seas, will you hold your own?

I realize I cannot come at you with such brazen artillery, that the paths I choose have no gates and are often unmarked, not even the grass gives way, nor the trees and twigs their secrets--and the journey is wholly faith, an expedition I have not fully taken but is presently on its way. When I tell you what falls first and where my priorities settle, I speak down the pike of the ways I hope to be and the woman that waits in whole.




So when he tells me I am confusing for the hundredth time and I sink somewhere off the Atlantic with the weight of my own thoughts, I am quiet.  His words are ever resounding but do not fill me up--just the glimmering hope that we will somehow

meet
in the



Middle
I've been trying to write this for a month.


I had so many titles for this:

Therefore, my beloved
Grace to the humble
The Work it Takes

(c) Brooke Otto 2016
 Apr 2016
K Balachandran
All of it started with the  smile of a flower,
which was an  answer to my wink to her,
then a wind brought her scented thought, to me
to mull over, smile again was the answer, I gave.

Thus began a chain, animals, birds and words,
soon became the links creating lilting tunes,
stars at night chimed in, their magical words
crafted by many hues of pulsating light, delighting us.

Even pain had a heart rending rhyme, a dying star
in the candor of that moment told us truths concealed,
a telescope distant would take her moment of  glory
for records,she fell, showering in to cosmic chasm, magnificently.
I whispered this to her ear, she was willing to join the chorus,

"Aren't we like the elements of nature, braided together,
just reach the core, through many ways possible,
make yourself  this clear for ever; we together make one,
it'd naturally dawn,  if you've nothing to jettison,
those unwanted baggage  stuffed, does nothing for one,
when one gathers this truth  much delight dawns,
love travels at the speed of light, you are just a beam."
Wink at a flower, get a smile in return,get astonished,
let loose love balloons, make the world a colorful place
Bala
 Apr 2016
Joel M Frye
Tops out at six foot six,
long and thin,
perfect frame.
His ladies' fingers
create exceptional lift.
Has a mallow disposition.
His real name
is Abel Moschus,
but you can call him Red.
Best in a team situation;
he's the glue that holds
everyone together,
thick as thieves.
In individual competition,
though,
he wilts under high heat,
and his guts
turn to jelly.
My alter ego on the lanes.  ;)

NaPoWriMo day 5 - poem inspired by an heirloom fruit/veg.
 Apr 2016
Denel Kessler
I choose
not to step out
in front of the
oncoming truck
like some flighty
whitetail deer
beside a lonely highway
flat-lining through the Badlands

I hold the perimeter
respect the irrevocable
delineations of love
honor the ground
that roots
evergreen
place my trust
in lapis blue
 Apr 2016
Elizabeth Squires
the sunflowers gleamed
in the noon day sun
their flourish of colour
couldn't be out done

the sparrows flitted
above their ravishing visages
they were enchanted
by their dazzling mirages
Next page