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 Aug 2017 Emily B
wordvango
seer
 Aug 2017 Emily B
wordvango
dreamer the fiction seer of visions
the illusions of perceptions
the daze of humans
the false water shimmers
in the distance as
we the believers
transcend this temporary
existence
do we softly go
along the hot sand  burning
our souls
or can we make haste
imagining our
ultimate destinations?
 Aug 2017 Emily B
SG Holter
No river bed rock ever
Kisses the same water
Twice.

Autumn opens her arms
To September, and I close
My window for the first

Time since May.
I have had better
Summers. Love left behind

In a deluge of tears and regret.
Doctors sharing bad news
With honest concern;

Waves upon sand castles,
Moments; memories, then
Nothing.

I rest beneath the
Cold stream, perhaps
Allowing new waters

To feel my face in time.
For now, the rain strokes
Nothing but the glass

Of a window shut
To the chill of a dying
Summer.
 Aug 2017 Emily B
wordvango
I have this place
no one knows about
between a field and a willow tree
along a pastures edge
a creek down around the corner
I go to when
things get oppressive
dark and hard
and I sit there
I don't know if I meditate
there in this place hidden
but I get peace
I see love I hug this earth
 Aug 2017 Emily B
r
There's a storm
rolling in
from the east
off of the sea,
salty rain on
my skin,
if you could only
taste me,
darling, take
and shake me
until you hear
the thunder
under the wind,
and we both see
the lightning
out on the horizon
lighting a fire
all through
the night hours,
until our tired eyes
ride out the tide,
and we wake
on the waves
of a new day.
 Aug 2017 Emily B
Wk kortas
In fact, they will, at certain times in certain locales, toil or spin,
For sometimes the exigencies of the gray and workaday world
Are immune to the notion that there exist rare entities
Which should be simply allowed to be beautiful,
No more and no less—still, how remarkable it is that,
Whether they be grown in fertile, well-tended soil
Or in a ***** dump chock-a-block with used condoms
And the unfortunate by-products of unhappy liaisons,
They bloom nonetheless; indeed, once they are cut
And arranged just so, the man who tends the vase
Would be wise to remain somewhat circumspect
As to their origin and pedigree.
As an aside...Soames Forsyte is the central figure of three novels and two "interludes" by John Galsworthy, which are collectively known as the Forsyte Saga.  In the interval between the early and later books in the series, Galsworthy became quite wealthy, which softened his outlook on the quite wealthy Soames.
 Aug 2017 Emily B
Jeff Stier
We howl
beat our pots and pans
cry for mercy
from the pure weirdness
of that lopsided star

Oh and we send a note of despair
to our mothers
seek tears that cannot form
hollow the aching moon
poor waif that she is

And finally
turn the darkened cheek
to this insult from the stars

Moon
moon
stilling the moment

Once I wrote stirring verse to you
Now I stand stunned
speechless
as you steal the light
stuffing it
into the rude sack
of another day's fears

Sweet thieving lover in the night
swiftly bring back
heaven's delight.
You may have heard that we had a total eclipse of the sun here in Oregon the other day.
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