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bouclejour Mar 2017
when I am barely there,
awake nearly and turn
back in toward sleep
all yellow-black,
and

and when my brain twitches
dogwise
in the yellow-black motes and
it’s Sunday morning
in the place
where my brain is choosing
                                                       sleep

in that place my brain it will
pivot
through the globe and scheme of all things;

wheel and vector the whereabouts
of where about you might be
in its

(little globe
                        and
     little scheme)

and just there below sleep it will

pivot


about your smell,
there where it seeps up--

it will pivot
                  about you,          still
for you are--                  still
the music

and the fulcrum. still

                                  of my sleep

-dc
CK Baker Feb 2017
There’s a silverback haze
on the shallow face
of the Rockwell Ridge
folded brow
puzzled chin
and dark hollow eyes
keeping watch
over the lilies
and crane flies
and will of the wisp

Rust brown ravens
and fisher kings
delight
in the reeds off north bend
(chased by the terraced streams!)
youth blades engrain
on the favoured
and historic
Banka Memorial

Mustard
and pumpkin skies
are clipped
by a call from
the resident loon
the sounds of Buddha Bar
piercing the silence
and shaping the afternoon chord

It’s a time to make way (stream side)
seems the anuran are courting
sunprincess Feb 2017
A big bad wolf chased me through the woods,
through the forest beyond my golden castle
I ran and ran and ran, he frightened me so
Now it's okay, cause I led him to my fairy friends

My fairy godmother says, "Don't fear princess,
For you darling, we shall fix him immediately
into a huge Toad eating a fly, a toad with big eyes
and never ever again will he chase you dear"

Now I wander off the cheerful little path
where the sweetest of  honeysuckles grow
and follow sunlight to a little stream
where a handsome prince awaits for me
-----
Emma Hill Jan 2017
Burn sage
          Pineapple sage
Read books on massage, potpourri and herbs
And never forget to
        help   one another
        On dishes, on dreams, thoughts in a stream-
ing consciousness consciously
         love   one another
And never forget
Why he came
Emma Hill Jan 2017
Telltale signs of paranoia ***** at the hackles that run from head
(to heart)
down the spine
        drown the mind
Psychotic neurotic autistic artistic
Imagination whirls like wind through the pines and
The hair along my spine
        Is standing
Kurt Carman Dec 2016
The Dream Stream

I transfer the rods energy from slack to a hell bent back cast stroke,
The line straightens, teeth clenched…..I push the casting arc forward.
My delivery is spot on, dead drift fly traveling the same pace as the current,
The trout’s jumping rise brings on a grin and the caddis hatch is on.

I look up stream and catch a glimmer of another heavy hatch of Caddis,
Grandpa’s eyes search for mine and finding them he flashes a toothy smile.
“Having Fun?"He shouts….I nod my head emphatically and give him a thumbs up.
And we keep it going until darkness prevails and the hatch finds sanctuary.

We walk and talk all the way home and I can’t remember a better time.
And now I have the honor of teaching my own son this gift.
Generation after generation it’s our duty to pass down our experience & know-how to the next.
And just before I close my eyes tonight, I recall this quote…

“It is not flesh and blood but the heart which makes us fathers and sons”. F. Schiller
- K.E. Carman  2016
Paul Butters Dec 2016
Yesterday morning I woke at 4AM again
And once more my mind got churning.
I juggled with some words in my head,
Composing free verse on how I write my poems.

I wondered whether I should grab a pad
And write.
Or even get on my laptop.
But I made myself go back to sleep,
Forgetting it all.

So here I am,
A day later at 10.30AM,
Pouring out these verses:
A sort of Stream of Consciousness.

No thought of structure
Or metre
Or rhyme.
Just emphasising certain words and phrases
By giving them separate verses
Of their own.

Something I learnt once
When reading a book in Pudsey Library
About how to teach kids to write poetry
An easy way.

Unfettered by considerations of metre or form,
You can express yourself freely,
As deep as you wish.

Just let your emotion
Or Philosophy
Run free.
Let your words cascade
Over those shiny pebbles.
Babbling along through winding willows,
To crash over waterfalls
In a crescendo of sound.

A stream that sparkles in the light
Of sun or moon (and stars),
Wafted by scents of abundant flowers
And sappy cut grass.
God's Grandeur radiating all around.
Enjoy.

Paul Butters
As it says on the "tin"......
Luisa C Nov 2016
sometimes i do not know where my life is heading,
where the roads are leading me.
i know my mind travels through space and time,
through shining galaxies of wonder and ripping black holes,
meeting at the ends of the earth with a crashing wave.
but i do not know whether there is a lighthouse nearby,
whose light shines me a way out of the dark,
pointing to a place where i can rest my aching bones.
i do not know which colour my soul is yet,
still picking away at the palettes that change every day.
sometimes i do not know whether to laugh or cry,
and why sometimes it is best to do both.
sometimes i feels stuck, like a box has caved in on my surroundings,
metal, not cardboard, so even the mightiest of pokes can't break its surface.
sometimes i feel time draining away from me,
slipping through even the tightest of grasps of my fingers,
disappearing like an air of smoke in a misty lake,
and i cannot swim fast or hard enough to catch it.
and sometimes i feel like i am wasting my life,
and the smiles, real and pure, of everyone i meet, determine one thing:
they are using their time wisely, happily.
thoughts of storms do not linger in their brain long enough to shatter the roof and let raindrops pour down their eyes.
and i don't know whether to feel jealous or sad,
or cast feelings away altogether until i am nothing but a shell.
but most of the time, i do know for sure,
i am just always unsure on how to feel.
Renee 'Wisera' Oct 2016
I long for the trees
Sun shade and sweet breeze
Beauty to bring you to your knees

I long for the trails
Made by animals with little tails
With imprints in the dirt from their nails

I long for the streams
and the things that it brings
Little fish, frogs, and other things

I long for the birds
That make their song heard
Cheers and lullabies without any words

I long for the boughs
The bark is comfort now
Like a friend that's always around
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