Her name is synonymous to freedom
she's a cloud breaker and love maker
she is the gold that I see in the sky
she of tender heart and tender life

Her warmth and light is truly life giving
never too much and never too little
she is just right
bids you her last of light
as she visits others in the night

She is a main sequence star
a big beautiful thing
she is the commander of summers
yet so shy in the months of winter
with heart tender as she is tender to life


By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris

My sweetheart if you kiss my lips thousand times
I will definitely be intoxicated with taste of the wine
Love and beauty are face to face as innocent crimes
My sweetheart I do realize that you are only mine

I want to see your head high to be in front on line
I want to see you just equal in charms,style and grace  
Like a full moonlit night in my abode you just shine
Your alluring beauty takes me to galaxies in space

So let us cross all distances to be really one to celebrate
Our jubilation like swans dancing in a real taste and style
What a scenario of beauty where love has to culminate
So my sweetheart beguile me with your sweet tender smile


Col Muhammad Khalid Khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow

Tender is her light
that radiates from her marble skin,
except for the dark of her eyes,
so deep that light never escapes,
but only builds greater beauty
within her spirit.

forests remain, farther and farther away from us.

only streets, houses
accompany me
like a fingernail on an exhausted hand
wherever i might stop, everywhere,
pain is my compass

always, along this way

forever unwalked
given back to me

the scent of roses in the garden
the waters flooded long ago, belated
tenderness, time
besieged by
time

everything goes by so easily.
life. so easily
was i
forgotten

Andrei Zanca  from *My Cup of Light

I wish I could explain it to you, but I can’t.
You’d have to walk around with me for a month
or so for it to make sense,
to seem like a real thing.
Sometimes, it’s not even real to me;
but it’s my life and
I’m the one walking around in it,
so there it is.

In the fall and winter,
particularly around the holidays,
it gets worse.  Some days,
especially during the last two weeks
before Christmas,
it gets really bad.

(Why do I think it’s a bad thing?)

(Is it?)

(What is this about?)


They come at me like zombies
when they see the crutches
and yet I refuse to blame my Cerebral Palsy
for what they do.  
Really, I believe that they’d show up anyway.
I think that they, and I to a degree,
feel some sort of cosmic pull
toward one another.

The drunks come to me.

(the developmentally disabled too.)

They tell me stories of how they ended up
in the same place that I am.
They tell me that they know also
that our paths were supposed to cross.
They tell me about their relationship with God
and how Jesus loves them in spite of their drunkenness
(or impairment.)
They tell me how blessed we are to have met.

That one always leaves me flummoxed.

All I wanted to do was eat a tenderloin and some fries.
All I wanted was a cup of coffee or a beer.
All I wanted was to occupy a small bit of
grey space for a couple of hours.

These cohabitates,
these space-stealers
always go straight for The Bible.

They talk of rapture
And the wholeness that I’ll
find in The Kingdom of Heaven
and I want to tell them that they’ve
taken some of that wholeness for
themselves, but I can’t.

I always say: “Thank you.”
And speak to them in
bumper-sticker platitudes;
telling them that we’re all
making our own ways
down our own paths.

And, it’s true, but I don’t want
to have to say it.
I don’t always want to believe it.

(And, I don’t always.)

I wish I could tell them that I want to be more like them,
to work in a factory,
lift the heavy stuff;
to work steadily on the line
or over the road,
inside the grey spaces
with more time to think,
to be quietly oaken
and iron.

*

-JBClaywell
© P&ZPublications