There are roses along
a path near a marsh by a
a motionless bay.
My hands glide the stillness
of your face that I love like
summer wildflowers.
The sun hangs like ripe fruit
and sparks become fire.
Soon winter’s wind will
chill our bones and the
silent wilderness of longing.
Beyond the Path…Steve Hanks
One bad ass cap! Thank you Gigi, see you there! ❤️
wheeling jagged edges
above the shallows
of a rough Dover sea
I am a lone bird.
My feathers gleam in the beacon of
the lighthouse where gentle swells
pulse against rocky shores
where you held me tenderly
like a treasured pearl.
We’ve abandoned the lighthouse
that seems to lean closer to the sea
waiting in vain at the tide swept shore.
The beam has ceased its search,
still each time I pass I tip my wing.
There's a sickle of moon
above a lush forest floor
where scavengers pluck
flesh from the bones of
a wolf.
In my mind the wolf
hides inside me
waiting patiently the
impulsive lamb.
Dark heart I hear you
howling for possession
stars plummeting through
our veins.
A frenzy of birdsong
can not conceal the
longing that lingers
in these bones.
The sky is liquid,
a roll and clash of thunder.
The grass is tall
beneath the rain trees.
Silence,
a stifling blanket of
isolation and a madness
that is not my enemy but
exposes everything for
what it is.
Restless,
I ache to leave
my crying place
before melancholy claims
this ruinous summer.
Let me stretch
like some sexy feline,
a carnivorous Panther
succumbing to the
impulse to pounce.
Photography by Dennis Charles
The sun is slipping down the horizon the sunset threatens to disappear Like a rusty penny An echelon of wild geese gather above so I follow grey wings into the storm. My arms are branches and you are my nourishment cut me down to a boat. My spine a sturdy keel , my hair unfurled sails. A distant lighthouse my only lamp for you hold the stars in your hand. If red sails are cast into a cleft too deep for me to cross I was trying to get to you.
The Chicklets are back ❤️
Everyone is trying out their costumes for the party. The chicklets have learned, over the years, that their wings must be free, and they have to be able to use their beaks.
Clarese is going as a very nice vampire, who rescues animals from bad people. James is going as a clown. But clowns are not liked very much, since they often frighten the baby chicklets and bunnies, so James said he may change his costume and be a race care driver instead Fuzzy Tail is a Super Shero. She made her cape all by herself, and is very happy that she joined the costume committee a few months ago.
Costumes are in flux, changes are being made on a daily basis, so no one is sure about anything, which is a big part of the fun.
The trees are filled with blossoms they wave beneath the pale sky like pink hands of impish children. Meet me in the orchard before summer slips away, I want to dip my hand in the cold brook just to feel the ache. Naked among bird of paradise sun-drenched thighs wet with dew feed me sweet red apples while they are nothing more than fruit.
Thank you dear Maxima , I’m extremely honored. Aleksandra , such a beautiful recital, thank you so much. ❤️
I am honored and pleased, my dear friends
What I can say here today is that the recognition for excellence for the beauty of the narrative in the poem this time travels to the U.S. to our esteemed poet, Holly Hunter.
Thank you, dear Holly, for enriching our souls with the beauty of your poetry.
je t’aime ” by Serge Gainsbourg
