below green water
beneath lotus blossoms
kissing gourami
along the riverbank
covered in moss
old stone soldiers
needing to wring
they remain motionless
delicate as doves
summer chameleons
among the autumn leaves
changing seasons
Night Music
Journal – Holly Rene Hunter
Thank you Free Verse Revolution!
From the past I capture a light
bring forward a globe of fire reflected
in the irises of my eyes
or an ocean pooling in my palm.
My nights are the darkest psalms.
Your memoir etched into my heart.
One tender sway and suddenly I remember.
Copyright Holly Rene Hunter
wings thrumming
I drift on an opalescent breeze
dreams flower in my hair
They shed in heaps of autumn leaves
rust and gold and green
I am traveling far from childhood
where dreams were never welcome
against transparent skies
I cast my tattered shadow
A Mayan goddess taking flight
thrumming ancient wings
art by Karal Bak
the twilight hours
I feel you in the pouring rain
violent or soft as a breeze.
A distant star you fade into
the night from which you came.
Wounded hearts are slow to heal
but I have become indifferent to pain.
Sweet gardenias fill my rooms with mortality
decaying petals soaked in secrets
rhapsodize my dreams with the zephyr of your sigh.
We are a wasteland, all poetic breath died with us.
I long for the scent of earth infused with deep roots,
the soothing sounds of swaying wind chimes clinging
to the limb of a live oak,
soothing sounds for the twilight hours.
Surely fall
Please visit the original for the reading of this poetry.
I have never met her.
Yet I can smell her scent on my fingers.
I can hear her laughter. The way it lifts and dances and makes me smile.
I can feel the press of her body, her skin soft against mine, my face buried in her hair, I can imagine how she responds to my touch, the blush in her throat, the quickening of her breath and the rising of her breasts.
The hardening of her nipples. Her wetness against my thigh.
I can taste her kiss. So vividly that I am running the tip of my tongue over my lips to capture the sweetness.
I can see her eyes, bright, eloquent, shining, luminous.
Making me sigh.
I have never met her
But if I did
I would surely fall.
.
.
© the author writing as Romantic Dominant
Art by Steve Hanks
I have posted this a number of times. …
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Narcissus
It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals
wave provocatively from a
bowing trellis
among the bent stems the sun is pleasing to bare shoulders.
Pulpy worms are sweet to scavenging tongues of hungry birds
plucked without warning from spidery veins of leaves
Elongated roots relentlessly war with nicked and bleeding fingers
I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens long for control
once again.
Princess Blue Holly – 2
PBH super hero, advocate for the earth, animals, assault on women (and men) eco crimes etc. is getting quite a following and (quote unquote Resa) “She will clean one’s clock w/ titanium boots featuring retracting needles loaded with concentrated poison berry venom.” So, please enjoy the amazing artwork of Resa and get on the bandwagon. Princess Blue Holly.
Princess Blue Holly is the first Superhero who changes outfits, crime dependant!
Above: Princess Blue Holly avenges Crimes Against Animalsin her Cat-O-Nine Tails ensemble. The 9 tails braid themselves into 1 tail in the back, when not in use. Best not to get lashed with a tail! The ends are equipped w/ spiny holly leaves & poison berries. Scratches, with berry juice seeping in, will make you see the light.
It all began with Crazy Free Art to music. I wanted to draw PBH, but she already has an outfit. I went renegade, & just did what I felt like. It’s scribbly, but we thought this could be an outfit to avenge Eco Crimes, Monsanto specifically!
Holly & I are working on PBH, together. Click on the poem, and visit her blog!
Below: Princess Blue Holly decks out for a night of fighting Crimes in a City’s Dark…
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This Winter
I will indulge the unconventional.
On a mossy hill behind a mock castle
we will read Aristophanes to harems
of nymphs as they strum their Lyre for you.
While you transform words into wings
flitting the hearts of lovers I will
contemplate the perfect angle of your face,
breathe the amber resin of pine that
permeates our senses.
There in the unruffled pools of your eyes
I will die just a little.
