From my window

House of Heart

I look down on  a garden
of moonlit  flowers.
 I need to be loved like  roses,
the silvery blade of that
crescent moon slipping  through
nameless  things on winged feet
flitting among   Zoysia grass
nipping at life with amorous teeth.

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Liars and gossips were in my favour

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Hamed M. Dehongi

You were a bright star
In the darkest sky
You were the red tulip
Among the garden's flowers
Every society or circle
Was proud to have you
It was not a surprise
Many were envious of you
They told lies and gossips
In every chance they had
They finally could succeed
In disgracing you anyway
All those liars and gossips
They were in my favour
I could prove myself as
The only honest lover
All other lovers of you
Judged by ears and eyes
I, in contrast to them
Used just my heart's eye
Ears and eyes on the head
Could sometimes be deceived
But who can see and hear
By heart, never gets lost

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Our Place

Beautiful poetry …

The Stories In Between

There is a walk I know, among the trees
How much you always loved the solitude
The dry, fallen leaves cracking beneath our feet
An overcast afternoon, fleeting warmth as the sun
Wove through the clouds overhead
The fall colors, which you couldn’t stop talking about
You always had a way of looking at things
As if for the first time
We’d sit there, beside the creek
Because there’s always a creek in my dreams
Sipping water, eating grapes, maybe strawberries
As you reach in your backpack
Surprise me with a chunk of banana bread
You made the night before, for our special day
A simple reminder, to never let go of these moments
Because for all the broken promises, things left unsaid
This is all that really matters in the end
A walk in the woods, sitting by a creek on a fall afternoon
Eating smashed banana bread with…

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in need of advent

Summer scatters her shades

in daring colors of red and green

asymmetrical patterns splayed

over fledgling birds taking wing

above silent fields and late blooms

of lilac  the  deep  blush of peony

 clinging  to a bowing trellis.

A flicker of  burnished  feathers

dripping with  dew flitting above

rolling wheat fields.

Bowed   stalks  laden with  crusty leaves

tender stems beaten to the soil

in need of assurance

the promise of rebirth.



Wild #Flowers <3 via | Hippies Hope Shop

Kabegami Art

The Gold

Nights while you sleep  my lips are so close I can draw your breath in like an infant at its mother’s breast. I  run my fingers down the curve of your spine leaning in to inhale the scent of your body.   I have entered that golden part of you, immersed the sea that claimed me in oceans of fiery sunsets.  When our hearts grow mute we will know we we  have drifted too near the sun.


art by Karol Bak

Estuary of Flowers

In honor of the fallen … lest we forget

Facing death
I step back from the light
into life’s darkness

The nights
after my death
my wife rocks
herself to sleep
in my favorite chair.


On the beach

I want to fly but fall like

a silent prayer.

My limbs are an anchor

as I slip beneath the surface.

Once struggling palms lie flat

as gentle waves rock me.

Seaweed strands of hair mingle

with the sigh of my breath,

I grasp the hands of my


my only thing of value.


Everything beautiful is here,

all that was lost.

Birds chorus to the stones that

mark the resting place of a

thousand warriors  at peace in an

estuary of flowers.


art by Abel Tasman




From the past  I capture   a light,

bring  forward  a globe of fire reflected

in the irides 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


Photography by Billy Knight

I still feel you

at the razor edge of madness,
the fierce break of waves
along the shore line.
In dark eyes that catch mine
in dusty corridors of dreams.
I feel you in the wild of wolves
the vigil of birds at my
midnight window,
in the sacred dust of bones.


                 Le Femme

                                    Le Femme en Rouge


Folded beneath white caps

shards of crystals stack in layers.

Seaweed tentacles abandon their grip,

letting go of their bed they are

swept away by the tide snared by sea oats

stranded in the dunes.

A shroud of melon melts down the vista.

Seafaring specters bob in the distance

drifting apparitions that vanish

in the  haze,  lost to the horizon.

Seagulls hover between  sea and sky,

wingtips graze the watery glass,

skimming, plunging,  their throaty caws

console the lonely sea.


by the shore