out of body

Your  glass is always half empty,  whiskey the color of your eyes when you are aroused.   I shut my eyes and fixate on the whir of the overhead fan. When you reach for me  I turn away, practicing  my out of body art, I look down from above until my eyes close.  Later we share a hand rolled cigarette, silently  watch  the curls  rise and rip apart in the blades.  Your soft eyes ensnare me, expose my liability.  It is so easy to distract you, pulling back the sheets we laugh,  make love and pull away.  Your eyes are the sparkle of stardust,  a boy at the top of a Ferris wheel.    I swear to  not meet again  but my heart is a red sports car racing along a razor’s edge.

 

art by Fabian Perez

rituals

Waiting for you became a ritual,

listening for the  sound of your footsteps

in the pounding rain.

The  taste of salt still remains

upon my lips where you left it

and in dreams you are evoked

by the wings of seabirds where I have

pressed our memory.

At daybreak the tide  retreats without

leaving you at my shore and it is

there I accept loss.

At the hollow of my throat I have etched

your name  somehow declaring us sacred.

 

sergio_martinez_cifuentes8600_790

 

 

 

Muscadine

In memory  –  Father’s Day 2019

His mother named him Carlos, such a strange name for a Welshman. Perhaps she loved Spain. 

Summers heavy cloak hung over fields of Goldenrod, their long limbs reaching out to mesh with spiky leaves that sheltered bundles of marmalade florets.Their invasion of the meadow met with merciless machetes that hacked through  the unwelcome invaders who hadn’t the courtesy to extend a pleasant fragrance.

The trail led to an arbor by a trickling brook. Nestled  in a stand of trees a precarious trellis  bowed heavy  with  never ending appendages that wound and wove through dense clusters of bulbous translucent nipples clinging tenaciously to their host.

The scent of peppery earth stung the nostrils and attracted white tail deer that ravaged the vines of their treasure. The old man once snaked a garden hose through the lattice to frighten them, a guise that worked only to  astonish lovers lingering at fertile ground, a sacred rendezvous.

Soon the clammy dragons of summer breathed their fiery breath and the skin of the luminous fruit burst with the sweetest nectar and they were declared  ripe and ready to harvest and process by a secret recipe known only to the old man and his son. Ruptured with a pestle and filtered, the grapes were transformed and stored in Bell jars, sweet and crisp, underdeveloped, but heady and pleasant.

Rarely did my father materialize from his travels once I had been delivered for the summer yet somehow the harvesting  of the grapes invoked his presence like a lark at dawn.

 

Visit the black dress and  an amazing poem by Leonard Durso  at Resa’s Art Gowns Art.   Thank you Resa ! 🌹

via The Black Dress

Paper Birds

I’ve unfolded us like origami

Ripped apart our borders

Dissected the shadowed corners

of secrets, forced  them into

the light to mourn like the hollow

bones of birds,

I have renamed us where every

memory is not an ache beneath my ribs

and every  thought is not an assault on the dead. 

My heart is the flush of peony

the color of healing scars.

pink carnations

 

Freedom – Holly Rene Hunter

Thank you Free Verse Revolution!

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

In the sweet summer

below the rusty fasteners of

an old swing I pump the air

with the spindly legs of childhood,

dream my wide eyed dreams of whirling

pathways to the beckoning sun.

My heart leaps at the sight of a brilliant

rainbow and with small fingers I reach up

to swathe its colors over a bluepalette sky.

Now I know about life,the real truth of it.

Now I know the swing is just freedom.


(copyright H. Rene Hunter)

https://houseofheartweb.wordpress.com/

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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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