a longing

I steer my boat
beneath the lacy moss of
cedar trees where a  lark  drapes
her song,  a spray of flowers, along
the whispering stream.
Beyond the shallows a wooden bridge
where we cast our secrets to the water,
goldenrod along the bank witness the
 breathless embrace of  lovers.
So blue were your eyes those summer days,
 how endlessly deep the longing.

art by Steve Hanks

The Letter

I left a message for you in a book.
It is like me to mark provocative phrases,
to shake them out in ponderous verses.
Do not read too much in the fallout,
the notes in the border are for nostalgia’s sake.
I dreamt of you  again last night
my adversary
Whose  aura I barely recall.
My suffering is not in knowing what is real  but  what is not.

papers.co-aw53-yanjun-cheng-girl-green-sexy-illustration-art-paint-4-wallpaper-260x460

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

goddess in flight

art by Karal Bak

wheat fields rolling

give me your story
minute as a wish on a star
Did you run through blowing
wheat fields your yellow hair flying
those secrets of the heart
give them to me
I am swallowed up longing
When you fall I form a scar
read to me  of  love and life
those petals closing in the dark
stay lest I fade away.
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metaphors of birds

Communing with birds

I open my empty palms

expecting metaphors to light

like fireflies on my life line.

From the back of my eyes

I can see the river Delta,

sweet green tarpaulin stretched

across the hemisphere and those

deep murky waters that reflect

a silver sky.

Fleeting memories disperse like clouds.

Just before sleep I sink deep

into illusory havens,

escape the boredom of life.

metaphorbirds

Metaphor and Allegory by Ju-Yu Chen

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

 

 

 

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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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 www.hippieshope.com

Kabegami Art

Consolation

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