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

 

 

Desperate Gardens

Near daybreak, my eyes close,

my mind steps down into our most

beloved poem

*In a dark time the eye begins to see,
I meet my shadow in the deepening shade …

I look out upon our desperate gardens.

A raven sits motionless on the branch

of a skeleton tree greedily eyeing the

tiny lark all feathers and bone.

In the state between sleep and wake

I traverse birth and mortality,

the faintest hint of earthy candles

sweeps the orb of my celestial dreaming

a sensation of  pearls like tiny moons

falling from my open palms ,

and you,  whose sigh is a strophe

of sonnets, waits far at the boundary,

not a spirit or  rose tinged snow

but flesh and bone and sinew.

Alone, now  I am sleeping less,

roused by the wing beats of Boreal Owls

circling ancient Cypress trees

their screech a fist of wind with knife edge

talons erupt through feathery curtains,

breech my seclusion,

dark traces that vibrate my hemispheres.

A lofty  breeze lifts me over the valley

to a moonlit hillside of sweet lea.

There  an ivory  fox lies down beside me.

He is the scent of ripe wheat fields

his eyes are the color of the eastern sky.

*In A Dark Time by Roethke

 

tumblrimage

 

 

 

i need a mission

I need  an oasis

a still life where I am fixed

my hair snared  in cattails

that smell of the sea.

Drooping  moon flowers

awakening at night glistening with

abalone and  the incoming tide.

I need a crimson sky, the rising red sun

binding my horizon refusing to fade.

 

art borrowed from google

 

the hunger

It stings and salt coats her lashes.
She has struggled with the links of
a thousand chains never knowing what
they are there for.
Her pale body hides from the sun,
the terrible beauty of woman.
A  mirrored  face  reflects  in the river,
She almost believes it  might save her.

 

 

 

 

 

What remains

the early morning tide,
a sunrise burned into the
sky… fire.
A breaking,  not  waves or light,
something inside.
The wing beat of sea gulls
scatter across the sky,
regathering they pass by again.
You crumble like dry leaves
in the palm of my hand,
surrender your last sigh and
like driftwood slip away.

 

 

art by Rick Loggia