an unwinding

House of Heart

No longer a subtle nuance,
crumbling ashes expose me to the outside world and within.
Only fire will make me whole, where is the flame that burned like the sun?
The amorous teeth aching to bite
a wounded tongue.
Conflicted eyes watch for you,
cast a sword of roses that are
sweet but with thorns and all the
hurt a life can hold.
Still I follow you into our desperate gardens,
give you my drop of blood.

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Gaudi

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Temple Bell

Your eyes are the crescent

of a silver bay that circles my mind

in the deep mystery of sleep

your voice an invocation of bells

that once rung cannot be undone

in dreams I am your dancer

beckoned at your will

I am a charm on a well cut cuff

a link on a diamond encrusted chain.

ballet

art by digitalina

Blue Heron

There is a bird the color of a rainbow.

When he grieves his song pervades the caves of forgotten dreams.

His laughter is a river that sings like children,

it flows through stone to soothe the hearts of angels.

His tongue drips with the honey of desert flowers.

Wading wide shores of light, when we are thirsty

we sip dew from feathers painted in his colors.

When adventure calls we lift our wings and fly away.

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The Penitent Sky

The waves sweep in
dropping treasures at the shore
retrieving it with outgoing swells.
Shimmering Seagulls, angled ragged
shapes, swooped up by the winds cadence.
Shells and speckled seaweed coexist
with abalone in every shade of color the
eye can hold.
Macaw and ruby parrots fill the trees
and bird of paradise too beautiful to bear.
Within a moments distraction they vanish
beyond the pebbled shore and falcon sky.

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Narcissus

It is too soon
to prune but wilted petals

wave provocatively from
bowing gardens and here

among bent stems the sun is pleasing to my back and 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

tugging at reluctant stems. I know it it is too early but chaotic gardens

long for control once again.

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Esperanza

House of Heart

There is a need for
lips pressed, the press
of hands seeking.

Here in my
straight back chair
hold back the firestorm
with elegant hands
and with your lips
claim the hollow
of my throat.

Scatter silk like
autumn leaves.
Allow me to fall
like  the ripe flesh
of sweet fruit.

artist: Lu Jianjun

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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.

 

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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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