Esperanza

House of Heart

There is a need of
lips pressed, pressing,
of hands seeking.

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

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

artist: Lu Jianjun

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life force

There is a sweet river  that is life.

I submerge in it’s  effervescence

and  like a thousand tributaries  it

reaches out  bold as ancient pyramids.

My  hands course through weeds of silver,

like your hair they catch the light,

reflections of the sky and more.

When I wake you are  beside me,

the  life force of the river touches me,

touches you.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Send Nudes

A gem from SK Nicholas.    Comments closed at House of Heart.

On a side note I have read S.K. Nicholas’ latest publication,  ” A  Journal For Damned Lovers”  volume 2.  It’s fabulous, don’t miss this one.

S. K. Nicholas

flowers-2609349_1920

Send nudes. Send honey. Write me your dirtiest poetry and post it in an envelope sealed with your wettest kisses. Send lockets of your hair that I may sniff and chew before falling asleep listening to Mogwai or the soundtrack to Grim Fandango. Send me an ounce or two of your soul in an old Sainsbury’s jam jar that I may tentatively inhale one evening while drunk and somewhere between elation and suicidal despair. Send me your old school reports and let me imagine you as you used to be, so innocent and dreamy and as yet unharmed by the hand of man. Make toast and see the face of Jesus. Send me the crumbs and watch via video chat as I snort them along with a mixture of grounded cinnamon and salt rocks that blow off my balls and make my gums bleed. Pluck your eyebrows then mix the little…

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reinventing childhood

This page is filled with peril,

the pen is  a black snake.

Her chest is filled with moths

their ragged wings beat the walls

of  the darkest cave.

Slender wrists are heavy with flies

they are keen on something sweet

but her hands seek  seams of silver

that slip away like  starlings,

or veins of gold embedded stone.

 

 

A flock of Starlings in Scotland…Scott Heppell AP

last refrain

The earth is powdered snow.

The sun rises in myriad hues.

Nightingales  refuge in my  closet

to mourn December’s last refrain.

Contrails light the  wings of Jays

that flit beneath the lit doorway

settle softly into January’s chill

Shelter  in a pale winter bed

 

 

 

“One day we will learn to give and receive love like an open window and it will feel like summer  everyday”

author unknown

 

Translation by Bernd @ Neues Vom Hutschi

Der letzte Kehrreim
Die Erde ist Pulverschnee.
Die Sonne geht auf in unzähligen Farben.
Nachtigall suchen Zuflucht in meinem Schrank,
beklagen den letzten Kehrreim des Dezembers.
Weiße Streifen blitzen hinter den Flügeln der Häher,
die durch die beleuchtete Türöffnung flitzen,
sich sanft in die Januar-Kälte setzen,
Geborgenheit finden in einem hellen Winterbett.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Carousel

Birds soar high above the ice chiseled cliffs,  roil  over  ancient forests at the moss covered foothills of  Mountains.  I hear the voices of ancestors,  perverse whispers of hate and grudges,   they are witness to our deception. They  know the gaps in our souls are filled with the same  darkness as theirs.  When we once again come face to face  they will  tell us how the hours passed so quickly.  You are that bird whose wings beat the air senseless, rainstorm eyes protest  a dream unlived. That perfect blue honey of desire you washed away in golden brown.  Swoop down, I miss the sound of you. Tell me how to survive beginnings.   Save me from this carousel,  my arms outstretched not knowing I am still  spinning.

 

SisterHeart…

Elegant and  enchanting. Eric from My Sword and Shield. Visit the original please , comments closed here.

My Sword and Shield....

She was a shieldmaiden
and nothing spread such a bright smile
across my bloodstained cheeks
so quickly
than the sight of her
riding into my camp

Thunder-hoofed retinue
banners caught in the winds of victory
fire and ash flying
among her braided tresses

In the twilight hours
when the battle long-fought
was fresh upon our lips
as we sat illuminated in the
glow of the council fire

We laughed at the shadows
cast by our responsibilities
mocked how they failed ever-so-menacingly
to frighten our souls

Two warriors
safe within the company of our combined fortitude
mending our armor

Vulnerable and soft
easy prey to naked blades
within arms reach

Speaking of scars
and shattered shields

Defeat was always a winged specter
at these communions
but never able to breach
the circle of light
between our shared pain

But this day she comes alone

no dust cloud raised
above the tents…

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The Princess…

Please see the original. Comments closed at HOH.

Rethinking Life

Pixabay

She was a Princess, in spite of the fact that she didn’t believe in royalty.  She thought Kings and Queens and all other titles, were pompous and unfair.  Everyone had blood and who it came from shouldn’t make one person better than another. The people loved her.  She walked among them, ate with them, and refused to be a Princess.   She moved out of the fortress and lived in a building in the center of town.  She would not allow guards to watch over her.  She volunteered at the animal shelter and at the hospital.  She only answered when called by her first name and she wore the same clothes that everyone else wore.   Yet, nothing she did, nothing she said, stopped people from smiling at her, bowing to her, touching her hand and offering their help.  She found small gifts on her doorstep, flowers, statues, poems and food. …

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