Indulging Conjecture

Pink sand pulls away
from the glistening shore
melting fondant in the
sticky heat
Minute  ecosystems inhabit
tiny  grottoes in  tide pools
of wet sand
Some days I stroll the coast alone
escaping into secret realms of lovers
where there is no logic but
an aching crush I hold to my breast
a passage between a heart and the
mountains where I left you
Allow me to come undone beneath
tender hands on eggshell
the gentle quake of a sigh upon your
unshaven cheek
Let me   drown in the green river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war hard silence
or the burden of forgiveness

Like a Butterfly

A heart can fall like a suicide 
descending shades of midnight
frozen blossoms on an icy lake
a silent  breeze of despair

Let my tongue flirt like 
a butterfly among  wildflowers
 rather than polish scars 
de-bride old wounds 

A Winged Bird

I am who I have always been
a shiver of soft reeds beside the river
or the cascade of  a waterfall.
Gypsy crows rise  to a soft dawn sky
gathering their kind they circle
back for me.

I can scarcely bear the

splendor of the world,

its wonder humbles

the wisp  that is me.

Minutiae of eyes and ears

and speechless tongue,

stunned by the promise

of a  red dawn.

Elegant trees  lift

their mighty arms,

grand  gods host creatures

large and small.

Their noble crowns filled

with a cornucopia of life.

I want to sail across the sea
tiny fleck that is me,
a winged bird   bearer of
no possession,
a fragment of the universe

art by Amy Judd (represented by Hicks Gallery)

Come Autumn

On a mossy hill behind a mock castle

we will read Aristophanes to harems

of nymphs strumming their lyre.

Words transform to birds flitting

hearts of lovers while  I contemplate

the perfect angle of your face

breathe in the amber resin of pine trees

that permeate our senses

There in the unruffled pools of your eyes

I will die just a little

artist unknown

Storms

I am touched
by a storm
the tongue of a
fire that burns
away sleep.
A tide crashing
into millions of
crystal droplets
becoming the sun.
My heart is ripe
like summer fruit
sweet juices flushing
tingling veins.
There is a storm circling
the pit of my stomach rising
to ache in my throat.

13459S

Steve Hanks art

Blasphemy

Browsing  my  journals

I am reminded of the past.

The door  swings open

releasing sleek eels of memories

where I am nothing or at best

a trembling leaf  caught in a spring  breeze.

Do you ever think of me

find  me in constellations pressed against the sky

or hear me in the sigh of  an incoming tide?

I would seek comfort in the moon but I am

so trivial and he is taken by the stars.

In dreams my tongue is a crimson snake that

flicks  hungrily along  the length of your thigh

curling around the catch in my throat.

You are god and have  named me regret.

I close our door with pried fingers.

I’ve given up on prayer hands.

 

Dove Mouth

 

 

Art by Rita Hardy

A Different Kind of Love

There are times when I can see myself through

your eyes. My pale face so in love,

aching for the caress of a flaxen

haired boy racing through rolling fields.

Suddenly serious your adventurous eyes

sent yearning shivers through me.

I longed for your touch anytime and

kissed you opened mouth without

permission.

I adored your mock anger when you

chased after me and the awkward way

you looked down at your hands.

Soon Autumn threw its shadow on

sprouting wheat, smooth and wet.

Now, I listen to the soft whisper

of his breathing through a half

closed door and know there are

different kinds of love,

wild, ruthless, and unafraid.

Image result for Art by Rob Hefferan

art by Rob Hefferan

Breaking Horses

You are getting closer.
I hear the crunch of sand
and the skitter of stones beneath your
boots. The scent of tanned leather stings
my nostrils and fingers of steel butterflies
inflict fresh flesh wounds.
Your feathered crop gently brushes my shivering
shoulders, it floats over proud bones luring me
to the killing fields.
With no where to hide nothing can save me.
You have always known how to break wild horses.

girls-horses-500-3110

Wild Geese and Gilded Rivers – Holly Rene Hunter

Thank you so much Kristiana and FVR.

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

This is a day of sun kissed

stones and blustery winds,

of wild geese adorning river banks

their graceful necks and gilded feathers

remind me that I am nothing more than

an  observer  to that enchanted world.

Graceful  limbs of oak reach across

slanted waves to weightless clouds

passing by.

Dipping my fingers into green and amber

circlets I hold my reflection in cupped palms.


Copyright Holly Rene Hunter

Image by S. Hermann & F. Richter from Pixabay

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God Spun

I am a constellation
pasted to a smear of deep sky or
some god spun leaf drifting
a wintry blue pond.
My tongue turns silvery around
my words, do not take them
for sorrow I have named them
peace.
Do not forget me.
I still need you to carry me
over the pierce of thorns
My hands are good for nothing but
a plea do not forget me
I am still here my hair a tangle
of stars.

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