Resa and the Rock Star

Remember back when you were a rock star

and I was a hippie angel?

How comfortable we were with  our

heart  and souls bared.

Do you remember now that you are so far

away that night in Eden when  you came to me

and I came to you and the rest of the world

slipped away?

We held on to one another,  made love and cried

decided never to speak of how every time

the lights went out you rushed to me,

so tender, coming and going.

Young and in love, we named that month Sextember,

yes, it still matters to me.

Do you remember our anguished goodbye?

Neither do I.

 

Resa and the Rock Star

IMG_2421-1

51aonoAu0QL-1Dedicated to Resa @ https://artgowns.com

soft as pollen

Insects large and small flit

through the  lemony filter of dense canopies.

In hushed whispers we point to a clearing

where a roe fawn nibbles at pine needles.

Soft as  cotton clouds brush the crowns of ancient trees,

below a  hanging mist  clings to  blonde foothills.

You pluck a  marigold to tuck behind my ear,

a golden hand print left on my thigh.

I wind a garland of fern  around your wrist,

close enough to run my fingers through your hair,

carry your scent back home with me.

 

 

Deborah Gryka  “Turtle Woods”

 

I apologize ! I found that the comment section was turned off on this.  I have gremlins.

 

You

brilliant bird your

fire still in my hair.

Gravity has pressed me to you,

Hold me in your cupped hands.

The wind has blown away all sanity

And we have become the feathered

tongues of muted birds

The hollow bones of faithless lovers.

Burnished anger waits silently

never be to be spoken

But sails away on

the wings of migrating birds.
 

 

Svetlana Ponamarenko

 

 

 

 

 

 

Sandalwood and lavender

When dawn became morning, with the graceful arms of a ballerina, she tossed bread crumbs to finches and towhees gathered at the feeder.  Sadly the flowers lay drenched in nights raindrops, puddled  petals in a potpourri garden.

Wiping dried wax from the  bedside table  she replaced  melting  candles that held too many memories.  Her silk   scarves were cached in a pale blue armoire but for the rose hued tossed across the night lamp.

The hours pass slowly in  a room  blushed with moon-glow,  the  faint scent of sandalwood and  a hint of  dried lavender.

 

Image result for art by Mark Spain

Mark Spain Art

 

anemone

In the moonlight I am a shimmer

of anemone flowers washed ashore

on  cascades of foamy waves across

the flawless imprint of my love.

Gossamer  beams spill down our throats

where there is no need for words below

a sky  filled with muted stars  driven to be near us.

 

Tonight we are the sigh of winds

over high cliffs echoing from  walls

of  murky caves and back again.

Tethered to nothing we are

free of burden,  golden sand enticing the

current through ancient reefs,

released forever back to the sea.

 

Coral Reef  from Google

 

Windscape

Let me be the  summer sun
who shines for you without expectation.
A  rhythmic  breeze that shapes soft
passages where you travel uncertainty.
Let a  herald of archangels fill your
your heart with unworldly treasure.
I will be  your blood moon,
the swell and pull of tides  that
draw you near.
Ascend with me on a windscape
strung of stars  far from
the world below.

 

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 in 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
the  weight of tender hands on eggshell,
the gentle quake of my sigh upon your
unshaven cheek.
Let me   drown in the deep river of
your eyes where there
is no threat of war, hard silence,
or the burden of forgiveness.

 

 

 

Chartreux

Your eyes are Himalayan  blue,

they mutate from sparkling stars to the silver

of a cold planet.

With indifference you defeat me

until I am nothing more than an empty

vessel sailed  away to write love letters

on the wings  of  distant angels.

When your  nights are long

you may find me in the brush of a

homeless Chartreux winding about your

feet or in the sunflower eyes  of a girl

passing by.

 

Vincent Van Gogh

 

 

like an animal

As the fog of dream falls

I feel you.

The touch of your skin

calls to the savage in me,

ignites a raging flame.

Here we are still lovers

where I devour you

with the weak bites  of

a starving animal,

never completely consuming

you.

 

image from Art Express…Steve Hanks Art.

the breathing air

I wait  expectantly for your

your thoughts  to wing theiir  of adventure

to the flicker of my heart.

My own  disassembles like  folds of

Silken threads webbed in purple indigo.  where  our names are webbed

 

Our words are rare as rice paper origami  of rice paper

Sewn with slivers of  sun drenched feathers that echo

Out to sea and back in again until the end for we are  more than an

epoch of bones but the setting of a summer sunset

in your colors.

My blood is this crimson rushing through your  veins when we make love

As though we are the only lovers the breathing air  where we make love

as though we are the only lovers,

as gentle or fierce as the press of your

thighs on mine.