while I was thinking of you

my verses are

flames meant to melt the

chalice of your heart.

In the  white night

we cross the continents,

feel but never touch.

Our secrets too holy for the light

set the night on fire.

I am profanity in a sacred sky,

blasphemy of flaws to small to alter fate.

While I was  thinking of you

a fledgling fell to earth,

saved by the wind  on her

passage to life.

 

red head on a bench

 

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the twilight hours

 

Only earth angels hear the tender rippling

of hearts.

In the pounding rain we

bare our quills to the world,

reappear from our veiled cage.

Bruises of the soul are slow to heal

but we are  indifferent to pain.

Gardenias fill the  room with mortality,

petals of sweet secrets nurtured by a rhapsody of recollection.

Surrendering dreams makes us still,

a vast wasteland where  all  poetic breath

dies with us.

We long for the clean scent of Spring,

the rust  smell of earth infused in deep roots,

to  hear again  the swaying chimes on the limbs

of a slender Linden,

synchronized for the twilight hours.

 

 

The Letter

I left a message for you in a book.
It is like me to mark provocative phrases,
to shake them out in ponderous verses.
Do not read too much in the fallout,
the notes in the border are for nostalgia’s sake.
I dreamed of you again last night.
My adversary,  always teasing me.
Your aura I  barely recall yet you linger,
the suffering is in not knowing what is real and what isn’t.

Realistic-Portraits-by-Christina-Papagianni-21

art by Rob Hefferan

Mademoiselle Emily

A beautiful tribute to Gigi by Resa. I tried to capture her with words but she’s already poetry. 🌺

Art Gowns

Did you ever channel a white cat, a wedding gown and  Jean Harlow?

Well then you know it comes out an Art Gown, and that Art Gown is dedicated to;

Georgiann Carlson from Rethinking Life blog. Georgiann’s blog is full of art, Chicklets, creative writing, flowers, Chicago, Emily and opinions.

Deciding it must be a Harlow 1930’s style movie star gown, dictated a bias cut.

Admittedly, being a rank amateur in working with bias, I was cursed with many problems. Nonetheless, it’s a challenge I’ve wanted to tackle for a long time.

Designers, like Chanel and Vionnet,  championed the anti-corset generation. Finally, women could feel more comfortable in their clothes.

At a liquidation sale, I found an 18″ wide bordeur lace for $0.50/yard.

What costs $0.50 these days? I bought 75 yards.

Thinking like a cat, I decided to shred the lace.

Using scissors for claws, I deconstructed the…

View original post 545 more words

Cave People

Tonight in my nest of stones I have not slept.
Through the walls my neighbors fight over how
best to spend their time as it silently slips through
the space between their fingers.
As the last grains fall it seems reasonable to be
present for the hours left.
When the  dawn  climbs above the ocean I can see
that deep amber on the shore,  the color of
 my lover’s eyes when  aroused,  waning to hues
of   gold that glint  in my half empty glass.
In the unkempt night I rearrange decaying books
wander halls of memories pillaging my mind.

 

 

Trinette Reed photography

Breaking Horses

You are getting closer,

I   hear the crunch of  soft sand,

the skitter of stones beneath your boots.

Your scent passes through my parted lips

stinging the flare of my nostrils and the choke

in  my throat while your hands of steel butterflies

float over  proud  bones  luring me gently

to the killing fields.

Your   fingers are    the scent of tanned leather,

I lick them like fresh  flesh wounds.

Your feathered crop gently brushes  my shoulders,

no one can save me now, there is nothing to do,

because you have always known how

to break wild horses.

 

girls-horses-500-3110

 

 Pinterest

because I love you

I know I love you

because when I think

of you my heart feels full,

a pond choking with water hyacinth,

their hungry   roots reaching deep

into the beds of yearning,

overflowing walls of longing

where I am so afraid to fall .

Because I love you I forfeit

my privilege, allow my heart

to drown in you  as though you

are liquid.

 

 

Vincent Van Gogh

build mansions

Throw away those pages,

that pink littered landscape.

Where is the victory in pity?

Build your mansion of bones

and sorrow so deep it can

not be contained but spills

from the fissure of your heart.

Reach inside stretched

skin whose scars  still sting.

There is no poetry

in  swallowed pain,

of  the temperate voice.

Those words are still born.

No life lives there,

no womb that has birthed

scorn and rage.

 

in need of advent

Autumn scatters her shades

in daring colors of rust and copper,

asymmetrical patterns splayed

under fledgling  wings above

silent fields of late blooming

lilac  and the  soft blush of peony

left clinging  to a bowing trellis.

A flicker of  burnished feathers

dripping  the weight of dew,

flitting  through  blowing wheat fields,

the breath of life  after  summer flew.

Dried stalks abandoned beneath crusty leaves,

their tender stems beaten to the soil

in need of assurance,  a promise of rebirth.

 

Wild #Flowers <3 via | Hippies Hope Shop www.hippieshope.com

 

kabegami art

Anais

Frightened by a world she can barely hold on to,
the uncertainty of breath
where safety lives in dreams.
I like to sit in her lap
and play games as
she strokes my fur with
her gentle fingers.
Sometimes I tease and
pull away,
lick myself and pretend
I am too busy.
When the master comes home
he too likes to play,
tossing me into the flower bed
with rough paws.
I feel my bones may break so
she placates him with a smile
while I hide away in the garden
chasing lizards and winged things.
She kneels when  he yanks her hair,
slaps  dewdrops from her face.
When it’s done he washes   rust from his nail beds,
says he’s had a bad day.
I don’t understand the games my people play.

 

 

 

Anais Anais

Photography by Heart