Nothing has Changed

When dreams pull me under
I call out across the ocean
You meet me at  the shore
and there is nothing to  hold to
but silvery shadows that cross
and uncross in our slumbering sea.
I bend to you  fragile as  sea foam
tossed in wind rifts  released
from unfastened hands. 
This is how I love you
a prisoner of  repetition
like endless waves you come and go.

 

art by Victor Bauer

Like an animal

In the mist of dreams the touch of your skin is tinder igniting a flare becoming a flame. Your eyes seek out the savage in me.  Here we are still lovers  and like starving animals  we devour  each other with weak bites never completely consuming  one another. 

National Geographic

The Gold

Nights while you sleep

 my lips are so close I can

draw your breath in like an

infant at its mother’s breast.

I  run my fingers down the curve

of your spine lean in to breathe

your smokey scent.

I have entered that golden part of you

immersed the sea that claimed me in

oceans of fiery sunsets.

When our hearts grow mute we will know

we have drifted too near the sun

 

art by Karol Bak

 

 

soft as cotton

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.

Clouds  soft as cotton brush the crowns of ancient trees

below  a  hanging mist clings to  blonde foothills.

You pluck a  marigold to tuck behind my ear

your  golden hand print left on my thigh.

I wind a garland of leaves around your wrist

close enough to run my fingers through your hair

carry your scent back home with me.

 

 

Deborah Gryka  “Turtle Woods”

 

 

 

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

Send Me A Sign

Can you send me a sign?

 

As Pristine  as the south seas

An angel without wings

I sent you a message

did  it  drift out to sea

I’ m watching  I’m waiting 

On the other side 

All that I’m asking  is

send me a sign

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Cherry Blossoms – Holly Rene Hunter

Thank you Kristiana and Free Verse Revolution

FREE VERSE REVOLUTION

A mass of  tangled limbs we cling to each other. I hold tight to baby sister as we toss about the dank floor of the vessel, its boards pelted by the spray of high swells. Her   sweet scent distinguishes her from the others, she has the smell of  blossoms freshly picked. Just yesterday we were lingering along the dirt road that leads from the old school house to our home of splintered walls and concrete floors ignoring by instinct the slant eyes of  men driving an old van closer and closer. Our school books scattered on the path, muffled cries drowned under rumbling motors. Miles from home we are fed La Rochas to  soothe us into sweet fevered dreams. Waking  in a perfumed world of flowered sarongs and  silk fans, we can sense the slits of men’s eyes behind angry walls.


 

Copyright H. Rene Hunter

https://houseofheartweb.wordpress.com/

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the life cycle of a rose

On a thorny stalk

wrapped in leafy veins

heavy with the burden

of viscous dew

for the love of light her

corolla lifts upright

a broad faced still life

anchored to the earth

she tracks the sun across

an unpredictable sky

At dusk she combs the air

with sweetness retreating

at twilight into

pearly pools of the moon.

 

RosePink5

photography by heart

We Had Wings

Then, wisdom grew from fruit

and time was a seedling.

All creatures spoke the same,

hymn of bats, breath of horses.

We were winged and freedom

was etched on the soles of our feet.

Pathways in the earth and sky were

known not charted.

We stepped naked into the blazing sun

bared ourselves to golden rivers and

awesome tidal thunder.

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