5s
Bela Matyas Feher

there is something to
picking up my father's old guitar
and feeling it fit perfectly in my hands,
responding to my touch
the way it once did for him,
and playing chords to a song everyone knows,
but having it turn out somehow different,
my style and voice,
mingling with the echo of my father's,
to take someone else's words and music
and give them a new life.

thoughts as I played around on my guitar last night.
  1m
Lady RF
Lady RF
9 hours ago

Tiny fragments
of me
now exist
within you,

They reside
in your memories;
we've made
more than a few.


Tiny fragments
of you
now exist
within me,

They remain
in my heart
indefinitely;
in my soul infinitely.

By R.F ©2016

Repost of my daily.
  16m
Kaleidoscope Prhyme

#29 | 31 Poems for August 2016

The girl with a soul like a library keeps getting thicker than the plot does.
So I guess that it’s no mystery why I am obsessed with reading.
She knows that I always have a book in my hand no matter the season.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Rudy Francisco’s pen always dreams about.
It doesn’t matter whether it’s winter or summer, when she is the breeze I can never forget to breathe.
She gently holds me in her hands like her favourite author’s best-selling novel.
She told me to write poetry until my heart runs out of ink and my soul runs out of paper.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with me not for my words but because I love reading.
She’s composed of all the love poems my pen never had the courage to write.
Because sometimes the pulchritude of her presence is too heavy for blank pages and simple words.
The day I realised that words could touch her, I wanted to become a poem.
The type of poem that Reyna Biddy’s pen always dreams about.
The girl with a soul like a library fell in love with the boy who loves reading.
Reading the lines on a woman’s skin is poetry and too many men are illiterate.
So they will never truly understand the fact that liberty begins with literacy.

  20m
Maressa Fonger
Maressa Fonger
18 hours ago

Shoulder blades stretch,
Plates wobble and shift,
Civilizations disperse
Atop swinging hips,
Curved undulations of
Hills and ocean swells,
Belly glows a spring morning
Mist rises from
Fresh blooms,
Blood runs down legs, bark shines
Sticky,
Branch hands reach in prayer,
Clasp a golden globe
Plain and wistful.
Tender feet dig
Shells and stones
Unturned, fossilized
Breath escapes dank caverns,
Sweat slips free off stalactites
Into pools of obsidian waters,
Food for a river of souls.
Bones tug and hang on buried words
Etched in rock,
Beads turn between
Skeletal fingers counting
Eons off in prayer.
Eyes blink, pillars crumble,
Ash coats seeds
Under dormant temples.
Green and golden locks sway
Braids of jungle vines,
Ocean weeds on chest heaves,
Planetary body
Pulsates, writhes,
Bursts at the seams.

#nature   #earth   #goddess  
  48m
Mikayla S Lewis
Mikayla S Lewis
2 hours ago

If only I could
Radiate as the sky,
I’d express this
Inexpressible adoration
Welling inside.
But I am not the sky,
I am every crevice in between;
For behind my fragile frame, I
Am most often unseen.

#love   #poem   #sad   #depressed   #happy   #rhyme   #no   #like   #couple   #relatable  
  52m
W L Winter
W L Winter
1 hour ago

I bought one hat in Wichita
and one in Abilene, I wore
one for the ladies and the
other made me mean

The silver boots I wear don't
have a roper's heel no more,
I wore them in a bar one night
and they threw me to the floor

I had a buckle made of brass
that served me mighty well,
but I traded it for one made
out of abalone shell

As a kid I had a pistol that
shot up red rolls of caps,
but now I have a rifle in
a scabbard by my chaps

I saw the westerns on TV and
watched my daddy rope his steed
and I rode that mighty pinto
till the sun was going down

And out there in the smokehouse
where they used to hang the hogs,
I built a saddle stand of steel
and Pondarosa logs

  1h
Shawna Michele

I watched him skin the fish
the blood from the bone in deep
cuts just beneath its silver scales

pulling the smooth flesh away
its raw insides exposed.

You could eat this, he said
raw as a worm dangling
from the hook, crawling
up from the damp earth.

I took notes with my
trembling hands
my fingers pulling
at my insides,

notes about the sea.

I pictured it, the fish
swimming freely

how random it was picked
how cruel, but not really?
It was nothing personal, maybe fate?

It would swim again, now in pieces.
It would meet the wound, the water
of someone else, some other body.

I used to dream when I was young
about the sky, the universe
a blanket of liquid stars

held loosely together.

I wanted the blood and the mystery
bound, stitched within me, yet
unravelling,

bone picked from bone, revealing.

 
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