Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
Camillelily
Camillelily
42/F/Wiltshire
Dog barks. Velvet night. Jasmine breeze. Moon suspended, ever watchful. Casting shadows. Silvery fingers. Open window. Bathing the room in an eerie iridescence. Seizing opportunity. Natures ****** Silently forgotten. The scent of tobacco wafts briefly. Smoke plumes. Drifting lazily. Curling upwards. Disappearing in the balmy night air. Footfalls thump. Woe begotten. Stillness fades. Surrendering at last to slumber.
0
Apr 24, 2020
Apr 24, 2020 at 12:42 PM UTC
Dog Barks.
Love it seems, possesses many edges. Is multifaceted in its complexity. Yet we claim to know it. To have it even, safe in our grasp. Smug in our knowing that we have ‘worked this one out’. Basking in the sunshine that knows no darkness. Yet before lies the most humbling, the most arduous and often perilous journey, Side by side with your chosen other. Where calm and tranquil seas quickly become battlegrounds. Love lost, strangled in the wilderness of silence. Communication in its ebb and flow becomes a parched, thirsty river bed. Love that was once a thriving port, Back and forth in active trade. Kindness in exchange for freedom. Patience in return for loyalty. A gradual breakdown, A failure to embrace those qualities that served so well. Replaced by exchanges in anger, contempt and fear. In distrust and anxiety and unrealistic expectation. Until the chasm becomes too wide to safely negotiate, The risk too great. Love is jagged...sometimes it cuts like a *****
0
Nov 21, 2019
Nov 21, 2019 at 11:39 AM UTC
Love Is Jagged.
From the first eager gasps of a newborn babe. Red faced, tiny hands flailing indignantly as one is ****** into this strange and unfamiliar world. It is only as the first breath is drawn that consciousness explodes. The ember that has smouldered in its warm and safe cocoon - ignites. A new and tiny being, each unique and like no other. One muses that breath and the soul are one and the same. After all, without breath life ceases to continue, The flame becomes a flicker, then once again an ember. Until it is only ash, cold and grey. For every first breath, in contrast one draws their last. The gusty cry of the newly arrived drowns the feeble rattle of the departing. One soul earthbound while the other soars free as a bird, Matter becoming energy once more, drifting in the vastness of the ether.
0
May 6, 2019
May 6, 2019 at 8:40 AM UTC
Breath Of A Soul.
Beneath its sacred branches they dance. Writhing with carefree rapture as they Reclaim what they have lost. Hands outstretched in readiness to release all that does not serve. Reconnecting to Mother Earth, Soft light from the fat full moon their only witness. This gathering of beautiful and wild women, Naked and euphoric. United in the knowledge that although man may spill his seed within her secret depths, It is only from woman’s wondrous cavern that new life springs forth. She wolf....Passionate and fierce...defender and protector. Their lips move silently as they join as one in gratitude and realisation. Finally Surrendering to the earth in weary slumber, Enlightened and connected as night makes way for day.
0
Mar 16, 2019
Mar 16, 2019 at 8:13 AM UTC
Beneath The Rowan Tree.
Far beyond our conscious thoughts lies A yawning void so cavernous, so endless. A mysterious world that exists, Snatching loved ones with alarming regularity. A relentless machine that never sleeps. For every indignantly drawn first breath of the infant ****** into life from the safety of his mother’s womb, Is the last weary gasp of one as he departs this world. And yet he is enlightened in those final moments. A fleeting moment of joy, of wholeness, of divine understanding. Accessible only in one’s final transition from life to death. Limitations of the conscious mind falling away. The manacles that bound in life, dissolved. The pain of passing insignificant. The rapturous and joyous reunion with energy eternal. United In shared consciousness and an all knowing. A oneness that evades us in our mortal life. Now In glorious abundance in death.
0
Nov 8, 2018
Nov 8, 2018 at 9:28 AM UTC
This Mortal Life.
Man is  born unto the  rainbow of opportunity. The dazzling palate before him as he draws his  first infant breath. Perfect and untainted, this tiny being as he  enters this vast world. His only purpose being his very existence. The sheer wonder of this colourful land in which he finds himself. A world of moments, of sounds. Of touch and scents. Of visual exploration through those eyes that have yet seen no horror. Skin that has yet to feel physical pain. Soft and unspoilt as he nurses close to his mother. Skin not yet a fortress behind which he will hide many ills. A skin that will learn to shrivel in shame. Harden in the face of fear, like armour. And wilt  in the absence of love. Bloom  turning from rosy red to sepia. For though man is born unto the rainbow. The horror of humanity is diligent on his heel. It’s hulking cape of  blackness, angst and despair. As man destroys all he has been given in nature. Turning his hand then against his fellow species. Born into a roiling sea of corruption, control  and greed. Where the myriad of healing greens, Of mysterious purples and creative oranges,  lost forever. Their brilliance fading like an aged tapestry in sunlight. Turning to browns and greys. Leaching their beauty through a lifetime. Until there becomes only  blackness. Until his is the dark heart of despair. Bleached and brittle like driftwood on a desolate beach. Washed up and empty. The human condition and its agonies too much to bear.
0
Sep 28, 2018
Sep 28, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
Driftwood.
Man is  born unto the  rainbow of opportunity. The dazzling palate before him as he draws his  first infant breath. Perfect and untainted, this tiny being as he  enters this vast world. His only purpose being his very existence. The sheer wonder of this colourful land in which he finds himself. A world of moments, of sounds. Of touch and scents. Of visual exploration through those eyes that have yet seen no horror. Skin that has yet to feel physical pain. Soft and unspoilt as he nurses close to his mother. Skin not yet a fortress behind which he will hide many ills. A skin that will learn to shrivel in shame. Harden in the face of fear, like armour. And wilt  in the absence of love. Bloom  turning from rosy red to sepia. For though man is born unto the rainbow. The horror of humanity is diligent on his heel. It’s hulking cape of  blackness, angst and despair. As man destroys all he has been given in nature. Turning his hand then against his fellow species. Born into a roiling sea of corruption, control  and greed. Where the myriad of healing greens, Of mysterious purples and creative oranges,  lost forever. Their brilliance fading like an aged tapestry in sunlight. Turning to browns and greys. Leaching their beauty through a lifetime. Until there becomes only  blackness. Until his is the dark heart of despair. Bleached and brittle like driftwood on a desolate beach. Washed up and empty. The human condition and its agonies too much to bear.
Continue reading...
31
Was your darkest hour when your  first love walked away? The  first glimpse of the gaping abyss... Carefully constructed plans and dreams, Gone...Drifting away on a sea of despair. Love becomes loss. Two become one. Shared goals now solo missions. Invariably in time one becomes two once more. The past is stored in the archive of memory. The first of a lifetime of unfinished stories. Aborted..abandoned, But never really forgotten. Now before you , a crisp  white page. Awaiting a new chapter. A new beginning. Emerging with a newly found sense of self. A value of oneness. Born from the pain of separation. The realisation that two cannot  become one. The path to individuation is yours to walk alone.
0
Aug 13, 2018
Aug 13, 2018 at 2:05 PM UTC
Archives.
If the definition of ****** is “little death”then I have died many times. Languishing in a hazy afterglow of pleasure. Limbs weak and rendered temporarily useless...like rubber. Skin flushed rose, lips full and red. Smooth contours of breast and hip and collar bone.... Luminous in their beauty.... Illuminated beneath the watchful gaze of the moon as she peeps through the hastily drawn curtain. ****** to the ****** and wild beauty of fluid bonding. I have “died “ many times. And yet I smile an indulgent knowing smile. Soon I will experience my “little death”once again.
0
Jul 26, 2018
Jul 26, 2018 at 3:33 PM UTC
La Petit Morte.
In life it seems we are ultimately powerless in our struggle. Death is not the end.. it is merely a transition. Perhaps a long awaited freedom. Far from the gruelling and meaningless constraints of mortal existence.
0
Jun 12, 2018
Jun 12, 2018 at 6:17 AM UTC
The Last Train.
. In my dreams I am a warrior....Athena on horseback. Battle scarred yet with a quiet strength that burns within. I am a white witch...arms outstretched as I dance beneath the saucer moon. My lips moving in an incantation that will set me free. The stars above the only witnesses as I relinquish all that does not serve me. The manacles that bound in misery now rusted and useless. Like a caged canary that at last escapes its imprisonment from its human oppressor. Wings flapping madly in a joyous first taste of freedom. I am the water that once was murky and heavy with silt, Now flowing free..crystal clear and pure. The storm that has raged for a lifetime now calm..a gentle warm breeze. The elements of nature stand beside me...my foot soldiers, guardians. A reminder that I am not alone... I am at last laid bare....canvas white and new.... The time is now.......let it go....
0
Jun 6, 2018
Jun 6, 2018 at 8:30 AM UTC
Let It Go.