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Sharon Flynn Mar 2019
Do you remember the day
when I became your Sun?
Shining so brightly
that my radiance
made your eyes go blind,
your brain fevered
with the heat
of my sunstroke.

Your blood boiled
simmering
to a high brew,
bubbling up
to the heart
where love mixed
emotion with hot blood.

You panted after me
as a deer pants
after the pure waters
of a babbling
mountain brook; and I was
poured through your hands,
tasted and savored
like a fine wine.

I was the crescendo
you built
with new rhythms,
the Sun radiating
infinitesimal
beams of love
through your soul.
Sharon Flynn Mar 2019
I gaze at your picture and I let myself sigh.
You shout at me with the flash of your smile.
Memories we shared dance in my head
and I find myself drowning in the ocean of my tears.

We were happy together and lived in each other's light.
I can still feel your head laying upon my shoulder
while you wept about a fear that you could not understand.
Did you know that your smile would soon disappear?

I am left missing you
with only our photographs
to remind me of the couple
that we once were.
Sharon Flynn Mar 2019
Like the waves of a troubled ocean,
waves of love tumble over
the shore of her tempest-tossed heart.
The moonlight showers her lithe form
with dots of pure translucent light.
She sways to the gathering rhythms
of an ebbing gleam as she gets lost
in the dream of what he is to be.

So soft the flickering gems
that skirt their way
atop the polished gloss
of her enchanted sea.
He swerves in just touching
her awakening mouth of pearl
that beckons to be kissed
from its bed of opalescent swirl.

She is an ancient siren
who cries out from the eons
to a lost and wayward youth.
He answers her yearning call
delving deep into the depths,
plumbing the miles of her soul.
She is ever the enchantress
in a dress of shimmering gold.

He paints a portrait of passion
each night after the Sun has set
as her sea is bathed in his Moon embers.
Sharon Flynn May 2019
train wheels go clickety-clack
riding the rails through
cities and towns
the low moan of train whistles
call out to the late, late night
my clickety-clack heart
tells its own tale
riding rails of all
those lost lovers
the low moans
of heart-pounding
******* sessions
as two voices call out
night-time pleasures
so many types of wheels
are put into motion
clickety-clack sounds
abounding
in heart-throbs
or in fast moving trains
riding down
their own kinds of rails
This was for a  motif contest. where a sound recurring word or words  ran throughout the poem.
Sharon Flynn Jun 2019
three sister sorceresses
in the halo of a crescent Moon
a thin slice of circular light
highlighting three lithe figures
all dressed in long lavender gowns
three hands extended together
as a ball of flames grows
and magic incantations are uttered

O' Moon of strong wiles
send us three muscular men
so we can beguile them
with our dark voodoo bewitching
hypnotize them with ravishing hexes

beware you men of youth
for these three sisters will steal
your breath away from you
then toss away your lifeless bodies
sisters three with viper charms
are serpents who love soft flesh
have no qualms about using
your life forces to restore
their own youth and pulchritude
sometimes raving beauties hide
the evil witches that live deep inside
Sharon Flynn Mar 2019
Late of evening
in the summer-set of years,

he of cerulean eyes
lured she of doe-spun brown
to fertile mating grounds
windswept of passion's fire.

Yet, when night overshadowed
daylight's destiny,

when two in a thousand met,
when fate had shaken their hands
leaving its palm-print on their hearts;

then as two moths capering
in bulb-lit spheres,
two lovers' wing tips brushed

and for one minuscule
fragment of time
were joined together

in an intimate coupling
of ecstacy and rhyme.
Sharon Flynn May 2019
Your eyes speak of clarity
intensity of fragrances
poured into a blue-hazel symmetry
infinity peeks out of your gaze
intense fragility closing
then opening eyes to your Spring
where flowers grow and blossom
irises that hypnotize
count the centuries within
circlets that paint with colors
upon the canvas of stunning hues
create masterpieces
with light and truth
behind the beacons of baby blues
wellsprings of knowledge
smile within a blue smile
frames almond-like
around blue velvet orbs
pictures flash inside
let us know who you are today
and what you might one day become
Contest to write about one of 13 sets of eyes of the hosts of a blog radio show.
Sharon Flynn May 2019
white birds
doves of pure love
fly side by side
between heaven and earth
touching white wings
from time to time
kissing beaks
wingtip caresses
going higher and higher
up to dappled-gray clouds
watered drops fall
golden drops of balm
heaven coming closer
earth falling behind
one dove of white
looks back at the other
then soars away
and one dove descends
finds its home
alone in the treetops
This poem was created from a dream my uncle had at my aunt's passing.
Sharon Flynn Mar 2019
The air is crisp with autumn promise,
fills the senses with the smoky scent
of a fired-up wood burning stove.
A woodland fairy dances past us
carrying colorful leaves of yellow and orange.
She twirls and twirls until she is quite dizzy
scattering puffs of dirt and dust into the air.
We hear her voice singing a sweet invitation
to run and caper beside her tiny frame.
Her magical laughter tickles our ears
as we learn to accept the unexpected.
The trees prepare themselves for bed
as we hunker down for the night
warm beneath our hand-crafted feather quilt.
The air is crisp and scintillating outside.
We see dots of light as the woodland fairy
dances past our window one more time.

— The End —