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She blooms in the darkest season.
She is the light you crave.
She gives all she has
To be beautiful for you,
To be presentable,
And to be joy in darkness.
She stands in grace,
Trying to fulfill every expectation
Set before her.
But even the amaryllis
In all her beauty,
Soon grows tired
And hunches
And sighs
And dies.
Comes a scented melancholy rolling into love before the call
Never doubting your presence or mine
Idle talk acquires air which comes before a fall
Fading soon into the rapid hum
Of your departing spine

A resting phrase kissed half blind tears from scented wings
Burning them into our memories
Yet there was no sorrow, in or about anything
Or fear felt when you faded
Into the breeze

Ancient wisdom came to us, making us serenely aware
Of all the ripples rolling into our midst
We merely held on to the sweetness we shared
Knowing, those ripples would fade
No longer exist

Comes a scented cheerfulness rolling into our present
Never doubting your presence or mine
Those ripples have faded into love’s astonishment
Forever sending the sweetest chills
Up and down our spines
Copyright *Neva Flores @2010
We enter
this realm,
like a pebble
into a
we leave
As we
move along,
the ripples
with other
an ocean
of ripples.
Our ripples
over time.
Positive ripples
negative, greedy
Which will we
leave behind?
In the end,
will it be
about power
and money,
the ripples
of kindness
that will change
it all, and
on our
I am a puddle in the ocean
Blended in a blue dream
With wandering waves
That capsize in captivity
Condescending from freedom

I am a puddle in the ocean
Struggling to stay calm
In this vicious storm
As the wind is whirling
Whipping my family around

I am a puddle in the ocean
Lost in space like a star
Wishing I could shine
Like the ferocious flame
Of the sun's searing rays

I am a puddle in the ocean
Drowning in earths tears
Shed from the sorrow
Of all the pain in the world
That never washed ashore

I am a puddle in the ocean
Fighting to stay afloat
Holding on to a rope
With a grip that's groping
But safety is far from sight

I am a puddle in the ocean
Tired of being tortured
By tricks of the truth
Seeking to expose them
With a splash of sunshine

I am a puddle in the ocean
Looking to ride a wave
One that will carry me
Far away from the storm
To be soaked up by the sun
There is a very secret place
That exists between day and night
If you're patient then some day
You may see the land of Twilight.

The gates to enter are so slight
If you see them it may seem
A trick of the sunset's light
A fairy's passing dream

So pay heed to the change of time
For lilac hues of coming night
Truly love to pantomime
The secret land of Twilight

You'll know when you've timed it right
For the spangled fairy wings
Will lend a softly shimmering light
To a host of other things

Pregnant dew drops standing by
Patiently awaiting night
Stars twinkling a lullaby
Before they take their dazzling flight

The creatures of the dark that bite
Are sharpening their pointy teeth
On the last of sunset's shards of light
Surveying what's beneath

Should the Moon, empress of this land
See you taking in these sights
She will take you by the hand
And lead you gently into night

And you'll wonder all your life
Was it real or just a dream
For in the secret land of Twilight
Things aren't ever as they seem.
2nd attempt at a story poem. Hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.
WHO knows what I know
when I have asked the night questions
and the night has answered nothing
only the old answers?
Who picked a crimson cryptogram,
the tail light of a motor car turning a corner,
or the midnight sign of a chile con carne place,
or a man out of the ashes of false dawn muttering "hot-dog" to the night watchmen:
Is there a spieler who has spoken the word or taken the number of night's nothings? am I the spieler? or you?
Is there a tired head
the night has not fed and rested
and kept on its neck and shoulders?
Is there a wish
of man to woman
and woman to man
the night has not written
and signed its name under?
Does the night forget
as a woman forgets?
and remember
as a woman remembers?
Who gave the night
this head of hair,
this gipsy head
calling: Come-on?
Who gave the night anything at all
and asked the night questions
and was laughed at?
Who asked the night
for a long soft kiss
and lost the half-way lips?
who picked a red lamp in a mist?
Who saw the night
fold its Mona Lisa hands
and sit half-smiling, half-sad,
nothing at all,
and everything,
all the world ?
Who saw the night
let down its hair
and shake its bare shoulders
and blow out the candles of the moon,
whispering, snickering,
cutting off the snicker .. and sobbing ..
out of pillow-wet kisses and tears?
Is the night woven of anything else
than the secret wishes of women,
the stretched empty arms of women?
the hair of women with stars and roses?
I asked the night these questions.
I heard the night asking me these questions.
I saw the night
put these whispered nothings
across the city dust and stones,
across a single yellow sunflower,
one stalk strong as a woman's wrist;
And the play of a light rain,
the jig-time folly of a light rain,
the creepers of a drizzle on the sidewalks
for the policemen and the railroad men,
for the home-goers and the homeless,
silver fans and funnels on the asphalt,
the many feet of a fog mist that crept away;
I saw the night
put these nothings across
and the night wind came saying: Come-on:
and the curve of sky swept off white clouds
and swept on white stars over Battery to Bronx,
scooped a sea of stars over Albany, Dobbs Ferry, Cape Horn, Constantinople.
I saw the night's mouth and lips
strange as a face next to mine on a pillow
and now I know ... as I knew always ...
the night is a lover of mine ...
I know the night is ... everything.
I know the night is ... all the world.
I have seen gold lamps in a lagoon
play sleep and murmur
with never an eyelash,
never a glint of an eyelid,
quivering in the water-shadows.
A taxi whizzes by, an owl car clutters, passengers yawn reading street signs, a *** on a park bench shifts, another *** keeps his majesty of stone stillness, the forty-foot split rocks of Central Park sleep the sleep of stone whalebacks, the cornices of the Metropolitan Art mutter their own nothings to the men with rolled-up collars on the top of a bus:
Breaths of the sea salt Atlantic, breaths of two rivers, and a heave of hawsers and smokestacks, the swish of multiplied sloops and war dogs, the hesitant hoo-hoo of coal boats: among these I listen to Night calling:
I give you what money can never buy: all other lovers change: all others go away and come back and go away again:
I am the one you slept with last night.
I am the one you sleep with tonight and tomorrow night.
I am the one whose passion kisses
  keep your head wondering
  and your lips aching
  to sing one song
  never sung before
  at night's gipsy head
  calling: Come-on.
These hands that slid to my neck and held me,
these fingers that told a story,
this gipsy head of hair calling: Come-on:
can anyone else come along now
and put across night's nothings again?
I have wanted kisses my heart stuttered at asking,
I have pounded at useless doors and called my people fools.
I have staggered alone in a winter dark making mumble songs
to the sting of a blizzard that clutched and swore.
It was the night in my blood:
  open dreaming night,
  night of tireless sheet-steel blue:
The hands of God washing something,
  feet of God walking somewhere.
Warmed by her hand and shadowed by her hair
As close she leaned and poured her heart through thee,
Whereof the articulate throbs accompany
The smooth black stream that makes thy whiteness fair,—
Sweet fluttering sheet, even of her breath aware,—
Oh let thy silent song disclose to me
That soul wherewith her lips and eyes agree
Like married music in Love’s answering air.

Fain had I watched her when, at some fond thought,
Her ***** to the writing closelier press’d,
And her breast’s secrets peered into her breast;
When, through eyes raised an instant, her soul sought
My soul, and from the sudden confluence caught
The words that made her love the loveliest.
The night sky is so alluring
There is a subtle attraction
Stars hold our gaze tonight
As lovers hearts come closer
Fine strings from the moon
And the shimmering veil
Decorate the landscape
Waves of silver light
Resonates with hearts upheaval
Night’s bring out the beauty
With closed eyes, we see the universe
Love stops at this confluence
Hearts slowly drowning in love
 Aug 2021 Wendi Schneider
I miss the earlymorning quiet when teverything the world is
Waiting to take her first
Breath. When I can walk into the justbarely night sky
With my toes touching dewycold grass and
Lift my head to feel the breezy dawn,
When the moon fades to daylight and the
Sunrays breach the clouds they hide behind, that
Inbetween duskdawn state where
I am the only living soul.
There is nothing more beautiful than This quiet but summer trades the soft cascade of leaves for
Cacophonous daybreaks with birds chirping
Awareness of being settles in well
Before 4 AM.
I want the tiptoefeeling back, when I step outside and
inhale the dawn.

I am waiting there, on my
Porchstep, promising to take my first
Written when I couldn't sleep, as are most of my pieces.
 May 2021 Wendi Schneider
Out  in dusk,in the sunset
The flakes invisible go
The wind goes on
As fast as the star slows
Out in dusk,in the sunset
The cold greeds you
Needs your comfort
Wants your warm instead
Out in dusk,in the sunset
The Moon ,your soul dances
Behind the sun,beneath your smile
Out in dusk,in the sunset
Dark and light,in a spot they meet
Makes you jealous,away a spark
Hides your breath,above twilight
Out in dusk,in the sunset!
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