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 Dec 2016 skaldspiller
Genevieve
Life at the bottom of a poisoned well
Can be soothing sometimes
The dim weight,
All that water
Makes for a comforting blanket.
No sudden movements,
No loud noises to shake me.

But there are days
Days like today when all I want is a breath
A gasp of that green breeze
Warm with sunlight
So my lungs can finally feel full again.

There's no fighting that water though
And even if I could,
There's not enough strength left in these withered limbs
To break through the shimmering glass above

So I lay here.

Life at the bottom of a poisoned well
Can be soothing sometimes.
 Dec 2016 skaldspiller
Genevieve
There is something in the play of your eyes
A mischievous glint
A promise of laughter
A whisper of guilt
A threat of tears

Something in the way you move
Like you could be diving into the perfect somersault
Or in front of a bus
Every movement
Like it could be your last

Something in the quiet of your breathing
On nights when we shared the same bed
Something about how you reached for my hand
Even in sleep, present
Peaceful yet turbulent
Your body couldn't stay still.
Even in unconsciousness, restlessness took you from bed
To roam the house at night

More and less
The Paradox
 Dec 2016 skaldspiller
Ramin Ara
Trees
Are poems
That earth writes
For forests
Straws and twigs litter the balcony
leaves withered from winter
pigeons have homed here safely
dirtied the place
but I don't mind
not replaced the broken glasses
we can make do with them
our family has grown
somewhere we left the nest
to wither in winter
barely holding together
me and her.
At Tagore's Shanti Niketan (Abode of Peace), November 13, 2016.
 Dec 2016 skaldspiller
SE Reimer
(a tribute; if mere words could be enough)

~

the life of this River,
'tis an unending stream;
is an unpublished book,
its current fast at flood;
a flow that washes clean,
all the gathered debris;
its words like diamonds,
sparkling neath its lapping
waters at its river bank;
a sound refreshing,
hushes the rush in my mind,
calling to my soul.
where does the river go at night,
and whence flows its waters
when hidden, out of sight?
its flow is eternal to the sea;
a place of waters gathering,
of floods heaping,
of reflection's seeking,
where still waters lie,
where the hand of friendship
holds and lifts all who venture
to its depth where feet
can touch no longer
the point where most
would flounder
become a place of calm
of peaceable retreat without
and deep within
a flow of tears for thee!

~

post script.

a heart on sleeve composure,
for he who knows the River best!
who's breath is water deep,...
who's heart beat its very current!

added 12-13-16
my dearest HP friends, i want to thank you for this Daily and for your generous words, though i cannot truly claim this credit for my own.  those of you who have walked these halls with me for a few years will read between the lines and will know precisely for whom this tribute is written.  he is become to me one of a small handful of poetry mentors and it was a moment of great appreciation for his artistic talent that inspired these words... words that tumbled from this pen as a rush, and in mere minutes.  such is he, that he inspired this spill of words; a flood that i would not claim for my own.  to he who knows, thank you, my friend... this River... these and this belongs to you!!
Some days there is an ache
That ripples through my soul like an echo in an empty cave.
Where it started, I'll never know
But it seems endless on my empty days.
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