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young trees
gaze skyward,
their branches thick
with a visual feast
of floral shish kabob
prepared in sunshine
with a rain marinade,
a treat
of the season.
 May 2017 Adrian Ware
JAC
There's a soft blue spark
That materializes in the smallest of moments
That illuminates those that love
Whoever they may be
And we can see it, that blue glow.
Just like a fire never chooses where to burn
A spark never chooses where to find itself:
Between animal and friend;
Between fingertips during a movie neither cares for;
Between the flick of your smile
And the words on a page
Or the flash on a screen;
Between mother in mind
And child that may only be there too;
Between laughs that bubble up
When nowhere and nothing clash;
Between one here and one far,
Or one here and one gone.
We fall in love with those sparks of love
And they show us just how to do so -
Teaching you how to teach,
Showing you how to show,
And they care not for who
For what
For when
For why
For how;
They simply show.
In her dreams, the docent
maneuvers schoolchildren

down museum corridors,
shepherding their bodies

into evacuated galleries
where nothing changes

except the patterns
of nails hammered
into plaster walls.

She speaks pedantic
falsehoods until one

by one the children
disengage and find

themselves a constellation
of nails upon which to hang.

A renaissance takes time, but
not as much as you might think.

Come midnight,
the museum is full
of masterpieces.

And though the works
of art make her weep,

the docent is inspired
to study each small frame
for a brushstroke

that might signify
the break of dawn.
everything of
me was choir-song

every bolt of
air,
every summer
moon,
every drop of
cooling rain,

in spring i
melted like
a hedgerow,
in gold and
sky-bronze,

in summer i
gathered the sky
to my branches
green with shadows
of longing,

in autumn i trembled
downwards like a
girl unwinding her
hair,

and in winter i froze
on the doorstep
all black branch
and cold
rigging on
a barren ship,

everything of me
was choir-song and
i had the most
beautiful
purple throat,

i was a soft
melody of love
on a strange
moody day.
 Mar 2017 Adrian Ware
SG Holter
Why does rain smell?
How come leaves make that
Crunching sound when walked
Upon in autumn? That
Great October Sound.

We love seconds and minutes.
Hours and days are for the
Weak,
Weeks and years for the
Hopeless romantics.

Nothing hopeless
About our romance.
We just shut up and take it in.
Love? Photo album in words?
Yes.

We know it.
It's like laughing when her
Dog Shelby
Kisses me, and I kiss her back,
Wet snout and all,

And she carries that kiss to her
Owner;  
So beautiful by the mirror,
Asking me:
Should I wear the black or the

Purple dress?
and I lean back
And enjoy her trying them
On.
We are the Moment People.
We snapshot microseconds

And capture them
Like this.
This is why we're poets.
We help them remember.
We write for the ones we love.
A heavenly glimpse
I saw you, spinning there
In a field against the 3 o' clock Spring sunshine
Hands outstretched at either side
The encapsulation of pure bliss
The rays of sun illuminated the slopes and curves
Of this angel dancing before me
Cicadas and crickets played their symphony as you danced
The dandelion wishes were your partners
I called out to you in pure elation
And you faded away with the breeze
An aberration
A figment of my imagination
Are you alright where you are?
Oh how I wish you were here with me
Death has robbed me of my heart
I'd give anything to see you dancing in a meadow again
Without a care in the world
Death, give me back what's mine
I, a selfish girl, want nothing less than what belongs to me
And she was my love
She's gone and it frustrates me to no end. I love her and always will. My grandma loved to dance anywhere and everywhere.
 Jan 2017 Adrian Ware
Mona
You never truly know loss,
Or how much tragedy weighs,
How it makes feel like you're under water,
And to breathe, your lungs just won't obey.

You were so small, so hidden in the universe,
And suddenly your existence is so massive,
You never know until you're hit,
That the force of it all makes you come crashing.

And every scattered piece is calling for the other,
And everyone is insistingly trying to help,
But the water level rises to your ears,
And every sound that comes close is always repelled.

You never truly know loss,
How it spreads like cancer inside your being,
You never know until you're a core of something that used to be,
And there's nothing more of you worth seeing.

You never know...
All those second hand tears never prepare you,
For when your lungs are filled with water,
And it feels like there's no sun to look up to.
And I...

I wanna live
not just survive

tonight.
Angel with a shotgun - Nightcore
 Jan 2017 Adrian Ware
JAC
Even
The voice
Of the train
Sounds tired.
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