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Every moment in time
is delicate
ready to shatter

Every moment in time
is soon lost
and seldom found

I live in a moth-built cocoon
moss in my ears
deluded into thinking
I will soon be the butterfly
I once was

But in this life
it will never be
unless the ocean
loses its argument
against the land

Unless the moon
says no more
to the sun

So in that spirit I hold out my hands
for the next blessing
receive it dutifully
and with a gratitude deeper than music

Here to chime
until my time
like bells in the wind.
i've been too stressed to write
i forgot that writing takes
the stress away

- p. winter
Finding a lover is effortless
for some people.
They only want a few things:
Someone attractive, kind,
funny or rich.

But
I desire
something so much deeper.

I want

an intelligent mind
that wakes up thoughts in me
I didn't realize were hibernating.

I want

to converse, analyze and debate
without being conscious of
the sun rising and falling
between our words.

I want

to make a witty remark
at a coffee shop
so he can reply sarcastically
just for me to jab back immediately
and for him to comeback back playfully
until we're both laughing
stomachs shaking
spit flying
the whole store staring
and we leave
without coffee

I want

our hands to stitch together
perfectly
like two lost puzzle pieces;
one found under a couch cushion
one found inside a junk drawer.
The rest of the puzzle has
already been thrown away
but
these two pieces remain
and they fit.

I want

to fall in love together
then together fall in love with
art, museums, songs, poems
T.V shows, radio jingles,
greek food, backroads,
our mutual hatred for pop culture,
doing the dishes (as long as he washes and I dry)
wrong turns, piled up laundry, life.
Just fall in love with life.

I want

to hurt with him

I want

to save the world with him

I want

to meet, see, understand
and experience all that is foreign
with him.

I think it will only take us meeting
and it'll only be history and happiness from then on.

It's just a matter of if a love like that could ever be
and if a love like that could ever be for me.
'The sun loved
the moon so much
that he died
every night
to let her breathe.'

the beautiful forbidden lovers
never able to meet
to share warm kisses

but I remember the sneaky Moon
she sneaks out of her dark domain
I see her in bright daylight
swathed in the Sun's golden touch
opposite in the sky
they watch each other
with love so pure

although she is forbidden
in his bright domain
she is there
because she believes
that nothing is impossible

and the day comes
when they can meet
for but a few minutes
they embrace in fire
and we stare in wonder
as they meet
but then they must
drift apart
with broken hearts

she blows him kisses
whispers
'goodnight, my love'
as he sinks beneath the horizon
bursting into colors
and the Moon cries
and whispers
⠀⠀
'I love you.'❋
To: the long awaited Eclipse.
I guess
When it comes down to it
I'm just a girl
Who wants to be loved.
And whether I find that in you,
Or in myself,
Either way
I vow to be happy.

- p. winter
I opened my eyes
And looked up at the rain,
And it dripped in my head
And flowed into my brain,
And all that I hear as I lie in my bed
Is the slishity-slosh of the rain in my head.

I step very softly,
I walk very slow,
I can't do a handstand--
I might overflow,
So pardon the wild crazy thing I just said--
I'm just not the same since there's rain in my head.
The man who loved blue
Was a joyful soul
With eyes of diamond
And heart of gold.
His voice was breeze
In summer's air
With songs to sing
And stories to share.
His house of blue
Was easy to find,
So bright you could see it
Even if you were blind.
And all would come round
For a blue cup of tea
With biscuits that came
In blue packets of three.
They'd hear his advice,
For he had lots to give,
And all the adventures
Through which he had lived.
He laughed of his youth,
The days climbing trees
That he spent with his siblings
At age of thirteen.
Since then his face wrinkled,
His hair had turned grey,
But his life-loving soul
Didn't age a day.
And when the time came
That his house lost hue,
We never forgot
The man who loved blue.
My opa's favourite colour is blue...
For if I told you that I love you
Anywhere but my poetry
It would give you the power
To walk away.
So for now I will write
'Til the pen falls from my hand.
Never not loving you
And never not denying it.

- p. winter
Oh Reggae tree, oh Reggae tree
Your leaves so dank and sticky
Reggae tree, oh Reggae tree
Oh how we love to smoke thee

Sellassi I, his gift to me
Be this tree from Mary

Oh Reggae tree oh Reggae tree
Mary Jane is lovely
I hope every poet out here had a lovely reggae holiday season whatever you celebrate
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