Waves unfurled like the backs of whales
Rolling in a tempestuous sea
With cresting foam like the heads of sails
Straining to break away free

The clouds bow down to touch the waves
The waves ****** high above
The wind whips up a howling dance
As sea and sky make love

Cori MacNaughton
25Mar2000

Charlie was my friend, he was a chef
Then packed everything in to play saxaphone
When he played the universe stopped to listen
But ****** was claiming him, this he overthrew
In favour of wine

One day on a beaten track I found him sleeping
A woman had told me to beware the *****
She stood at the top to watch me walk past
So that I'd be safe.
I saw my friend and sat down, we smoked a smoke
Talked of old times
Fields on either side and the woman
Stood in amazement until I waved to say it was all alright

One night I was sleeping and woke in the dark
Charlie was saying "Wake up wake up"
The wind was howling outside
He took hold of my shoulders and shook me awake
I said
"******* Charlie, I'm trying to sleep"
Turned over and closed my eyes.

I found out a few days later
He'd died that night
In another place far from me
Of a final old times shot

~~~=<♡>=~~~

How can you
describe pale blue
if you've never seen the skies?
Don't define LOVE
Lord, above!
Unless you have the eyes!

Is it a hex? Or perhaps ***
that drives us to the brink?
A little thing that makes us sing?
Is it all hearts in pink?

Voodoo hoodoo
what do you do
when you're not that strong?
You may say
it's springing May
and STILL have it WRONG!

Birds on a perch?
A Google search?
Is that how you define?
A little bee?
How can you see?
Where do you draw the line?

Is it a smell?
How can you tell
if someone has the itch?
Look in the eyes.
They can't disguise
They will always snitch!

So what's amour?
What's in store?
Is it a certain glow?
Don't ask me!
Can't you see?

I DON'T EVEN KNOW!


SoulSurvivor
6/15/2015

The pink places he
kissed on her body
opened up the way
flowers do in the
season of spring.
And the fluids that
came out looked
like morning dew
on the petals before
the sunshine pours
down and dries them
off drop by drop* ~

We do our best,
Use varying syntax,
Rhythm, rhyme and meter.
Our words are picked
From the garden variety,
But the themes are from
The Prodigal Son.
Is there nothing new
Under the sun?
I'm writing the same poem
Over and over:
Variations on the same themes:
Love, Life, Death, Family,
Power, Wealth, Nature,
Fatted Calves, etc.

I could invent new words,
But the meaning would
Convey the same:
I widdle you.
Your soft sortesches condestort in mine.
It all sounds too familiar
In any language.
We need a new world
Where arms reach from our heads
To bypass the thoughts transferred
To our sortesches holding folences
That pen our work.

Intangibly, it cometh and goeth.
Substanceless it slips in transition from one immeasurable instant to the next. Equitable to infinite space, in terms of distance, infinite time is a concept quite alien to the finite human mind. There is no proof of existence, it is a human conception with no sensory component, an illusion and utterly immeasurable in real terms with only a human contrivance to calibrate it....(and poorly at that).
Time is the silken zephyr on which we lay our dreams and aspirations. It is the currency of deep religion and is regarded as the ultimate sword hand of God. Incorruptible and absolute it brooks no favour, seeks no fame. Irreversible in it's cold implacable, unquenchability it merely, unfeelingly.... proceeds.
M.

We wrote our lives
unto hopefilled parchment
and sprayed upon it
the perfume of our souls.
They used it to wipe
away their bitter tears
and held a match to it.
But that just means
we float forever
on a higher wind