Lazy afternoon rays shaft
     Through Spring's full trees;
The wind cuts laterally
     Leaving the sea.
Through deck lattice
     The grass weaves
A tartan plaid.

     Electric lines,
     Chimney tops,
     Blossoming crops.

I hold out my hands,
Stringing fingers
Through thinning hair.

The artisan
Wove and weaves.
This is the basket,
The rug,
My coat.
Entwine our fingers;
Weave a basket.
Collect your thoughts.

Dream sequences
Made up of random patterns
So many faces
The rhythm of many heartbeats
So many minds
So many thoughts- conscious or sub-conscious
What is their origin?
Only source from within us?
Maybe thoughts are planted
While we are asleep
Played to us like a dream film
Some we remember
Others we forget
Yet, they may be residing somewhere
Where do lost dreams go?
Or, maybe it’s not meant for us
Expunged from our subconscious
Our every move has a meaning
We may not know the origins
For all we know
Or actions are mirrored

Oh My Darling
My life, my love
You are all that I am
Everything that I can be
Without you
I am naught
At times we are at odds
Though my love remains
I long for you,
When you seem distant
I am wholly lost
Left to fester in my head
With you at my side
I am whole
I have sacrificed my sanity for my emotions
To feed my dearest love

You can see bones in her slender neck—
like ******* knuckles gripping the back
of a dining chair.


She hums a love song while staring at the pages of a romance
novel, grey tea cooling beside her, sun fading from the room.


Her canary dropped dead in its cage. The mailbox hasn’t been
checked for days…

She has ‘Once upon a time’ tattooed on the inner lining
of her lungs, ‘Happily ever after’ carved in each finger-bone.

She is the one roses wilt for—the ghost of a fairy tale left
to a room with only the memory
of birdsong.

My house is full
Of these pictures

They aren't ordinary pictures
They move in the frames
Like in Harry Potter

The pictures show a girl
I see her everytime I walk past

I'm quite jealous of this girl
She looks so happy
She's pretty
She looks kind
She looks peaceful
She looks rested

I'm nothing like that
I wish I was
So I'm jealous of this
Picture girl

But maybe I shouldn't be
You see,

These pictures have a special name
Mirrors

And the girl has a special name too
*Nicole

~Christi Michaels~MoonFlower~Fluer de Luna~
          
Today is my 58th Birthday!
Just now finding firm, resolute
footing here in this magical yet
ever changing world of ours.
As I take stock of my wealth of Blessings, Hello Poetry has been a heart changing event for me this last year.

You all have enriched my world. Accepted my words, my heart,
my hurts, my visions, in such a
kind and loving manner. My pen
pals around the world, we get to
share our inner thoughts, feelings in poetic form!  Such a precious way to bond. How fantastic is that? You have touched me by sharing your hearts, your worlds. Please know Dear Poets how your support, inspiration and patient kindness has strength.

As I lay curled up in the soft nest of
my bed, I do what I do
every morning now,
awake with anticipaticipation of
words that have arrived as I
have slumbered, awaiting your
writes to enrich my Day...

I send you all ripples of Love.
Please take a moment and join
me in acknowledging how unique
and special you all are ...ThankYou
for my amazing journey on HP,
and the delight in knowing It shall continue!

I thank Mark Cleavenger for being
my poetry friend. Wolf for my
beautiful pen name Fluer de Luna
Most of all, thank you Elliot for providing a safe place in which to land.
Peace and Love
Christi Michaels MoonFlower~Fluer de Luna~

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.

My heart shouldn’t have profusely bled
I saw her face only once
a moment’s crossing in a moment paid
not meant for a second chance!

The fire shouldn’t have leapt in me
she was a doomed emotion
trying to live in my penned poetry
meant to be only a notion!

My mind shouldn’t have imprisoned her
caged her from one mere glance
lived the phantom of an absurd affair
spilled ink in a mad trance!

I shouldn’t have sought her anymore
searched in the wild her trace
she couldn’t be my paramour
I saw from the crowd her face!

raining magpie madness,
   darkly drenching the
       marrow of vital spirit,
thieving in night's anticipation
clawing eye's conscious thunder,
     lashing 'pon tainted yearnings
plucking rendered heartstrings
       engaged of looming silences,
  submerged in doused inequity
      of blackened skies ambiguity

It’s in the linear plane
The one that buzzes
Directly above the brow
It’s heavy and foul
Sludge like and slow
Dense with no flow
It is unappealing in color
With a dull toxic glow
It must be rid of
By placing an amulet
Made of Amethyst stone
Upon the glabella
For many days in a row
Until a duplex conduit
Is understood between
Cosmos and soul

A young man
Impatient and ruthless
A real to the point kind of guy
Just like his father.
As he was building a house
On the edge of the forrest
He did as father taught him
The wood was soft and flexible
So rather than taking his time
Hammer each nail in to the wood
He beat each of them
In to the wood
One nail, one hit
Efficient
The blow created tension within the wood
That nail will never come out again
Had he taken his time
He could've removed
The rusty nails with less effort
To change what needed changing
20 years from now

It's just like that
When we speak to people.
Be forcefull
And create an unyielding mindset
Be gentle
And create a flexible surface
For evolution.

I dissected your poetry,
  read between the lines
    different than mine,
perhaps our sentiments
  don't exactly jive
 nor rhyme in their profundity,
dissimilar perspectives
   in verbosity's distinction
    as fantasies are vastly unique,
our dichotomy mutually exclusive
yet, we bleed the same colors
   as our spaces blur into each other