nature friend
such spells you weave
astonishing views
and bizarre life forms
can your anteaters
and your Appalachian mountains
halt construction
I fear it is nothing much
In the face of progress.

at the beautiful sunrise at the stray cat
hiding beneath my van in the shade
trying to make believe she was hidden,
it brought me to mind that nothing can hide,
forever, eventually, some sun
breaks the hiding into dapples
of gold
and reflections of glitters
like diamonds
and sparkling cats eyes
trying to be
alive and
scared
of where she was
caught unawares
of the night ending

Water flows
In places which pardon
Ziploc bags full of apologies
Floating upriver
Downstream
Under bridges

The ocean swells
Like the cold midnight air
Entering a pair of lungs
So I take
Another breath

We stand in twilight hues...
Fingers consciously entwined in a clasp.
We speak without vocals
that crescendo between sighs and gasps.

We anticipate...
But we do not look forward...
Not to the promise of freedom and salvation.
More so the uncertainty
that resonate with the *****
of feathered morning birds.

The unknown scares us so.
We know not of what lurks,
in the impending light of day.
We simply bide the ticking seconds...
As we scramble for the right words to say.

When there needn't be such uncomfortable silence.
No need for an awkward stance.
For we've embraced the melody,
memorised the lyrics
and rehearsed the dance.

Yet...
We hesitate...
Even though we've decided that we must.
For what shadow that looms agape below us,
hurling threats of swallowing us whole,
will soon be warded off...
As quick as the errant gust.

The darkness...
Will soon be cast behind our backs.
And all would be committed to memory
as surely as it had begun.
It would dissipate as it would stretch far...
But only if we turn to face the dawning sun.

Cotton candy clouds
Fill my throat with cement
I want to be the moon
I'd like to be somewhere else

When birds sing into my window
I float in an ocean of sheets
I would drown in them if I could
Alone alone alone

When the day becomes golden
I wish I could love it for myself
I'd hide it from the world
Alone alone alone

When dark streaks of clouds illuminate
And the streets becomes calm
I'd like to be as smooth as the warmness in the breeze
I wish I was the moon
I'd like to be somewhere else

If I could bury me down into the earth
If my toes became roots
My arms, strong branches
My soul would not be still

I would fly into the godly skies
Clouds of yellow, gold and rays of light
And I would compress this all
With my two bare hands
Alone alone alone

Like water, like flowing rivulets,
notes fly from fingers fast on frets.
Slippery sinuous shimmering tones
(complemented by brash bluesy Bones).
Like storm’s thunder and lightning a chord
brings the sky to us on earth—
or is it that we fly , then die until the rebirth
in gentle reverb of a note two octaves higher?
Strange how rain coexists with fire.
Drench us in the cascade born from your desire.

The moon, a hollow
Saint Jacques shell,
whose kernel
lovers
and language figures
had wasted through the flow
of time,
came
to this eerie pond
a dry vagabond -
now a dweller
of the surface deep.

© LazharBouazzi, Carthage, TUN, September 3, 2016

I am a cloud in a world full of clouds.
People call me shy;
I see myself as low-lying fog.
Fog-the thick stuff right in front of your eyes,
so think you can’t see through it…
Until you’ve crossed into the inside.
I don’t see myself as above others,
so I’m low to the ground.

Other clouds –
Storm clouds, and those clouds you can imagine
as anything your heart desires,
and the wispy ones high up in the skies…
They are dramatic and charming, but what are they really?
Some clouds become ripped apart by cars,
but others are ripped apart by planes.
Is there even a cloud never caught, never ripped apart in any motion?
For really, we are all as each other.