Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
 Nov 2021
Maria Mitea
it's unfair to hate the morning
- it's unfair to hate,
because
neither the new nor the old
after burning the night
this day does not return in vain,
this day is a good day to be: a leaf
scribbled by the blue of the sky,
green sprawling on the ground, the sea
turned upside down (steam hanging from the sky
mornings), - today i woke up
with all colors of mine caressing  the faint frost on the top of the grass,
dressing up for the winter, wood and smoke rodents,
- to lighten up  the agate eye
i did not  forget the summer flowers either,
colored dust and water
"holi diwali", smiles in clay lanterns, lost kiss in rangoli
- ah, darling,
do not forget,
this day is a good day to be your favorite color,  like
the color of the sky,  of the sun,  earth, or grass ...
Today has to be a lady
Blue eyes
Brown cinnamon locks caressing -
a floor length dress of forest green-
& umber ..
Soft moss beneath bare feet
Shadow black admirers traipse ,-
watch & gently mimic every move-
beside her ...

Today must be a lady
Warm undertones
Whispers that tickle the ear
Wood-line mannequins guard-
our periphery
Mirrored waters craving her reflection
Jays portend loves arrival
The blessed harbinger of the
new day revival ...
Copyright November 5 , 2021 by RandolphL Wilson * All Rights Reserved
 Nov 2021
Carlo C Gomez
~
Sheltered within her cryochamber, the offspring of Armageddon dreams of play. She swims in an algal bloom that no longer stings like jellyfish. She floats on the surface of content, far removed from the synthetic sea and its plastic isles. She dwells in a bubble, but her mind hangs free as a halo, soaring with clouds. But these are not the skies that sense their own act of vandalism. This is the space and ceiling of a child's mind, in her capacity to absorb disturbance and rest her tiny, fragile hope in pretended, unclaimed worlds.
~
 Oct 2021
Carlo C Gomez
~
Windsong breeze
Playing to the tune of migration
Flight of the Arctic tern
Pushing the boundaries
For greater hemispheres
Internal clocks sound a message though
It is indeed time to go
To wing forth in formation
As they were designed to do
Their wanderlust tempered
By an annual returning

~
 Oct 2021
Glenn Currier
Isn’t it strange
how in this brief exchange
of the creative impulse
we gain
a certain kind of intimacy
with each other
yet we never
smell each other
shake hands
breathe the same air
put up with personal idiosyncrasies
and off-putting voice inflections –
all the things our friends and loved ones have to.

Yet here we occupy hearts and minds
many of our friends and loves do not know
with such closeness, interiority, and connectedness.

What a strange and magnificent gift!
I wrote this after reading several poems of my friends here on this wonderful website. I got to thinking about how I address many of you as "my friend," and I really feel a friendship with you, yet we have never met face-to-face in the flesh. How sweet it is!
This fir is an old friend
She lends a punctual ear to no end
First shielding my body from the -
unforgiving Georgia sun then we
quietly face the beautiful ambiguity -
between dusk & dawn ...
Copyright October 4 , 2012 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
I am darkness.
I wear the mask of sunny mornings
But dark shadows seep around the edges.

I am storm clouds.
I masquerade as blue sky days
But the cows out in the fields lay down.

I am a somber dirge
Though my speakers play a happy song
It’s always in a minor key.

I am tomorrow.
While I can’t untangle from today
I waft the scent of yesterday.
                     ljm
I have oberved that when it's about to rain in farm country, most of the milk cows out in the pasture lay down. I don't know why. They won't tell me.
 Sep 2021
guy scutellaro
a sky of caring
a rabbit foot on a chain

two 6 packs
3 friends

take me back to the river
by the railroad tracks

and shelly
and keats
and junior kimbrough

take me back
to the river by the railroad tracks

and the flat pennies we held
in the palms of our hearts


fall
is a forgiving season

so take me back to the river by the tracks

where the river runs
deep
and wide
and the memories have souls
Next page