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 Aug 2017
Ma Cherie
rhyming perfect
sounding meter
in sacred pounding
rhythms- true
synchronized
circadian beating
of my soul intwined with you

this is the sound
of the harmony
of two hearts
who love divine

it is the loving
ardent cadence
of two hearts
now keeping time.

Ma Cherie © 2017
Idk...lol
 Jan 2017
Ma Cherie
Up ahead past frozen trees,
lies a timeless crystal valley,
while some still stand unfrozen here,
in rows of wooden alley,

I step in past behemoth guards,
who protect a prism palace,
as cleanest waters pure and clear,
rush down on earthly ballast,
a chance to sip of sacred wine,
inside a holy chalice,

Roots run deepest in this spot,
away from light,
below,
while tallest branches touch the sky,
all blanketed insnow,
as orchestra's of crystal chimes,
prepare another show,

When one should gaze upon it,
this ancient wooded sight,
as steam is rising steadily,
as daylight moves to night,
night draws down it's curtain,
as stars now shine a lovely light,

Your breath is taken with it,
& frozen there in time,
as daylight changes scenery,
angelic voices chime,
when telling of the beauty here,
I'd say this place sublime,

A wooded lucent heaven,
it's hard to put in words,
I close my eyes to dream again,
and listen to the birds,
and for every other lovely sound,
I hope my ears have heard,

My breath & I,
just cannot linger,
in beauty's frozen place,
where every branch is laden white,
on gaurded trees of ancient grace,
where all adorned with icicles,
& brilliant snowy patterned lace,

The atmosphere is full of vapor,
as the dew point has been hit,
condensing incandescent tears,
low flying clouds now sit,
so near the ground in steamy fog,
translucently still lit,

It captivates my every sense,
as frozen gates unlock,
I do my best to look away,
though all I do is gawk,
I peer inside to check the time,
...if any on the clock,

Sadly here,
not time for me,
inside this sleepy glen,
where birds & death,
they wait assured,
a thorny crown,
in safest den,
boreal a chickadee,
the livest a tiny wren,

Perhaps to come another day,
I stay inside past frozen gates,
I cannot know the how and when,
my thread of life is cut by Fates,
the three Keres I see in there,
it seems I can't manipulate,

I do not know the way to here,
amidst the wafting fog,
when all again will seem anew,
in Spring & newborn frog,
where lovely woodland creatures,
come out from mossy log,

I so wish I could stay here too,
where now the only sound,
is one of snowflakes softly falling,
upon this hallowed ground,
I do not know where I am going,
or where I'm finally bound,

Though I will try again in Spring,
to see my way back here,
I came here with a fear of death,
but left inside that fear,
as little Winter fairies whisper,
of hope into my ear,

I am grateful for today,
with new hope for tomorrow,
I'm walking out of here tonight,
relieved of all my earthly sorrow,
I walk ahead,
now unconcerned,
if no more time...
at all to borrow.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Hey everyone I've been away but I'm doing alright...sorry not here so much,
I'll check in when I can today, and catch up as much as possible. I think being grateful is so important...to live from a place of gratitude. This is full of metaphors for life and death, acceptance of our time, breathing in the beauty it was a mystical spiritual walk as I pondered the fear of death. I carefully thought with this...it felt inspired idk... while at the most beautiful, breathtaking place here I know to go in Winter.... sigh...
Influences of Greek mythology (the fates) and some of my other beliefs. Many thanks poets for always kind words and love - hugs VERMONT ❤ ❤❤
 Oct 2016
Banana
The truth will never set you free.
It doesn't even exist-- it's just based on each person's own view of reality.
So instead of the truth I search for love.
It was the only thing that ever made any sense to me.
 Oct 2016
Jenny Gordon
(sonnet #MMMMMDCCLVI)


I swear, I love you, Robert.  Drive me thence
Up every wall.  In Spartan fashion scale
The hours down as I trim each sorry nail
Erm, with my teeth.  And oh!  What is it hence?
But you're the master of this ship, to fence
Unnumbered minutes with naught to avail,
Cuz I am spoiled?  Or what?!  In sheer betrayl
Oh help me!  but I'm cussing in suspense.
To top it off you have compassion fer
My father.  He swears I'm a task.  You two
Make quite the pair to set me off as twere.
Okay, I'll take up knitting.  That won't do.
You drive me bonkers!  Tell me that's not your
Intent and I'll prove tis.  I love you too.

06Jul16b
I love you.  There's no better word.
 Sep 2016
Timothy Ward
We now desire less
Eating beyond gluttony
People are starving?
Less than 1% of the world's wealthiest  own more than 50% of the world's wealth!!
My Darling's eyes:
Embers of molten gold,
An ocean of stars nigh,
Mine eyes dost behold.

My Darling's eyes:
A pulchritude cauldron
Akin to the skie's lanterns
Yet are but of chalcedony.

My Darling's eyes:
To be on the mark
Are but diamond dunes
If not a fountain of sparks!

My Darling's eyes:
Effulgent stars in a cluster
Swaddling velvet night skies
With celestial shore luster.


©Kikodinho Edward Alexandros
20th September 2016
#Be on the mark is an idiom that refers to be accurate or correct.
 Sep 2016
Sk Abdul Aziz
Life is a dish you eat wearing a blindfold...you don't know what is in front of you and yet you gotta taste it..you hope that the dish tastes good and some days it does..but some days it tastes bad..like real **** bad and you wonder why you got to taste it..but such is life...it gives you a taste of every flavour you can imagine.
When powers she wields
river she breaks homes
floods paddy fields

Swords of rains
swells her hurt pride
boils her veins

Vengeful she brims
breaks the lock gate
cultivator's dreams

Gone is sweet flow
in the moonlight
soft silver glow

Simmers her soul
raging red hot
she burns like coal

With inflamed tides
she devours the crop
growing on her sides

River now a curse
she wouldn't recede
without leaving scars

She can't be blamed at all
men have only ravaged her
taken her all.
 Sep 2016
Peter Piccolomini
I wrote this after reading some John Ashbery and James Cavanaugh, because well, I wanted to-- and they are different writers offering many options and feelings or no feelings at all.
“I am one of the searchers. There are, I believe, millions of us.
We are not unhappy, but neither are we really content.
We continue to explore life, hoping to uncover its ultimate secret.
– James Cavanaugh

Solution to a View

What does it mean
To wander into
concrete places
or an open field
To dangle time
like the wizard of waste
something floats
all around me
and is serious
but it could be
nothing
To be selfish
And lonely
Searching
Through hills
And
unsure
of the surprises
in a melted state
over
discouragement
And
bewilderment of
why I even cared about the
View
after it rained
and after it
displayed
open access  
to death
or
a dream
or my future
noticeable and
unwanted
and unsure
chills
run through my veins
and aching bones
of the likelihood of this
memory
To these hills
hands held high
look down now on
empty streets
broken and mended
like details of a
mirror
and out of respect
for the view

©copyright 2016, Peter Piccolomini
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