Nightbird perches high
beneath the shooting stars
that dapple the bouquet
    of sleepless peace
... his soft downy breast      
    has lent breath
to the sweet April afterglow
     heaving with song

The mystical feathered troubadour's
     swooning echo
A melodic twilight serenade
conjures a moonstruck metamorphosis,
sprouting magical wings of flight;
rousing a lonely heart's esprit
     to fly away unfettered
     in constellations of song

How dare imaginings spilled from the big dipper
enchant such an enrapturing magic spell?
It's so far to fall from swinging on a star!
It's so far beyond nearing crescent moon
     when you wish upon a star  

Thereupon struck by a bewitching bolt of starlight;
Dropping asudden as a shooting-star!

    Rolling like trailing thunder;
        tucked and tumbling ―
             somersaulting,

           celestial rumbling
blossoming with an unearthly joy

A nascent winged heart splayed bare,
soars upon cresting wind waves;
    dreaming of that shapeless  
          w h o  o  o  o  s h ―
         gathering beneath
        ~ uplifting wings ~

  Suddenly ― gliding freely,
       winging gracefully
  upon wafting star drift glitter;
lilting lightly upon the arising cadence
of nightingale's melodious fluted song

Nightingale sings sweet April perfume
beneath the star shed lamplight twinkle

... and it makes no difference if it's only a dream
    if my heart had wings


imagined by:   Jesse Stillwater

She is a shoreline full of coves and cliffs.

Do not ask her to tell you where it begins or ends.

Damaged footprints stalk her recyclable judgments.

Scars reared up like cinematic poltergeist waves assassinating city lights.

Her spells weave in front of the bonfire my eyes cannot pull away from.

Strip teased by flames she weaves my opal necklace out of moonlight embedded sand.

She is a treasure chest full of jade.
  
Walking blindly,

I locked myself inside for days
   barely escaping with my life.

Her cool blue vampire lips kissed
  the death of innocence goodnight.

My rampant ink wrenched engines apart

nowhere to go except
  out to sea once more.

Floating on braids of her hair
  planks of our ship

recklessly cannon blasted by holes of our own self loaded rejection.

Stuck forsaken,

no worthy priest around when wolves dress in sheep's clothing.

Better off floating like an auburn leaf catching a rogue wave to wonderland.

Crash land on zero point
walk ghosted shores of her

Run    
Away
  Eyes

as if memory never existed.

Lingering coastal fog
  climbed up the seaside cliff head
    The windward crest-edge
       sprawling  out
        the rolling waves
        misty breathe,
       shapeless as an ocean
      sigh betides;
    cloyingly crawling
  through the lush
hillside meadow verdure

The clinging mist dissipates
   like teardrops soon forgotten:
      the Dawning of the day
          caressing the evanescent dew;
             an ebbing tide
               remembered for a while...
               Dawn awakening
               newly sun kissed Daffodils
            animated with felicity and mirth;  
         lilting ballerinas
     gracefully swaying,
   contagious with the leavening
    serendipity of the westerly
      sea breeze ~

        Velvet bisque painted
            daybreak constellations,
              embossed by sunrise
               splendor ~
              each root bound bouquet,
            kismet choreographed ballerinas
         in Spring's  Rustic  Ballet


                        Jesse

architectural mollusks
    are falloping through
                              my brain
                        squeezing past the
                         instincts that
        have kept me down
My instincts,
              once brittle sea stars
                          that splintered
                                    into cracked
                                 peppercorns,
                 are now mixed with
           the breathy liquid
        of squid,
lubrication for
the spiny paths ahead
They blow their ink
between my
inverted vertebrae
      injecting Jello into bone
                           busting through
                        fiber and tissue like
                          fresh-skimmed
                    lavacream
and all my muck
rises to the top
in a neon rawness
that I find beautiful

Soon
my burning crevices
will be cooled
fossils will turn to flesh
and, as sure as knowledge
springs into action
I will make
for the shoreline
like a cephalopod rocket
silky smooth
my fins spun into wings
touching magic
as they glide

Like a lion, she stands fiercely beautiful.
Her mane of hair like rays of sun.
She guards the woods-- I long to enter them.
Something mysterious draws me in.
Maybe it's the birds with their glistening red and black hoods.
I want to tame the lion,
its eyes like deep oceans, full of emotion.
I give it my whole heart and respect,
And finally, I am with the birds, flying