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 Jan 2016
bones
She opens a window
and hopes for the sky
to fall in from outside
and it's tailwind bring

her the moon and the clouds
lined with silver, a crowd
of the finest of stars
and a spare pair of wings..
 Jan 2016
lluvia de abril
I don’t know if you know
I carry you
in an involuntary sigh
in a constant exodus of yearning
and in the frantic deepness of all
nostalgic thought, shaking time and distance
to place me near you
in the closeness of your warmth
remembered

I carry you in sorrow
precipitated
in the absence of your voice
and in the memory of your rib cage molded
in the shape of ardent weakness
my embrace

I carry you, the braille at the tip of my fingers
life drawn in lines on my left palm
and in the carcass of calm interrupted
by the pounding of a heart’s ill-time

I don't know if you know, but
I carry you in the crown of memories consoled
and in the spine of excess
where I fall, between involuntary sighs
defeated
in your skin remembered
from the confines
of the heart
On a night...just a night.
 Jan 2016
Michael W Noland
I keep hearing about this glass house
having only lived
after plucking
the glass
out

But
who am I
to doubt the tale
with a rock in my hand
leaving bloodied glass in my trail
 Jan 2016
phil roberts
On cloudless moonlit nights
When the world is silver and darkest blue
And silence seems to reign supreme
If you stretch your hearing inwards
You will hear the distant moans
Of long lost lonely dreams
Homeless and obsolete
Fading away
To become endless shadows

                                           By Phil Roberts
 Jan 2016
Jude kyrie
troilet
by Roland Leighton
1895 ... December.1915

There's a sob on the sea

*There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Borne on night wings to me
There's a sob on the sea,
And for what could not be
The great world-heart is sighing.
There's a sob on the sea
And the Old Year is dying.
Roland was born in 1895, the son of Robert Leighton, a writer of boys' adventure stories, and Marie Connor Leighton, a prolific romance novelist.

Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
Roland Aubrey Leighton on a scholarship to Oxford in 1914
For more information: http://www.oucs.ox.ac.uk/ww1lit/collections/leighton
He studied at Uppington School, where he met Edward Brittain and in 1913, age 19 he began 'courting' Edward's sister, Vera.

Instead of proceeding with his studies, Roland immediately volunteered for service and soon found himself in France. He and Vera became engaged on leave in August of the same year. From France Roland wrote Vera numerous letters discussing British society, the war, the purpose of scholarship and aesthetics, as well as their relationship, which she preserved in her diaries and later writings. Within his correspondence he also sent a limited number of poems.

On 23rd December 1915 Roland died of wounds in the Casualty Clearing Station at Louvencourt, France, having been shot through the stomach by a ****** while inspecting wire in the trenches at Hébuterne. He was 20 years ol
 Dec 2015
Ja
What I want
For Christmas is
Just the barest
Of necessities

All my teeth
Not just two
So when I eat
I can chew

A skip and jump
Back in my step
So each morning
I have some pep

A pair of glasses
Which self defrost
A set of keys
Which don’t get lost

All my hair
Put back in place
So I don’t have
That barren space

A pair of shoes
With self tie laces
So I don’t have to
Reach those places

A set of arteries
That don’t plug
A nice cold beer
Which I can chug

To have someone
My brain equip
With that new fangled
Memory chip

So it can tell me
My intent
When I stood up
And why I went

A bunch of prunes
Which are pre dated
To work just when
I’m constipated

A gizmo that will
So to speak
Turn off my wee wee’s
Little leak

So I don’t have
I’ll just be blunt
Those little dribbles
In the front

A cork that fits
My *** hole, please
So hemorrhoids don’t pop out
Whenever I sneeze

A longer arm
That would pass
Behind my back
To wipe my ***

On this I’ll end
My little list
I don’t want Santa
To get ******
BOEMS BY JA 103
 Dec 2015
lluvia de abril
I wish there was
a metaphor
for that freckle
on your face
and the scar
on your right knee

I wish
that I could capture you
in a metaphor
or three

for I'd dedicate just one
to the way
you look at me

then encapsulate
your voice
and the way it folds love meek
in the warmth
of your embrace
and the power of your grin

the third I would
set free
in the spirit
of your kiss
and the promises
it keeps, a tomorrow
in the spring

But there is no such a metaphor
I have searched
so far and wide
no verse, no word or rhyme
you are simply
the one metaphor
that is impossible to write

set so deeply
in the mind
so much deeper
in the heart
You are the pen that drives my hand as I sit down to write on a crisp December night
 Dec 2015
lluvia de abril
What shall I say
to the promise of bright moons?

Your lips, I never could refuse

And to your voice at 3:00 am
what shall I say?

You are better at this game
I’ve lost to you, my heart concedes

Is that a kiss that claims my
skin, my thoughts, the me?

Yes...yes...yes

I shall say yes to moonlit nights
so long as you propose
a kiss for every star

I will accept, as you propose
the moon is at my feet and always
bright at night

I shall say yes
my knight at dawn
yet
will you then
stay the night?

Dawn is a kiss, but
for me, for me
sunrise is in your eyes

and the world
the world will always be
for you to save
stay
On the night he stayed and built a bridge from the hues of moonlight into the calm of dawn and rays of sun.

*Credit  for title and inspiration to someone special.
19
My Baby just called.
Bummed that the
Plasma Bank turned her away.
Veins too damaged for a Give.
Her blood no longer worth $40.

The Silence
The Long 
The Empty 
The Long
Moments that tell me she
doesn't have bus fair, because
she lost her job last week.
I paid Her rent. A safe room in
a good house that helps me
sleep at Night knowing she is
warm in this deep of Winter.

Imbued with emotions,
I quiet...
My Center 
My Heart 
My Mama Pain
She tells me she was
near Home last night.
Wanted to see the Kitties.
Lay in her Bed.
That's all Mom, that's all...

The locks have been changed.
She does not have a key.
Finally found a ride home
in the middle of the night as
I drank six hours of sleep.

Heart of My *****  
My Spirit.
Taken from Us
Taken from Me.
Taken from Herself.

My Hurt
My Anger
My Disbelief
That something
stronger than Love
dictates her Desires.
She is only 19.


Copyright © 2015. Fluer de Luna.
All Rights Reserved.

~Christi Michaels~MoonFlower
~Fluer de Luna~
A painful piece to post.
Merry revellers
cast one glance on me
before your mind wavers
throw me one penny

My eyes are deep in socket
but ears are sharply keen
catch jingles in your pocket
silver's pompous din

Pray not be too aloof
need a lil of your pity
a penny can't buy a roof
can buy a crumb for belly

It wouldn't hurt you much
for one less from too many
merry revellers before you rush
toss my way one penny.
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