Mine Jane, to whom do I compareth thee?
To the moon's, sunset's, star's; ancient sea's?
Thou art the rose of the Philippines, the heat
To mine *****. O' mine woman, thou art the
Divine, the release of dopamine in mine
Dismayed mind; thou art so fine mine dear,
In every calendar season. With thee I laugh
With none questions nor reason's, thy
Countenance is of the ethereal race;
O' dearest, mine pet, one day ourn heart's
Shalt beat in one stage. Darkness shalt be
Trampled under ourn wild toes,
Singing song's, speaking hymn's
Saints do only know. Mayest
Ourn caru grow, mayest god
Bless ourn love, elated
by eachother's word's
Of hope, babes of the
Same yolk; apparition's
Of the same cloak,
Vibrant in color.

©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Earl jane Nagley, (àgapi mou) dedication

She was our first grandchild
And naturally
We loved her dearly
And I adored her
As only grand-dads can
And she latched onto me

She used to come to us every Tuesday
At a time when kids are most interesting
She was fully conversational
(Didn't we all know it)
Her personality was emerging
And she was still young enough
To have her originality and imagination
My little gold mine of joy

And this is how it would go

"Grand-dad, you be the shop keeper
And I'll bring my dollies in for clothes."
So she would lay out her doll's outfits
And bring her dolls forward to buy clothes
She would haggle over the price (and win)
And pay me in cardboard coins

"Let's watch a video, Grand-dad!
Let's watch Barny!" (Again)
I hate that ****** purple dinosaur
And Katie thinks he's wonderful
That smarmy voice of his
"I love you and you love me,"
I bleeding don't you know
I wouldn't let him within a hundred miles
Of any kids of mine.

In the course of the day
I would be called upon
To play multiple parts in
Everything from The Three Bears
To Little Red Riding Hood
In which I memorably became
Big Bad Wolf and Grandma
And presumably ate myself

But the highlight of the day
Was the last thing before she went home
The weekly show
"Introduce me, Grand-dad!"
In my best showman's voice
"Ladies and gentlemen...!"
To my wife and dog
"...The moment you've been waiting for.
Fresh from her recent tour
Of our back garden.....
Miss Katie......."
"Katie Spice, Grand-dad."
"Miss Katie SPICE!"

Into some popular ditty of the day
Issuing from her at full volume
Then she would stop mid-line
While she did a little dance step
All greeted by thunderous applause
In her head it was Carnegie Hall
Rather than my wife, my dog and me
So, a happy end to a happy day
Then Katie went home
And I slipped into an exhausted coma

                                           By Phil Roberts

Hey, you
Yeah, you
the one way over there
ensconced in tall grasses
where do you
think you are
going
you extend a hand
and loving heart
to so many
and so few
see your brokenness
your pieces of shattered
glass from
all four of those
muscled-*****
blood-flowing
chambers in your chest
              all over the floor
And Hey
I see you
I see you deep
Your molecules rising
Up unto
that soul's
brightness and
so beautiful
outlook
wisdom gained
from time
mixed with pain
             and rhyme
Hey
Let me
wrap my tendrils
of healing all and up
around you
right through you
Hush
No need to talk
         Just let me
press my
blood-pumping heart
right into
        yours
Feel it
Let my light
infuse you
Let me touch you
deep into
under skin
just like
you
    touch
            me

Winds swept the courtyard
washed in the rain,
now the creepers have cast
their fragrant agony wide -
decorated in jasmines,
burning in separation,
like my heart

the thunder is rending
me apart, aren't they all blessed
the maidens who have
a shoulder to hold them fast
cowering in fear?

but you are afar, my love.
in the surrurating distance
my heart has gone plucking
flowers for the worship basket

but all my soul is forlorn
longing for your love
to seep into my being,
your embrace

now this coolness brings pain
now the cuckoo tugs at the soul
now the courtyard
is decorated in vain,
now I wait in silence,
for you, in the rain

"You gotta have that heat
to get that sweet'"
My Father said this, in his colloquial Vermont accent
when he spoke about his gardening

Looking up and appreciating the Sun
wiping his brow with a red and white bandana
that it kept in his denim bib overalls pocket

He was simple in the way that he lived
but not simple in the way that he thought about life.

I especially loved  the tomatoes....
I haven't tasted a tomato like that since
it tasted just like the Sunshine

He'd worked our dreams,
gone 10 hours
and then drive an hour
to get there and back

We raise all our own meat
all our own vegetables
and we lived off the grid
we had lanterns for our light
though they weren't very bright I think it taught me a lot our little simplistic life
and I wouldn't trade the tastes
Of my bittersweet and long
loving memories for anything

He pointed out that this is true with love...
with raising our children
the sun makes everything grow
there is no wonder why it has been worshipped

It has destroyed man
and it has saved man

In a flood we are drowning
in a desert we are dying
We need just the right amount of sun for the balance in our lives

They say we cannot appreciate the sun without the rain
And that means learning from our pain
That is all right with me because I am literally...
Blinded by the Light

Cherie Nolan © 2016

.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.

A collaboration between SG Holter and Elisa Maria Argiro

Hesitating here, silent edge of this dark forest,
I look beyond me, warm in the white fog.
Seeing your heart, now residing deep within
the ancient wood, is to know it is blessed, loved.

Silver tongue resting now in golden silence.
Palms of soul upon moss and brittle bark.
Animal song; scent of beasts approaching unafraid.
Fierce peace. The opposite of a machine.

In the rising sap of silent trees around us,
our deeply beating pulses listen, dance,
smiling kisses at the shining stars, new planets.
Eyes open, anima and animus press tightly
And distance is no more.

"What language is Yours,"
I ask the still growing giants of
Green.
"Silence and its sister tongues
Such as leaves dancing with the
Breeze," they reply within the
Gap between soft sounds and
Softer ones.
So we speak through breaths
Exchanged, of nothing.
Two souls afloat upon the stream
Of Union with All.
What is Cosmos,
But "home"?
Never a visitor.
Never a stranger.
Nowhere has anyone ever been
Lost, or
Away.*

Humming your essence into my veins,
in tune with the wordless languages
of green lives and wind, listening
among delicate flowers, sleeping here
on the forest floor, wakeful and awaiting
the next sound of your voiceless voice,
wind words blowing
through my long, curling hair,
feeling the intention of your
untouched touch,
at home, just being.