You, with words of beauty,
speak in softer tones
where volume is not required
because vibrations
bring to light the meaning

Even if remaining quiet
calms the fears
drifting along your heart

Feelings still shout
in actions shown,
leaving only words unsaid
to speak the true meaning
of the silence

Inspired by Frank Wilbert Stokes' painting, The Phantom Ship

gobbled ten years ago  
by greedy gales and warped waves  
the SS Wilbert lay somewhere
off the Grand Banks  

forgotten by all save
one sailor’s widow, who yet wandered  
the sands, daft they said, to wait
for the ship’s belated return    

no resurrection would occur
its oaken beams, cargo, and sad ******
on the ocean’s black floor, fodder
for creatures without eyes, ears  

yet she swore she saw
its billowed masts, its hardy hull
riding ready waves on a blue horizon,
dark, but safe from tempest

we went on the bus to visit, we must have used two yet i cannot quite remember.



i felt fear and excitement, the same emotion as when i overheard that he had died.



felt guilty over that ever since.



while visiting i was sent to the corner shop for sweets and ****.i felt useful yet in latter years have reconsidered the task.



plans were imagined for his christmas gift.



he never made it that far.



sbm.

i trusted him like i trusted you, implicitly.

then she doubted, never trust anyone, she said

she had been watcing reality

tv.

then insidiously doubt crept in, as water spread

this weather.

i may be pleased to say that she, maybe

proved wrong this time.

you rang me.

also pleased with the spellling.



sbm.

They waited in silence,
No questions they asked.
No demand to be noticed,
Though deadline neared fast.

They sat in quiet patience,
At attention they snoozed.
Hoping time would tick on,
When perchance they'll be used.

There are those who oft pray,
For these precious pearls rare.
Yet others throw reckless,
Lay 'em to waste with no care.

So when completing an essay,
With goals succinctly met,
Muse on this ode to the few,
Unused words of word limit.

My muse can be thought of as a curse
for it comes at the most inopportune times
but she also plays nice
and brings me peace of mind

My muse pounces on me to write
Hit by the force of nature in nature
The sound of crashing waves guide my hand
Releasing words from my body

My muse is like a lover
She comes to me in dreams
She teases, pleases then leaves

Calliope my lover comes often
She's never satisfied
This temptress of the tablet

Just think we could feel
the warmth from the same sun
Hear the same whispers in the breeze
Wish upon the same fallen star
and look up to the same majestic trees

She connects all
No matter the place
Her sirens song on the wind for all
Under the same night light constellations
Wreathed in the fog under veiled trees scribbling

She is a giver
When allowed to live within us
She gives a whole new view
Bringing two poets together
Even though there are miles in between
She gives her heart and soul
and the drive for us to dream

Her gift is poetic eloquence
Stirring within two
Beautifully scribes new words
New places to explore
Distance means nothing to a muse
She bestows everything she has to her
chosen oracles*

By Melissa S and Palmer

Up the steep steps
as you reach the age old fort,
you breathless behold
the green valley down below
and that magnificent mound of rock
by the name Robinson Hill.

In the sweet silence of birds' chirping,
the winds reek of rifles and gun smoke
and you hear not the rustling leaves
but bullets echoing all over the valley
one more down, another down
as they held the fort till fell breathless
passing into tombs and memorials
you read to pause for a breath
up above the green valley
where the grasses grew over the blood.

old school hat.

panama.

no cigars, no canal.

velour in winter.

sbm.