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 Apr 2018 Derek David
L B
Stars
So many!
opened the sky above the ocean
A map
of night's heaven held
with the tailings of day

...and the pink moon
content  
with the toys
left by spring peepers
was playing in the dark woods
across the road

waiting for its mother
raw
rage
earth’s cougar call
in dead of night

screams
scorch
each silenced child’s
forgotten plight

wake up!

globe
spins
recurring beat
as rifle shot

sears
space
collective pain
in pointless plot

wake up!

slaves
sob
for who will hear
take up their plight

dread
seeps
through tortured land
for few do right

wake up!
reached a moment of saturation with seeing few good people stand up and be counted on the side of sheer decency - (no one does good - Rom 3:10-17; those ruining will be brought to ruin - Rev 11:18)
 Apr 2018 Derek David
r
Eyeshadow
 Apr 2018 Derek David
r
It rains
and I think of bales
of wet hay
crushing the wind
out of children
riderless ponies
with frayed rope
tied to the pommels
I find it hard to explain
eyeshadow and dead weight
tied to the other end
and girls who would like to
go on in this world
***** by their mother's
stepsons and husbands
the men and women
of learning have left us
so much, I prefer
to look at the moon.
There is no *** it's just a crock and not a rainbow
there are no pretty colours arching in the sky
no mass of gold
no leprechaun
I wonder why then was I born
if there's nothing here that I can tie
my dreams to
nothing to cling on to
it's all meaningless
I long to
disappear.

There must be magic and it must be
hiding somewhere
under laurel leaves or in some bales
of hay?
I wish I had a magic wand to show me
where the magic is
I'd find it right away.
 Apr 2018 Derek David
Sjr1000
when the moon was
red
The ocean luminescent
she was a starry
eyed girl
with a northern star
and a direction to go

Epiphanies unfold
like ribbons in
the winds

Decisions
they come
in wishful
longing
or
careful planning

Throwing caution to the wind
she took the first boat to
the island.

There he waited, an
apprentice to an ancient art
Preoccupied and isolated

She of the northern
star
had a sense of
direction

Settling into a
parallel universe

They were like
two kiwi bushes
across a fence
3 years later in
vined embrace
Produced the fruit
that never ripened
and over night
was gone.

She took the
last boat back
the northern star was
encased in fog
But
the southern cross
She couldn't miss it.
 Apr 2018 Derek David
Sjr1000
The orchid is flowering
Opening,
a living mandala
Next to my bed
I hear it in my dreams
It's telling me very strange things
About the chemistry between us
And what being a flower really is
And what it really means.

There's a lot to learn.

The orchid whispers in chemical symbols

I danced through the night one night
I drank water in the desert
The sweetest taste, I've ever known
I heard a sound I've never heard before
The buzzing of Chi
Blowing in
while the curtains fluttered
In the night time wind.

Our time I know is limited
Forever wilts away

But while the orchid is flowering
That's for another day

I find myself longing for the scent of the night and at least
One more dream to go.
This came as a total surprise, 100%! Never expected. We all channel our internal poet, a conduit from within, dictated somehow. My experience at Hellopoetry has been life changing  and the community we are all apart of is truly a sacred circle, for that and this moment in time, I am grateful.
The poet, well, he's sleeping now, but I will pass it on when he awakens. Many thanks, to one and all, you continue to teach me what it means to be human and an artist in this world.
 Apr 2018 Derek David
r
You are fallen darkness,
the ghost ship
in the wake of a quarter-moon

Your depth
is like a blue grave
looking back
from a burial at sea

Your hands are shadows
over a campfire
lustering against the lightless
river, palms folding
like prayers over
the embering heat
of driftwood and deadfall
retreating into ash

You are heaven's shoal
of dead stars, the obsidian
lip of the shoreline
I approach without light

The shallow groundswell
of sand un-printing my tracks,
as if to refuse my sunless steps

You are streetlights left behind me
back home, softening now
beyond their dead-end streets.
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