Fay Slimm

Fay Slimm Aug 2016

Near as we vote it, yesterday is, in reality remote
for that time is over.
Those bent on resurrecting painful events evoke
only heartache's shadow.

Fantasy drawn in wet sand is, by tide's turning,
washed clean and swept away.
Yesteryear dreamers who weave only for ghosts
will bury the best of today.

If instead of time-veiling we allow memory into
Now's air it becomes fresh.
Facing tomorrows without need of phantoms we
free Self for more success.

Aug 2016

MJ Scholtz

I'm not sure what it is

It's navy-night streaked with dusty stars and cold sand creeping into places I'd much rather be. It's arms streaked with bits of you as entity glows in fickle-firewood-flare and your hands eversearching and my hands eversearching for all that is you in abundance. It's the milkyway in your blue eyes and the ocean in your smile. Every small beauty you notice. How every strand of freedom on your luscious head tells a story of the truthfulness one finds in people when they don't notice. It's your voice - and imagine strings - goosing up my skin. It's darker and it's glowing and it's further and we don't really need the half-light so we wet our feet but it should be colder but it isn't. It's almost there and actually there and you're lovely here. It's falling asleep at nine-eleven-two-four, waking up in between and having you to fill. It's the last draw of lips and your condensation on my neck. How you should be wrapped tighter-untilthegapsareallgone. How I'd trace every dip and rise, the lines that make the muse and kiss
Until exhaustion closes.
Your chestful echoes deeper
Your butterfleyes fluttering closed
It's feeling you
Splitter-splatter-splutter
Your story onto this stained canvas and making it worth a glance or fourteen;

Aug 2016

MJ Scholtz

Untitled

follow tar veins
flowing through chiseled earth
to my obfuscated world where i'll wait

and if by dawn you arrive
in your whirlwind of grace
i'll show this place

we can dance
amid notes
amid words
amid silence

if you're willing to find me
before the morn breaks

Fay Slimm Aug 2016

Too Long.

Too long hangs rain in our valley.

Sky's clouded face cracks to cry drizzle-patterns
over sown ground
and growing seedlings face hazard.

Too long has water earth-wronged.

Makes mud by changing each leaf to sponge
that ***** out green to
leave brown where verdant belongs.

Small lakes rise in the hedgerow-rose.

As tears of lime run down from hilly meadows
sad rinsing brings whispers
of wet killing by un-seasonal cold.

Too long shudder of feathers droop.

While across far horizons a fox runs foodless
as damp cubs look for sun
while prey floods in the hen-coop.

Too long a chill has made harvest weep.

Thatched cottages drip in the village street,
trees bleed moss and weight
burdens the thick-coated sheep.

Swathed in neglect droops each garden.

Knee-deep in unattained tasks the farmyard
sprouts idle days as folk bide
time waiting for signs of drying to start.

To long hangs rain in our valley.

Fay Slimm Jul 2016

Coping.

Coping.

A shadow, poised where the blow is to fall
transports and transforms
in its turning
as shot hits, making wife widow who learns
by authentic letter
but starts hopeful pretense.

A dream believed whole is but a fragment
transfixed and transient
in its racing
away from such real where tragedy faces
grave's mocking indifference
to wedlock's stark finish.

A battle-torn soul coping alone with grief
transacts and transmits
in its mourning
devotional vows should report prove false
yet she, believing he lives
weeps while cursing war's evil.

Fay Slimm Jul 2016

Colour Me Love.

Colour me bubbles of misty-blue love.
Blow them, drifting on soundless high cloud.
I wait here, gratefully searching above
Starlit skies, knowing the ether around
My window pane will resound once again
To more heart-warming secrets, hauntingly
Packaged in words wrapped in your name.
Containing nothing but love's tender force.

Colour me baubles of glistening gems.
Rubies for hugs, emeralds for evergreen
Promise of undying affection - - bend
Them like rainbowing arrows, gleaming
Their star-studded aerial journey, straight
Into my dreams. Colour me gentle doves
White as moonlight to sing in the gateway
Of my waiting heart and paint me in love.

Fay Slimm Jul 2016

One More.

Oh for a yesterday
when moments of lavishly ripe
excitement flew over
distance in high hope and made
new horizons glorious.
Where rich and expectant, love
scribed a metaphor,
when readiness was enough to
shine on dual futures

Nothing then but tides of daily
close contact ebbed
and flowed while need climbed
to unexplored shores.
Where a well-planned vacation
waited delayed and
waves of impatience broke into
action as passion rose.

Oh for the yesterday
when racing we sped away from
any fixed moorings,
left tracks of habit and sailed our
own secret galaxy.
We thought reaching land would
make life fantastic
yet implacable fate had its hand
in our plans for sure.

Two stars plied, without fanfare
love's clandestine notes,
laughed at the true prospect of
two planets colliding.
But past became abscent by loss
of tomorrows when
death threw chance over-board
of change taking effect.

Oh for one more yesterday.