arching my back
the sparks fly
like shaved metal
off of my sternum
as something
like happiness
flecks through
in metal firebuds
that screech coming
over me as a
wave washes
through my
molecular structure,
inside the libations
held up to the
small goddesses
running through
the rush of
the chainsaw shrieks
of bloodstream
now a fomenting river
of tiny waves
cresting made up
of my tears
shed all through
the mineral-encrusted
night
Now those tiny deities
with singing plumpness
of breast and thigh
indigo radiating
from their third eye
are dancing
inside my being
as I strive to catch
the shadows that
only just surrounded
me in that last hour
of plague
of chasm-patched torment
tears insulating me
until I could not see
for the steam
just on the edge
of inability to
contain my
filtered out
pre-injected rage
Here I now sit
a few inches above
the grasslands
lotus in each palm
pumped
with manifestation
in my very fingers
                       of life

the mind finds
true tranquility
whilst sitting
on a city of stones,
and the soul goes
mossy wet with
natures oblivious passage~

no judgement regulates
your half-life of impermanence,
and time rots like
the ****** leaves dying
a composted death song

Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2016

cedars sway their boughs
in evergreen agreement,
bowing up and down with
reverence to nature~
nodding in unison to
the weight of the wind


Written by Sara Fielder © Nov 2016

Lonely, like the ancient ocean
flooding fast upon the sand

past a fading line of footprints,
ankle deep in surf she stands

casting wishes on the water
like a sprinkling of snow,

light they land but moments after,
melt into the waves, and go..

My heart pounds like the Leonids.
I fail to find the voice to console her.
I do not wish to be the reclining Moon,
Nor the twilight that reminds her of the little things.
She has the eyes of a heavenly body,
I love her blindly.
And as the slow lightyear of a tear
Shoots down to her lips, I wonder
How the stars really taste like.
And so we kiss,

     But it did not change the universe.*

© 2015 J.S.P.

The sun loomed young through the ribs of the Punic Port
Bringing back his turquoise splendor to the Med-Sea;
And Seagull, who in his morning flight did escort
The golden loaf of bread fishermen longed to see,
Soared higher and higher over the glazing port,
Preparing for the long voyage when the time be.

Expectant and white was the Carthaginian knight,
Oblivious of the blue peril; no long flight
Would scare him, no azure thirst would he have to fight.
Only the phantasm of an alien skylark,
who would despoil the timer of the golden sun &
peck out her "off" button  with his accent mark -
Would make him soar & sing in his vision of bravery.

(c)LazharBouazzi