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 Aug 2018 Flo
Walter W Hoelbling
on an enchanted summer evening
the world feels wonderful and meek

why do I still crave more
     than I can feel and seek

why do I need to go beyond the pastoral
    trust the smooth surface
     of this world
     only for blissful moments

feel almost something like relief
when daily imperfections
crowd me again and throw me hard
into the maelstroem of those obligations
that have accumulated over years
tell me I have matured and know
what all life really is about

but also loudly shout
     I do not know
the meaning of my life

yet I envision in the hour of my death
my last breath will flow easy  
      with no strife

remembering the summer evening
I‘ve spent my life to seek

so wonderful …
      and mild …
            and meek ...
 Aug 2018 Flo
silentwoods
Twenty Two
 Aug 2018 Flo
silentwoods
Two years into adulting.
It’s possible, who knew?
I look the same as yesterday
But today I’m twenty two!

Dentist trips still freak me out,
Sometimes I burn an egg.
My blanket covers both my feet,
So monsters won’t grab my leg.

I don’t go out on Friday night,
My ankles feel the weather.
And when I help the kids with homework,
We both learn math together.

Sometimes I’ll burst out crying
For no reason at all.
I know the words to one rap song,
And still prefer guys tall.

My puns are all intended,
There is a spoon I hate,
I’ll never mix my whites and brights,
I can’t stay up too late.

My life has been a wild ride
But I’m thankful for each day.
One day I hope to be mature,
One day... but not today.
 Aug 2018 Flo
Madison
Blessed are those eyes,
One green, one hazel.
A shade for heaven,
And a shade for earth,
Balanced on a smile worth a million words.
Blessed are those eyes
Just proving to someone that they aren't a waste of words. ( : See, people can write a poem about you.
 Aug 2018 Flo
harlon rivers
.
The waves spilled the rising tide
back into the scattered footprints  in the sand
deeply entrenched in life’s mystery,
receding into every breaking wave


A stiff sea breeze put back every grain of sand,
elements of a larger object gathers,
gravity firmed, into the silent shoreline chasms—
a beheld essence washed out to sea
by the fugitive tides and retreating sea-foam


Soon all trodden traces visibly vanish;
unmarked mileposts on a metaphysical pathway
slip away back to a windswept shoreline
and elapsing summer tide


Seabirds glide in slow-motion,
held sway into the shapeless gusts —
as if feathered puppets hovering,
hanging from the rafters
of the burgeoning orange sky


There's an uncommon peace in the renaissance;
effervescent crisp ocean air filling
the indefinable emptiness
marooned within each heartbeat’s echo


Each new breath inhaled,  disappearing within
the unhealed hollow of every thing once believed;
fully aware this life is unholdable as time,
yet feeling many things deeply retained
    in each passing moment—
slipping away like a handful of sand
sifting through all these hands once held


Presence becoming wreathed in a miasma of stillness,
space that levitates like an unpredictable fog
that seeps into the gnawing voids
of an unsated hunger



harlon rivers  ...  August 1st,  2018
a piece from the TRAVELOGUE collection:
https://hellopoetry.com/collection/27104/travelogue/

Getting away from my ordinary life maze seems to be changing perspective; moments still unfold as they are intended, but there is less peripheral distraction, more focus on the simple things that enrich life in the moment.

I did not plan on posting anything else until back to daily Internet access
in Fall ... plus, much I've scribbled these days, seems derivative of the last  pieces i've published: that said, this is of the present moment and as close to peace as I've tread in eons:  Thank you for taking the time to check out something newly written at a time when my web access and participation @ HePo is sporadic at best.   :)  rivers
 Jul 2018 Flo
Pagan Paul
.
Pray excuse me Lady, I do beg thy pardon,

but I saw thee walking in the lonely garden,

chestnut hair falling over a long white gown,

and sadness deep in eyes of almond brown.

Forgive mine intrusion, please take a glance,

agree to accompany me to the lovers dance,

for thy loneliness to mine open heart screams,

so take mine hand and show me thy dreams.





© Pagan Paul (16/06/18)
.
Lord of Green series, Poem 16.
.
 May 2018 Flo
Jack
please be naked
 May 2018 Flo
Jack
“please be naked”

she stands in her doorway wearing just a gown,
I walk in the house, dumbstruck by beauty,
up in her room undoing the bow, the shield simply slides down
caressing her curves, stroking down to the floor,
intertwined bodies craving the touch of the other,
joined as one in the gentle acts of love and lust,
romanticised ideals of perfection and soft rhythm,
delicate groans as two become one,
the broken poet, for the moment, is gone,
my drug addiction of you, just wanting more,
As my heart bleeds, love begins to pour.

“please be naked”.
this poem is influenced by The 1975 instrumental song "please be naked". i regularly think of this song as romanticising the act of *** and the trust required with it rather than what most songs make it today. despite having no lyrics the song speaks volumes to me and id definitely recommend it to anyone. stay safe and live well. JY x
 May 2018 Flo
Lillian May
I miss the me I was as a child
carefree, joyful, worry-less, and wild
barefoot in grass and everything new
a world so exciting
I was guided through.
I miss the child in all of us.

I miss the me I was in adolescence
against the idea of acquiescence
standing tall and finding myself
a world so frightening
but being confident as well.
I miss when from life we'd all rebel.

I miss the me I have not yet been
lying ahead, in wait, with a grin
for the me then will laugh, raise a brow,
and miss the me that I am now.
Have you ever noticed our desire to create?
To produce, develop, and fabricate,
To compose, to invent, to design
To construct, develop and refine…

It might be a painting, a poem, a book,
Perhaps a new dish that you’ve chosen to cook.
It could be a carving, a fine piece of wood,
Or a report that you’ve worked on as hard as you could.

Maybe some music, the melody for a song,
Some fine catchy lyrics that’ll have folks singing along.
It might be treading the boards in a serious play
Or teasing a delicate shape out of clay.

It could be mechanical, delving in deep grease and grime
Fine-tuning machines until they’re running just fine
Perhaps you love knitting, or perhaps cutting hair
Designing new blueprints or new dresses to wear.

Maybe you could happily while away hours
Choosing and arranging freshly cut flowers.
You might love DIY or you just love to dance,
You’d have joined the ballet if you’d had the chance

Or you thrive in the garden, planting and mowing
Surveying all the wonderful things which are growing.
Perhaps you love to draw, to sketch, or to cover –
Pristine white canvases in swathes of rich colour.

Maybe jewellery is more your thing,
Fashioning a necklace, a bracelet, a ring,
You might program websites, you know html
And CSS, ruby, and java as well.

Or possibly you prefer a needle and thread
Or maybe a set of great tools instead.
You might be a planner who loves to organise
Picnics or outings or a Birthday surprise!

Your creativity will be manifest in all kinds of ways
It might not dazzle, astound or amaze
But it will bring you enjoyment, well-being and pleasure
A sense of contentment, a delight you can treasure.
To take the time, unleash your need to build
And reap the rewards of the joy it can yield.
 Mar 2018 Flo
Tiana Marie
She was like music,
and I longed to dance.

Her heart was the beat,
and I begged for the chance.

Her words were the vocals,
and I was put in a trance.

Her smile was the melody,
and I fell in love at first glance.
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