We slowly danced
by the rhythm of the
classical music as
the enormous crystal
chandelier was
shining above us.
My dress was shinier.
Since when do you
start listening to
Beethoven like the
national anthem?
The slender skillful fingers
would only wish to
leave marks on the
white keys of the piano.
Instead, it left an invisible
satisfaction in my ears.
Red roses freshly planted,
they acted as an
intoxicating perfume.
The cold snake of
white tears froze my heart.
Flowers in my hair
suited me more than
pearls on my neck.
But i lost my balance and
the entire night sky
spilled upon me.
Along with the stars...

Once we lied,
On wooden floors,
Shy as sun in the rains,
Blue as the skies to come,
After the soak and cleanse,
For we were so young, so alive,
Happy pursing sweetest nothings,
Laughs and smiles, tickles, noses
Together on the pines of the floors,
I felt weightless under you as I lost
Myself in the rushes of your night hair,
Dark and strange, musk and heather,
And the depths of your eyes.  I bore
No name, my lit flesh was all for you,
My lips never so hungry, my breathing,
Never so short, my eyes never so held.
Lying on that floor, in my simple room,
All the earth unfolded, all the world
Unraveled, and then we awoke.

to think you led me
down the garden path
is rather hard to fathom,
yet we masked our passion
with the passing seasons.

© Matthew Harlovic

Thursday Morning  
Check out my books  www.amazon.com/author/richardratliff

Morning comes now
With no alarm no razors edge
Splash of warm water and a brush
Yesterday's slacks are clean

Instant coffee then
Inhalers, pills stool softener
Morning news email and Facebook
Breakfast from the drive through

Trash set out at the curb
It must be Thursday
Unless yesterday was a holiday
Have to ponder this

Must exercise on the treadmill
Twenty minutes slow walk
Some days more some less
Just keep moving is a goal

Guess I'll work on a poem
At least for a while
Till its time
To get my poppy seeds
From television for the afternoon

Evening news
It is Thursday
Better bring in the cans
Before harvesting the poppies
On tonight's cable

Copyright 2016
Richard L Ratliff

Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.

The fog of forgotten memories
Blankets the cracking pavement
So nothing can be seen aside from yellow and white lines
and the bottoms of tires.
A slight drizzle begins to fall out of the clouds
But just as quickly as it started
the fog is receding
And the diluted colors of a vibrant city
pulse all around
Like a heartbeat from somewhere deep inside.
Muffled sounds of people come from somewhere,
come from everywhere.
Its almost as though its all a dream,
you can focus on one thing or nothing but not everything at once,
and everything seems too crazy to be real
But a pinch on the arm can be felt
And the dream doesn’t end.
Everything looks and sounds like its underwater
And the colors blend together until no colors exist at all.
The sounds get louder and everything is coming more into focus
And a symphony is playing
With the staccato of honking horns
And the shrill of constant chatter.
But its all hidden from the rest of the world,
the sensations fading as you cross the bridge away
And looking back, all that is seen is the fog and the road,
Making you wonder if you imagined it all in the first place.