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 May 2015 Jason Cole
Chris


Spider webs glisten
with droplets of dew,
geraniums facing the sun

Still all my thoughts
are directed at you,
you are my beautiful one

A meadowlark singing
her wonderful song,
welcoming everything new

As on this day
in this wonderful dawn
*I say good morning to you
Good morning beautiful
 May 2015 Jason Cole
GaryFairy
having no root, i followed my own route
i used to know no other way
some would say i was the sum of a brute
i used to prey, when i should pray

i used to believe in an eye for an eye
to our minds vengeance comes in twos
by the time that we buy our last goodbye
we do what we do, then pay our dues
every line contains a set of homophones.
Why is the primal
question.

This was written one
week primary
to the real
encounter
:

Language difference
enables my poignant
ponderings to
hide among
pink puffy tonality
of your beloved
mother's tongue. To
dwelve smooth and
constructively
conducted within
your howlin'
domesticated
vowels. I so
become wonder
writer smitten
softly,
touched
by pleasant words
of other writers.
Not suffering.
As I do
in my
original
vaccinity
of no
distance.
Clouds and thunder
collapse into my
deepest core. Tearing
me there at non
acceptance. I tear my
poems. And throw them
into the abyss. Of no re
turnin'.
My position as a writer regarding the language difference in which my poems are created.

My poems are alive creatures, my 'virtual' little me~s, peculiar  flowerin' beings. I'm proud of them! Most of the time. Within the act of writing we (writers). . . discover magical worlds fulfiled with wonderment.

Insight, inspiration and creativity flow ceaselessly at that moments.

This poem ~"Thank you stranger" ~ is about being more accepted and appreciated by 'strangers' than in my
homeland by poets there.. It makes me sad that I  ~ "can write better" in foreign language than in my beloved mother's tongue... It's just their opinion! I know! I know!!! Yet

I deleted so many of my poems, being dissapointed by their ignorance, sometimes considering myself not to be enough..
Impulsive decisions are regretable! I have missed dearly some of my old poems. . . tearing them, deleting them for ever.

Thank you poets for all the support!
Love and blessings from me! IS:)<3
etched under my skin
flame roses blister

scars on the palms
of my hands bleed
stigmata thorns

my eyes freeze to crystal
the tears around my neck are
fashioned in lace black obsidian

my lips - the color of amber
and fire - are vows
never broken

my moons are scarlet
my stars are cold
my sun is silver
and beaten GOLD


soulsurvivor
9/16/2014

~~~
^¡^

I heard a desert bird
sing a new song this morning

yes... before the sunrise

i recognized it as the
song of a cactus thrasher
but it had added a
new note to it's call

i've never, in my 40+ years
in the desert, heard it's like!

it must've found love

i know

because i myself
found a new note

the first time i said your name.


soulsurvivor
(c) 5/31/2015
This is the TRUTH. I heard a bird
CHANGE IT'S TUNE!
THAT NEVER HAPPENS!!!

I felt it was a perfect metaphor
for how I've changed
since I found LOVE.

^¡^
Eyes like an open window.
Beauty like stained glass.

I look into your eyes
They long to tell me truths.
But your lips only spill a sly ruse.

Stolen in a moment of encapsulation.
Innocent for the entire duration.

Trust running down your face.
Eye liner that can't be undone.
Murky distaste what happened to all that grace.

Telling the truth can be tough.
Everything you are just isn't enough.
© All Rights Reserved Jack Thompson 2015
 May 2015 Jason Cole
Chris
.

I don't write
poetry,
I write little pieces
of my heart,
hoping
they will
*touch yours
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