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When the moon retires running her length
the river lies a fishbone on the white plate
feebly breathing like the slosh from oars,
the shadow digs a hole in the bush.

The faintest chill rattles don't escape
and the chatters dull as broken notes,
the shadow picks up from the mist
with the intent of an absorbed dreamer.

The gold diggers in that forbidden land
filter their preys keen to fill some more
from the mines lining the grey riverbank
with each reap a little closer to attainment.

The precise compass weighs the measure
tightening the muscles into a symphony
for that climb onto the ****** in one spring
before stealing the stilled, deep into silence.
Look at this, I said.
Chalky expanse,
lonely, untarnished decoration.

Blush of cold,
branches rest as veins
atop a transitory skin.

Could be silk, maybe fur.
Winter discovery
like forgotten snowmen.

A footprint chime,
high note shimmering
through bitter liquid.

Murmurs of cobalt,
tongues of white,
our fresh heaven.
Written: August 2018.
Explanation: A poem written in my own time, inspired by a photograph. All comments welcome. A link to my Facebook writing page can be found on my HP home page.
Standing here looking
Into the blue sky
Reminiscing about my childhood years
Teardrops on my cheeks
I would trade everything
To live it once more
I was the son of a mother
Who was bellow the poverty line
Father was a rolling stone
was nowhere to be found
But
The strangest thing is
I don’t remember being poor
I didn’t know a beans and cornbread
dinner was because we didn’t have money
And that my mom roasted peanuts
in the oven and cinnamon toast
was because we couldn’t afford
more expensive options
I only knew that they were delicious
and that my mom provided
and
was diligent with what she brought home
I remember my mom worked so hard to make things special
She made our birthday cakes and the Christmas
she pinched every penny to buy our toys and clothes
She would bring comfort where
there is hurt and unforeseen pain
She is what others view
as what’s right in this world
She is a breath of fresh air
Being poor didn’t stopped us from enjoying our-youths
Because love kept us
and gratitude
Turned little
into everything
Mother you’re the light of my world. The closest to perfection I’ve experienced in life........ A Mother!
 Aug 2018 Krysel Anson
Torin
I, no longer drowning
hold fast
current around me
tried to pull me under
but her
I, I found a way to hold on
how to be strong
I found a way
her hands
its almost everything I need
when I dont speak the words to say "I love you"
I dont have to
because everytime she looks in my eyes
she can see she is saving me again
not wave nor rapid
her hands
 Aug 2018 Krysel Anson
Torin
Nuria
 Aug 2018 Krysel Anson
Torin
bring your hands that make the spring
now the seeds are new plants breaking through the surface of the soil
unwinding, spiral tendrils reach and hold
as when the sky becomes jewels above verdent land
flowers are now blooming
in my heart and mind

that dog who has his bone
the one you may find, manged, raoming in alleys or parking lots
half deranged, holding only to what he knows
dog and his bone
he is happy now
for him, right now will last forever

never could believe in the future
until I saw a movie about a maid
and it was only moments
switching places
we travel as witness
unindentured to the day

would only relief last forever
as when those grey clouds on the horizon
finally break over me
and all the world I know
Escapism is always fleeting
it's the law
Two sides must be competing
and an escape we saw

So we continue to burn
these words inside
Towards a shrine we turn
leaving ashes for others delight

I collect yours, you collect mine
like dust in an urn
As I give it freely it shall be thine
Of each others escapism we may learn

Knowledge is my thirst
so I sip from the ambrosia of books
You, who saw my wisdom first
a heart made of poetry, this is how it looks
 Aug 2018 Krysel Anson
FreeMind
Take this box and run far, far away
To a land hidden from those that don't want to be gay.

Run until your knees feel weak
And your legs can't hold you much longer.
Run until your head is spinning
And your eyes can't see much farther.

You may stop when all you hear is kind laughter.
For the box holds a treasure that can't be gone after.

'What is in this box?'
You might want to ask.
So I urge you to listen
To the 'Boom Boom' inside.

Yes, kind stranger, it is my heart.
For there is no more love left inside, it has fallen apart.

But over the years I have grown older and smarter
And now I know that a loving heart isn't an armor.
I want it to be far away from those that have hurt it.
Protect it, Keep it safe, Don't let them destroy it.


For I have faith.

Love is not Dead.



-FreeMind
#53
July 28, 2018
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