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 May 2017 Lucrezia M N
Onoma
As this moon-crested body
lie in its ditch.
Sleep became a poem.
That is, at some point
I became aware of a poem's
presence.
So it superseded composition,
yet still was.
It enveloped the: "I" that calls
himself a poet.
The poem was the basis for me,
not the other way round.
I stirred and sank, flailed about
in barehanded awe...unable
to intellectually loot a ****
thing.
Impressions were words, words
were impressions--"I" couldn't
get in front of its beam of light.
I awoke, and knew beyond a
shadow of a doubt, a poem had
written me...one I'll never be able
to recall.
A king fisher
swooped down
over the silent lake
A flash
of amber and blue
Bobbed up
with a sloshing silver fish
dangling
from its beak
like an ornate pendant
Something that surprised me and a sight that I really enjoyed!
Soldiers of Peace march on
Have no enemies
Just hearts and souls to win over.
See no divisions
Between race or creed
Or whatever.

Engage with people.
Listen and understand
Where they are coming from.

Unite us all:
The human race –
Life Forms everyone.

Have that discipline
Of the best army
In the world
But channel everything
Into peace
And Love.

Stand together
For The Common Good.

Paul Butters
With thoughts of Manchester, Paris, 9\11.........
 May 2017 Lucrezia M N
September
Separate beds and shades
Of reds. Intimacy is
A ****** handprint.
A haiku for every lover.
( Sonnet )*

Under the primrose stars, the lovers
Lie abed, on green, threadbare croft
Of sleeping daisy, clover and moss,
Trails with hushed air, an embroidery
So fine as to stitch blushing heart fall
And wrap the waters full of quietude
In graces, winding, soft, granulating
Time, wings flutter and hum, winsome
Sparks, fire white, flying as little suns
Burst confetti, in sweet encampment,
Of grass and sapling wood, innocents,
Charmed are wholly twining, in moon
Rise a lantern to the winking heavens,
Out of their skins they are climbing.
Re: a poem of mine, finally being chosen as 'The Daily Poem' ( it only took over five years )

First, I'd like to thank all the fine writers and readers on HP for your lovely comments and support.

Secondly,
As an earnest and hopeful poet, who has been here, posting poems nearly since the beginning of 'Hello Poetry'
I'd like to thank the HP - daily poet - algorithm for finally choosing one of the hundreds of poems I've listed here.
Perhaps the ghost in the machine has a heart after all?
.
As the sun moves to the western horizon
Colors are skilfully blended in a palette
In an instant the sky becomes an exquisite canvas of art
Making even Van Gogh burn in jealousy

With the last glimmer of sunset
When the shadows chase the light,
The aerial folks fly back to their nests
Like black and white specks dotting the sky

With a dark drape stretched across the Earth’s face
The arrival of the night is a spectacular sight
Cicadas and crickets welcome her with their ceremonious band
And street lamps blink their eyes to catch a better view

While truant clouds still wander around aimless
The cerulean sky signals them to hurry
Stars slowly appear in the night sky
Like sequins stitched on to a blue brocade

The crescent moon smiles down
The empress of the night, proud and regal
She and her retinue keep guard over the slumbering Earth
The unpaid sentries of the night!

A gentle breeze makes a palanquin ride
Wafting in the scent of opening buds
The beauty of the night sends me to raptures
My heart exploding like foaming wine in a bottle

Yet I cannot but keep wondering
How many dark secrets
The night holds
Within her tenebrous folds!
What a pleasant surprise, this poem is made the daily. Thanks to everyone for making it possible through your likes and kind comments. These days I can't see the daily and I don't know where to look for it. The site is sometimes quite tricky.....Thanks a lot once again !
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