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I miss raw cookie dough and soft pajamas
and take-out boxes overturned on the couch
Lord of the Rings playing in the background
inaudible over our chatter

I miss sweaters and boots in Fall
crispness resonating in our senses
brown, sienna, and crimson Fall
the promise of the season
is rosy in our cheeks
just a camera and a forest,
with my beautiful best friend.

"Do you want to go shopping?" I say,
"we'll buy something nice,
get dolled up and do something spontaneous."
"i want to go on an adventure.
like bilbo and the dwarves
and we won't brush our hair for days."

"All of them, and more," she'd say.
"I'll go wherever you go."

My best friend is not an indie record or a mall trip
she is as vast and unwavering as the sea
and I'll go wherever she goes

Behind the windowsill I can't tell
if her lovely hair is white silk
or lands on her shoulders in black tendrils
does she like her body shape?
is she happy with her mother?
whatever she is,
whatever she's meant to be,
i miss her.

Crazy, selfish girl,
8 billion people on this earth
and none of them
are good enough for you, girl?
how can you claim to miss
what you never had?

My best friend is a feeling
I had one windy afternoon
I catch her in my fingers
and let her blow away
 Dec 2013 James Marcro
Kinyo
Yesterday I raced to get to the air pregnant,

awoke early to get to the starting line,

vacant pavement.

Today I wanted a new beginning,

to be awake finally,

to the erasure of all things,

precedents, that make desires incredible.

The sun gives light,

like fresh batteries.

Who did fashion who,

sun fashion man,

did man fashion sun,

did man work himself to get grace from the sun,

did sun work sun to be good for man,

or did air work both sun and man,

to be it's good children.

The fashions do change,

but one thing remains the same,

man is in a world well suited

for new beginnings.
http://kinyopoetry.com
 Dec 2013 James Marcro
Abeille
no feelings that i have tampered with
have rendered me so stark and airless
don't shrink like me just let us begin
by sharing different sensations:
adding air to blue and
begged-for kisses
wip.

                        "...blue and
                       begging lips" ?
The glowing jacinth sun was just beginning its descent,
casting long, flittering shadows on horse and rider alike.
Although the horse was young, he walked
with an air of importance,
like a racer entering the track.
As the playful breeze rustled the viridian leaves,
his muscles tensed.
He perked up like a toy soldier,
watching the purpling sky with wary eyes,
the amaranthine clouds reflected in those deep sable orbs.

As he trotted about like a fairy,
his russet coat shone vibrantly in the setting sun,
a body of twinkling rubies set in amber.
The sprite padded softly on the ground
with the delicate nature of a hummingbird,
he had a stride like a river of sweet milk and honey.

The chestnut dreamer skipped across the ground
like notes across a page,
his song light and airy.
he tiptoed and pirouetted,
his three pearly stockings dancing
like the melodious keys of a piano.

Her cinnabar savior bounded over the fences
like a prancing stag,
and his dainty ears pricked forward
as his chocolate-brown eyes fixed on the obstacle ahead.
As he jumped, he lit up with a bravery
that could have been felt all throughout the arena.
Had the two not been alone,
the entrancing sight would have been easily able to charm his way
into the hearts of even the stoniest of onlookers.

With a gleeful snort,
the sunny gelding seemed to fill the air
with good-natured laughter.
The rider reached down to give him a pat,
and he brightened at her touch,
the pet like a kiss on his glossy ginger neck.

And as the last of the daylight filtered away
into the velvety mazarine sky,
his neck stretched down and his walk slowed.
Satisfied with their ride, the two made their way back inside,
surrounding by the growing darkness.
To have faithfulness
To have kindness when it is
Easier to not
To have true sympathy as
Well as empathy
Love is a war; a battlefield
looking for something real
in this world strewn with
shattered dreams.

Bombs and grenades blow holes
in innocent victims and
leave them to their pain
and despair.

I wait for my knight on horseback
to spare me.
I can hear the heavy hoofs and breathing of horses
as my army comes to stay the enemy of distrust.

My heart skips a beat
as I can almost feel salvation.
Holding my breath I wait for that which holds
my heart captive, to be slain.

Then you are here,along with
hope, joy, and freedom, your faithful companions,
to fill my heart and replace the blood
that has been spilt, with trust once again.
All poems are copy written and sole property of Vicki Kralapp.
I ricordi sono il passato, il sogni sono il futuro, ma tu sei il presente.
If the fallacy of thought
lies within the indifference
of a heart's indrawn
breath,
would there be a second
chance to mold a circle
from the intangible
fluid epic of dream?

Could so much blinding
light encompass the
derelict and the saved,
bathing all that is seen
in the breeze
of fairy wings that just
learned how to fly?

There are no shadows here
beneath a full moon of
illumination where
everything is cast into the
shade of pearls and silver,
one tinged with the sea,
another with air

At the core of a spiral
tree, in the hollow center
of a peach's eye
we could then look into
the unveiled truth of
Nature's simplicity,
separate the *******
from the poetry,
and the muse from the song

But if we're gathered here,
does that mean we're
about to meet our maker,
that this mystery of life
should be released in a sonnet
written through a fiberglass pen?

There are no strangers here
beneath the harsh glare
of a full moon,
where everything is reduced
to pearls and silver,
varying shades of pink
and gray

And if this litany is so
much scattered stardust
on the surface of an infinity
that can't be asked to care,
does it matter either way
if what we say is set
in stone or sand,
that our words remain
here as whispers caught in
the seashell of unending time?

Because there are no
secrets here beneath the
illumination of a
full-bodied moon
We are all children playing
amongst pearls and silver,
not knowing yet that our
trinkets have worth

We are still innocent
to war and strife and grief
So let us toss up our
circles of pearls,
let us trod over these
streets of silver,
let us gather here once more
before Eden fades into
the dark side of the moon...
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