Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 
whispers of sea
where the cold storm
gathers in the grey
sky, and the waves
pound the shore
running back
pushing down
arching like
fiery cats,
the ache of the storm
a tearful cloud
the song of
a poem.
thank you to all my friends at this website for their continued support of one of the things i love in this world which is poetry. i've only just realised this is the daily today and i just wish i had more spare time at the moment to write and review. thank you again to everyone.
 Dec 2016 Melanie Kate
Nessa dieR
In your arms I found the open ocean;
Tides, waves, my serene sea,
The most pleasant feeling of a morning breeze.
In your eyes the best night skies;
A Rhythm bright enough to leave the sun behind
and wake up the night in just a heartbeat.
My heartbeats.
Cracked and Irregular by your every move.
In your fingers untold mysteries;
tangled within my own in secrets with the promises of never letting go.
In your hair my favorite melody;
Loud, and ruthless music for my deaf ears:
A Symphony only I can hear.
In your lips my muse;
Better than Erato and Calliope combined,
Carelessly whispering verses
To last me the entire day,
Softer than the birth of Roses.
My Roses.
For they are just for me,
Sprouting from your lips, and blossoming with my touch.
Our touch.
*In you I found poetry.

With verses resting at your lips,
My muse
 Dec 2016 Melanie Kate
SE Reimer
(a tribute; if mere words could be enough)

~

the life of this River,
'tis an unending stream;
is an unpublished book,
its current fast at flood;
a flow that washes clean,
all the gathered debris;
its words like diamonds,
sparkling neath its lapping
waters at its river bank;
a sound refreshing,
hushes the rush in my mind,
calling to my soul.
where does the river go at night,
and whence flows its waters
when hidden, out of sight?
its flow is eternal to the sea;
a place of waters gathering,
of floods heaping,
of reflection's seeking,
where still waters lie,
where the hand of friendship
holds and lifts all who venture
to its depth where feet
can touch no longer
the point where most
would flounder
become a place of calm
of peaceable retreat without
and deep within
a flow of tears for thee!

~

post script.

a heart on sleeve composure,
for he who knows the River best!
who's breath is water deep,...
who's heart beat its very current!

added 12-13-16
my dearest HP friends, i want to thank you for this Daily and for your generous words, though i cannot truly claim this credit for my own.  those of you who have walked these halls with me for a few years will read between the lines and will know precisely for whom this tribute is written.  he is become to me one of a small handful of poetry mentors and it was a moment of great appreciation for his artistic talent that inspired these words... words that tumbled from this pen as a rush, and in mere minutes.  such is he, that he inspired this spill of words; a flood that i would not claim for my own.  to he who knows, thank you, my friend... this River... these and this belongs to you!!
Some days there is an ache
That ripples through my soul like an echo in an empty cave.
Where it started, I'll never know
But it seems endless on my empty days.
North Atlantic Wind
Rip through this useless flesh
As I stand before you one last time before death
A sacrificial offering in a search for some inner truth
Let your fiercest storm strip away all I possess
Eight hundred years of hated oppression
So as to sell our miserable freedom
For a state sponsored religious repression
For what died the sons of Roisin
For what died the sons of Erin
To an over protected child with a shyness from birth
Anxiety, insecurity, a national depression
North Atlantic Wind
Take me from this Irish disease
Nationalism, Catholicism, Alcoholism buried within
Howl now away it's bitterness
Roar upon me your enlightenment
Let me be relieved and shorn of all these tired excuses
No longer ones of Gods' or chemicals or States of fear
Strip me to my core, and let me see what's finally within
North Atlantic Wind
Answer all it is that I never felt to ask
For it is I and I alone that I now must fatallly see
And to stop my running and hiding from this Irish disease

My North Atlantic Wind
Let this be my end.....
 Dec 2016 Melanie Kate
Gaye
They have chopped down that tree
And the bees rush to my balcony,
Dad has cut down those pink roses,
But there are mosquitoes from Aleppo
Flying around my bedroom fan.

I sat on our study table with fairy lights
While my roommate put on her running shoes,
Mosquitoes waltzed around her sugarless tea,
Drank my blood below the knee and flew-
Away to Aleppo, far away to those dead roses.
i'm a disaster you see*,
i am never complete
i sing sad songs on
happy evenings
i write long notes
on busy mornings.

- dysfunctional
Next page