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In braze, silent breeze of dreams incantations,
Shiva arms sway in the forest dark, mushroom,,
Cloud, lord with fungi, mosses whose clinging
Shades of branches, braids deep, forking stories
Of old, brooding cauldron Druids, sidles Eastern
Spindrift words of Sanskrit spake, told in veined
Sacred hands unfound, celestial spines, moulded
Green, in the windy monkish statutes of the fallen
And single handed claps of the missionary leaves.
The hazel's unusual branch formations make it a delight to ponder, and was often used for inspiration in art, as well as poetry.

The bards, ovates and druids of the Celtic day would intently observe its crazy curly-Q branches. Doing this would lead them into other worlds of delightful fantasy. Much the same way our modern imaginations can be captured by a good movie, the creative Celts were artistically motivated by the seemingly random and wild contortions of the hazel.

A more commonly known fact is that the hazel is considered a container of ancient knowledge. Ingestion of the hazel nuts is proposed to induce visions, heightened awareness and lead to epiphanies. Indeed, the legend of Fionn Mac Cumhail tells of his gaining the wisdom of the universe by simply coming in contact with the essence of the hazel nut.
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 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
Doofinity
Harshest hangover of the heart
Sets in the moment we're apart.
Highly addicted me
Craves another fix of thee.
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
niamh
He sits by the stop  
But never boards the bus
Smoking sweet smelling
Cigarettes
Fingers yellowed.
Drinking straight from
The can
Under the midday sun.
Beads of sweat on the brow.
People get on
And people get off.
Never him.
He tells me that
Sometimes
The greatest joy in life
Is watching others make the journey.
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
agnes
him
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
agnes
him
he was more of an angel than lucifer
he was more of a thorn than a rose
he was more of a sky than a pair of wings
he was more of a fool than a gold
he was more of a liar than a sinner,

*him
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
niamh
At the corner of the roads
Where the two lives meet,
A clash of history and future.

Where the air is silent
And the dust lies thick
And footprints are only a memory.

Where the buildings loom ominously
And the end of the roads cannot be seen
And your insignificance is your only thought.

Where you long for company
And learn to live with yourself
And acceptance is a long time coming.

No way is right and no way is wrong.
Shoulders back, eyes forward.
May your stride be strong
And your footprints live on.
I've been choking from the moment
I was forced to let you go
I should have spoke it out of poems
so that you would ever know
that I am bowing out & broken
want to unlearn every bone
until my heart re-bleeds the reasons
I keep sleeping here alone

so won't you
untie all my finger-tips
& hand me back my lungs
I was the fool that glued my heart to you
please can't you see what you have done ?
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
Styles
Poetry
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
Styles
Showing me,
parts of you,
no one else can see.
Through poetry,
these words express
my heart literally.
Yes, Doctor
First it hurt horribly
Unbearably

Then,
It swelled up
So I wrapped it tight
Till the swelling went down

Next,
The swelling was gone,
But it started to bruise
It turned bright colors; purple and red
So I iced it numb
Till I felt no more

Now,
The bruises aren't so bright
But the numbness went away
And back came the excruciating pain
So I took some medicine
To make things seem better

But Doctor,
Here's the thing:
I don't think it will get better

So Doctor,
Can you fix my soul?
No. He can't fix it. I'm officially broken
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
niamh
Fake
 Sep 2015 Melinda Éva
niamh
I have lied my way
Through life
And spilled my truth
Upon these pages.
A persona presented
Face to face
Is lost within the ink
Of the pen.
Created by insecurities,
Derived from expectations
Unjudged by blank sheets.
Only those who read me
Truly know me.
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