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 Sep 2016 mickaela
Lora Lee
Night comes
r
     o l l i
               n g
                 down again
in painted coats
of thick onyx
clouding my vision
as if a brightly-striped
cuttlefish,
                sister of squid
has enveloped me
in its
dark liquid
           sea ink
an opaque vapor
for protection,
a shimmering
            sheild against
disillusionment
pain of potential
         loss
endless strands
of longing
knotting in my
hair like kelp
keeping me rooted
to the sea floor,
feet ensconced in
the soft squish
of muck and earth
Miraculously,
    I breathe,
as if a sea nympth,
a mermaid
holding on to
the silvery scales
of her reality
indigo-dipped
in deepest iridescence
blending with fronds
of vibrant greens
and I am floating
within a vast membrane
     of brine
somehow nuturing,
liquid cushion
of womb-water
letting it slake
the piquancy of thirst
that bursts my tongue
               into succulence
Spiked in sea stars
like thorny crowns,
I reach out to
discover new textures
puncture the dark
with my fingers
enfold those waters
      to me,
letting them
rock the soul
          of my soul
the heart
      of the seed
of my heart
   and allow my
sonar, as powerful
as a whale's
encompassing call
to surge up
through nautical miles
                      of ocean depths,
buoyed through layers
of waves
        up unto
the winds
that ride,
     ever-tenderly,
the surface
    of
       the
    dawn
 Sep 2016 mickaela
Joel M Frye
why a poet?
because a poet
hears the words
which sing the
purest harmonies
because a poet
paints their portraits
in pastels
of phrases
because a poet
dances their agonies
into leaps of faith
and pirouettes
of passion
because a poet
sees
the beauty
in the commonplace
and captures
the moment
in a snapshot
of ink and white
because a bloodless world
cuts itself
a thousand times

and the poet bleeds
For my friends here and around the world on World Poetry Day.
 Sep 2016 mickaela
jane taylor
awakened
in the silence of the night
unable to return to sleep
i sat listening
as the stars taught me
unheard messages
delivered on a shimmering moonbeam
tho' i did not intellectually understand
i intuitively knew
what the starlight was saying
then sleep returned
and upon awakening
my intellect seems to have forgotten
the message
my heart now knows

©2016janetaylor
 Sep 2016 mickaela
Timothy Ward
orphaned by the night
your tender whispers silent
a tear soaked pillow
 Sep 2016 mickaela
Mateuš Conrad
in terms of a cyclops: it's one extreme
   or another...
   a cyclops can never be cross-eyed,
it can never be blurry for him -
  even when the tip-of-the-nose
   is just that,
                        having two eyes
   is enough to see two sides of
an argument with the precision
    of aquatic optics - blurry today,
blurry tomorrow -
         nibble the left,
                     nibble the right...
then centralised: or Newtonian -
the unlearning of gravity
           for the purpose of learning
   selective magnetism and a stitched-up
   smile.
 Sep 2016 mickaela
Dwarde Ozadal
Death is an amusing mistress
We need only remember her presence
To fully enjoy her absence
Pick me up and read me
You find the title intriguing
Stroll your fingers down my spine
As you anticipate what you will find
Gently you open me up
Caress the pages of my book
You start to skim right through me
Then find you're lost
Knowing you must truly read me
Starting again from the begining
You take in all the yearning
Slowly, methodical you read
Knowing you should stop
But larger to learn is the need
Then you come across an empty page
The story is not over you sense
You begin to feel dismayed
Out of nowhere there is a pen
You start a new chapter*
*You let yourself in....
Read me...see what you find...
 Sep 2016 mickaela
Ramin Ara
A pink sunset
Dance of the  swans
In azure lake
The wind  is whispering
With trees
Nature is so full of beauty
Near me
A few herons
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