I love you
you look like a priceless artwork

I gave my last dollar to a man,
he was on the street.
He had those I've been awake
                          my whole life eyes.

A dollar, what's that going to buy me
                         that I haven't already got...

                 I could waste it on a coffee
that I'll never finish as its only half warm,
while I'm too interested in my phone.

                 I 'd have thrown it half drank
in a bin of caffeine tears seeping out
           the bottom busy lives drying beneath it.

But I saw this wasn't a leaf of a tree
               blowing in the wind thinking
of its past, it was moving on.

So I handed this man my last dollar,
            I know he'll make better use
of it than I would,
                              and he smiled at me.

A dying horse,
Was being dragged over a marked cross,
On the ground its body lay,
Mocked and tortured up all the way,
Only few blinks with tears filled eyes,
Waiting for its beats to stop while the time flies,
There it lay next to its grave,
Hoping to be pushed in by the masters slave,
A few more minutes before the soul surrenders,
Once loved and praised by many spenders,
Now the weak await for the death to fall,
To free its soul from its body, once admired by all,
The eyes stopped blinking,
The tears stopped rolling,
The heart stopped beating,
The poor horse stopped breathing,
Pushed in its grave by the masters slave,
No one to praise or raise hands to wave,
Gone are the people who came along,
Finally resting its body in the grave alone...

©sim

My muse can be thought of as a curse
for it comes at the most inopportune times
but she also plays nice
and brings me peace of mind

My muse pounces on me to write
Hit by the force of nature in nature
The sound of crashing waves guide my hand
Releasing words from my body

My muse is like a lover
She comes to me in dreams
She teases, pleases then leaves

Calliope my lover comes often
She's never satisfied
This temptress of the tablet

Just think we could feel
the warmth from the same sun
Hear the same whispers in the breeze
Wish upon the same fallen star
and look up to the same majestic trees

She connects all
No matter the place
Her sirens song on the wind for all
Under the same night light constellations
Wreathed in the fog under veiled trees scribbling

She is a giver
When allowed to live within us
She gives a whole new view
Bringing two poets together
Even though there are miles in between
She gives her heart and soul
and the drive for us to dream

Her gift is poetic eloquence
Stirring within two
Beautifully scribes new words
New places to explore
Distance means nothing to a muse
She bestows everything she has to her
chosen oracles*

By Melissa S and Palmer

Gorgeous is the woman
with storms in her eyes,
a bruised soul
and many scars
but still dares to open up,
to trust with her heart
and fall in love
that is a woman
who bleeds stardust
and cries
tears of pure love….

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Chilly wind kept blowing
steel poles  of the swing
felt colder to  the  touch.
earlier,
chained seats  moved  high up
voices shrieking crescendo-ed
seats went higher,
wind became harsher
motes of dust hit the eyes,
and were forced to close
:::::
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speed lessened, then came to a halt,
the shrieking....the hands scooping sand
the giggles, the laughter, the cheerful air
all vanished...except the path of shoe prints
rushing away....and marks of tiny fingers
struggling to grasp anything to hold on to,
desperately...even the sandy ground,
but in vain.
:::::
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loud whispers of the wind rock the empty swing
pained, terrified souls.....are hardest to comfort
a cold fear breathes.....invisible eyes, stay alert
trust fled into the air.......phones are yet to ring
minds drown in dreaded scenes
they freeze better sense
:::::
the chilly wind, blows on.
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Sally

Copyright December 27, 2017
rrab