Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
jonathan-finchPoems
Buttercups, yellow like honey, become peculiar sweets towards the sea -line where I sit slighting the grey. Stars, bubble-topped, in champagne rise the firelight of this beaded day. Blow the blue swallows, loops of the air, whose south and southern fragrance sow the summer day down to the – say of nowhere newly made somewhere. Lift all the wheat the harvester the combine combining to bind binding the bound the golden. Slip all the day down to the throat the ear stray for the sea terns’ splash or the noise of the stoat. Graft till the grip is the tight of crowded lines, and the seaward trip whitely stars as phosphorescence drips pleasure-presents, those lips on lips.
0
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
LIPS
Buttercups, yellow like honey, become peculiar sweets towards the sea -line where I sit slighting the grey. Stars, bubble-topped, in champagne rise the firelight of this beaded day. Blow the blue swallows, loops of the air, whose south and southern fragrance sow the summer day down to the – say of nowhere newly made somewhere. Lift all the wheat the harvester the combine combining to bind binding the bound the golden. Slip all the day down to the throat the ear stray for the sea terns’ splash or the noise of the stoat. Graft till the grip is the tight of crowded lines, and the seaward trip whitely stars as phosphorescence drips pleasure-presents, those lips on lips.
from"Poems People Liked (2)", an anthology of previously published poems available on Amazon.books
#love#poem#free#verse#lyric
jonathan-finch
Written by
jonathan-finch
Mar 20, 2017
Mar 20, 2017 at 11:52 PM UTC
Request permission to use this poem