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Make this want wither,
O Rain!

Dig a brook hither
In my vein,

And plant on either side
Of my pain -

Swaying thousands
Of bluebells.
LazharBouazzi (December 15, 2017)
perhaps a mirage is a dangling carrot
to keep us ever-seeking

perhaps our bodies are the freedom clothes
for our souls

and perhaps our sanity,
isn’t

sane at all
but a fata morgana

science has proven
the moon to be a

bell ---
hollow and resonant

for hours ---
a seismic anomaly

which sounds
when hit

perhaps science
is the fata morgana

and we are sane
after all


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
the soul sometimes gets
drifted into a soulbank
gets piled on top
of other drifted souls
awaiting the next
dance with
what they love
to be embraced by the
universe and
waltzed or
tangoed or
salsa’d
into Love

patience is faith and
faith is trust in
the drift


c. 2107 Roberta Compton Rainwater
“Sometimes we’re asked to drift away from the crowd in order to be found by what we love.” ~ Mark Nepo
I have left the imprint
of my body

on your wild grasses
under your wild hedges

I have slept the sweet
sleep of an embering fire

in your arms
and known

your lips on mine
as a sweetness of the

dancing rain on leaves
your soulhands have

blended me together
like the scent of meadowflowers

sweetening the air
and I have been embraced and

enearthed
in the ground of your sweet being

been received by and have received
your sweet soul Love

you have made of me
a meuse

an imprint in wild grasses
under wild hedges

in your generous and generating
heart


c. 2017 Roberta Compton Rainwater
Love cannot be caged,
as it drifts inside a conscious mind.
As it echoes from mind to heart,
from heart to voice.

Love cannot be tired down,
as it moves inside a deep breath.
As it pushes clouds away
to reveal a bright sun.

Love will never be stopped,
as it travels through the universe
As it moves from the Divine's voice
to be implanted inside all.
Sarita Aditya Verma inspired this poem
when she said "Love can't be caged."
Thanks
Settle in my heart, swoon with my soul
In a human delight, human after all,
Where beauty blooms without bounds
Where flowers dance with no sounds
In a living soft drum, red, red-red;
Beats resonate a rhythm never been heard
With a flow of passion migrates red, red-red.
O, this floods of regular love rhythm,
It counts my sighs in cadence with them,
When you packed memories, body and will,
And departed countries late that evening,
And returned with angels in a dew cell,
On a harvest day, early one dear morning
With songs of birds on kindled wings,
Invisible heavenly bliss, joyfully swings
In meadows cradle that seems still,
A bliss has chosen my heart to dwell,
A human heart, a will with machine skill,
That lives, loves and imitates a drowned bell.
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