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 Jun 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Chris
-

I heard her
melodic voice
   this morning
as the sun rose
   and my heart
    felt the
dawning of
    *perfect harmony
 Jun 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Chris
~

Within my heart resides
an ever wondrous song
~drenched~
in blushing daydreams,
oh won’t you sing along

Harmonies now dawning
whispers on the winds
~melodic~
is the love I feel
as this new day begins

A happy sun is rising
in choruses so fair
~singing~
my good morning song
*with you I long to share
Good morning Beautiful
 Jun 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Chris
^

and the child of wind born innocence
chases butterflies to the edge,
gathering whispered weeds
of golden sheen,
singing in a lone sparrow’s sonnet,
soaring beyond the cliff,
sending silver lined
cloud bound wishes
to earth…below
Only you can translate
where you are
on your voyage through
this varied farce
called “life”.

No one else can dictate
to you…
or should even dare…
how to phrase
your feelings,
your thoughts,
your personal moments.

Who is anyone to
cause another to feel
inept or inferior
for wording their
experiences as they will?

We are all both
audience and poet,
consumed by the
powerful spell of words
and meaning
we are bonded
in ink.

It takes gumption
and courage
to give voice to
your vision of
the world.

It often requires
resilience and nerve
to open your heart
and peel back the
layers of skin,
and let others take
a long look at the
inner workings of YOU.

Be brave,
take courage,
let your soul speak
in its very own
language.

People will read
your words and
listen to the sweet
whispers
and thunderous shouts
that flow from pens
and keys
to release the
inner demons and angels
and the lyrical
vines that bloom and live
in our individual
landscapes,

fluidly coursing from
our own rabbit holes
with fortitude and grace
and our neverlands,
where we need never
grow up,

to share with those
that need to see
and hear and feel
and wonder.


-by Mercurychyld
Copyrights
 May 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Chris


Without you,
there would be no me...
thank you Mom
Happy Mother's Day to all mothers every where
You may not know but how she had to bear the pain for 9 months with no complains; carrying us in her womb.

You may not know but how she watched us grow old, making sure we are well fed and healthy.

You may not know but behind closed doors, she bears tired eyes and sore bones, yet she never complains.

You may not know but she is proud even when we aren't at our best; she knows we've tried hard.

You may not know but she is always looking after us, even when we no longer live in the same household.

You may not know but she loves us, even when she is at a better place.

Happy Mother's Day.
I don't really celebrate Mother's Day ever since my 'mother' walked out on me but here's to all the other mothers in the world.
 May 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Kerri
She emanated simplicity but in a most extravagant way
Her olive eyes and wild sunshine waves;
adorned with gold around her neck.
The world lay willingly at her glittery heels
She scooped it up in wonder;
curious of it's riches.
But her fingertips ached for something more
A love as deep as the ocean's darkest blue depth;
that even the admiration of multitudes couldn't reach.
Her dizzying dreams knocked her down;
As she fell through the clouds,
she reached for my hand
and
we were gliding.
Kindred souls lifting each other up
saving each other the way that only we can
Breathing in the sweet air;
succumbing to the possibilities of having the world
and each other too.
You are my world;
my simple, extravagant world.
A Love Story.
 Mar 2015 Ronald J Chapman
Sirene
Forever whispered in depth it arises
between the meaning on the horizon
I catch a glimpse of history and fate within a breath and heaven's gate
For which it denies the spirit that is alive
inside the mind
between the eyes
mastery within another with limitless bounds
it dances it sings alive in hollowed ground

Can not wait, can not take, another sigh, another taste

Within these walls I feel the scream
aching
breathing
eternity
and so mote it be that with each breath it takes
It cannot deliver, the promise it cannot make.  
So nature will take what is rightfully hers, no longer asking to confer with the dancer on the river of the moon.


Will the stone ever speak of me?  Of dreams, of life, of possibilities?  Will it convey my song, my smile, my dance, my style?  
Will it whisper, will it scream?
Will it stay silent, no truth gleaned?

Brother and brother, lover and lover, creating another, over and over
its haunted dreams of fate exist within every take.  
Can not be,
let it go,
let another reap and sow.
Blazing alive in eternity's sigh so that it may peacefully lie within the reach of the Oneiroi's sleep.

So nature will take what is rightfully hers, no longer asking to confer with the dancer on the river of the moon.
Written while thinking of love while visiting Bonaventure Cemetery in Savannah, Georgia
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