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 Dec 2016 SE Reimer
Mike Hauser
There's a galaxy
That swirls in my heart
From one end to the other
To back where you are

Firing off shooting stars
Inside nebula storms
From Venus to Mars
Straight out of this world

Around Saturn's rings
In case I miss anything
Deep in the heart
Of this, my galaxy
...

Many words already uttered
As the waves of streams
Arranged a garland
with hundreds of colorful flowers

Though I wrote, deleted,cut  
hundred thousands of unspoken words
yet sometimes songs come out
From the melancholy tunes of flute  

That is why the way out of the river
from the springs
you can't read
don't even feel the pain of poetry

So the last poem I write
Sitting on the ground
around the river
.....
our ladders aren't made of
other people that we climb
the ones we like to bury
with the passing of the time
we play with all their thoughts
like an entitlement we own
and make ourselves the thieves
of any chance of letting go
I know we're only human
but we're capable of more
than holding onto to tragedies
some other people wore
your skin is only loyal
if you choose to give it up
to everything you cannot see
but blindly choose to love
mother.
 Dec 2016 SE Reimer
Nessa dieR
In your arms I found the open ocean;
Tides, waves, my serene sea,
The most pleasant feeling of a morning breeze.
In your eyes the best night skies;
A Rhythm bright enough to leave the sun behind
and wake up the night in just a heartbeat.
My heartbeats.
Cracked and Irregular by your every move.
In your fingers untold mysteries;
tangled within my own in secrets with the promises of never letting go.
In your hair my favorite melody;
Loud, and ruthless music for my deaf ears:
A Symphony only I can hear.
In your lips my muse;
Better than Erato and Calliope combined,
Carelessly whispering verses
To last me the entire day,
Softer than the birth of Roses.
My Roses.
For they are just for me,
Sprouting from your lips, and blossoming with my touch.
Our touch.
*In you I found poetry.

With verses resting at your lips,
My muse
If you ever wonder why
poetry is flames,
you will hear my name
whispered in your room,
cocoon-cocoon-****.

I am the embers
inside the hearth of the storm,
I leave behind remembrance
to keep you safe and warm,
I live in lingual form,
cocoon-cocoon-cooon.

What stokes the flames,
when the heart is fading
when life is braiding you
into a mess
the stress
confess
sorrow is hard to impress
ravaging you, leaving you
less
yet the flames burn on
poetically strong
indomitable words
right or wrong,
they are the song
of the chirping heart
from end to start
a noble art
and my name is there
please, don't stare,
cocoon-cocoon-****.

I leap from the pages,
from the fires of the ages,
I have no name
but my poetic, rages
I leave behind my...

Cocoon-cocoon-****.

I fly away,
belatedly soon,
but I leave behind
a cocoon,
for the butterfly sheds tears
racked up over the years
rising from the waves
of paupers and slaves
for the butterfly craves
the cow.
I had a lot of fun writing this one.
I can only hope of the same for your reading experience.
It's a fun one to think about!

About the last line:
"The butterfly craves the cow," is my expression of the human experience. An experience that is constantly redefining itself much as a flashlight in the dark can discover the world and yet only have fill of a moment that is constantly passing; not empty as it is constantly filling; a strange fluidity of experience in which we search for more.
An experience in which, even when we do attain humility and contentment in our lives (steadying the flashlight), it becomes our mission to maintain our state of peace.

Butterfly craving the cow, is to crave the source.

It is to crave the truth. It's what we call "real". Something that lacks deception. Something we can weigh and is open to understanding.
We develop the idea, as we grow up and imitate our society, that if something is secret, it cannot be real. Yet today, we are shedding this idea in favor of fear. That led me to the church in my own life. Christians are comfortable with the idea of there being truths unattainable in our transient moment. Truths that are permanent in a life that we cannot do more than hope and prepare for.

Whether or not this is possible, we have to come to terms with the human hunger for fire and why religion, and especially the Abrahamic religions, are so good at satisfying this hunger and changing people from their core. We have to seriously consider the idea of God and understand that if we continue to think of him as an idea, our transience will surpass such flimsy conceptions.

Enjoy!

DEW
round and swollen
tears; eyes swollen

waddle and beguile
listen; forced smiles

rubbing my bump
swallow the lump

          a shy little smile, down onto my belly
          cry into my biscuit and onto my jelly

          questions come fast and answers come faster
          ignored and vanishing into the plaster

it's the first year we haven't
taken turns 'round the table
rejoicing that we're
happy
or healthy
or able
   because we lost
          *gabriel
 Dec 2016 SE Reimer
spysgrandson
the boy had never seen a rabbit so still
only its fur moved in the cruel wind

he pulled an arrow from his quiver
and took aim at the cottontail

his hands shook from the cold, but the
arrow struck its mark, almost

the shaft lodged itself in the creature's hind leg
now the rabbit hobbled in the deep snow

leaving a thin red trail on the white blanket until
the boy caught his prey and snapped its neck

fresh hot meat for the night's meal
his father would be proud

almost back to the village, the boy spotted the wolf,
white, nearly invisible in the drifts

he drew another arrow, but then  remembered
what the elders had said

a white wolf in winter may not be harmed
and a gift must be proffered

the boy sheathed his arrow, and lay the rabbit
in the snow, the animal's blood still warm

the wolf and the boy watched each other
and a great gust swelled

the boy turned away from the blast, the wolf;
behind him he heard the howls

a synchronicity, the wail of the wolf wedded to the wind
a marriage of flesh and the elements

the two were one in the boy's ears, until he found
his lodge and warmed his hands with fire's gift
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