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v i c t o r i a Dec 2014
In the garden of heather a vast abundance of foliage covers forsaken grounds.
Changing from white to pink, shades of purple, and red,
to distinguish winter from spring.

Light seeps through the trees absorbing the ground below it.
Moss gathers and transudes through the cracks
of the dated archaic stone.

In the garden of heathers the silence is unheard.
The flowers are wilted and the candles have burned,
because a pretty face doesn't matter when your deceased.
A circle noon is here and we message awhile
or oft right assuage the view of Ashton Hayes
as these will meet with hardly a shiver forthwith our hindsight there harbors a polite politic without polemic.

As observations finish at sunset and measure loft during sunshine with embankment that has marked us with sheen inside.

Therefore heathers disappear as smoke clouded conditions now our gazes in the fog of the air as the ashes still in the rain only go away if we accompany legislatively hence rescue reform yet seen in glory.
We have an Irish kind of love
Her and I
Myself and herself
Old and young
Young and old
But which is which
Sometimes
I know.............

We have an Irish kind of love
In how we talk
In riddle and rhyme
Singing and crying
At the same time
Sometimes
I know.....................

We have an Irish kind of love
When we walk
The hills of our county
Herself does be scolding me
For not keeping up
What can I do
So busy watching
Watching my step
And the heathers blue

We have an Irish kind of love
Forged in an ancient ring
But of stone, not gold
Ageless and timed
She sooths me
And my troubled mind
For she is as new as the dawn
But as wise as sea

We have an Irish kind of love
Herself, and me.
cheryl love  Aug 2014
Gems
cheryl love Aug 2014
Saffron, delights, rubies and gold
Crushed silvers from the shores
Cornish tin, copper green as mould
Heathers from the mauve moors.
Buttercups and daisies in an English lawn
Red and white spotted fungi in the wood
Hedges laden with gems stripped and torn
Smashed diamonds embedded in the mud.
Little gems sparkle like prisms on the twig
Fat with juice, brimming with good
Good enough to eat, best to swig.
Waverly Mar 2012
When I'm not back home
in the city
where the bulls cry
in fumes,
**** goes awry.

The girl
that
I loved
once,
calls
twice.

And then a third time,
I pick up,
and it's war
from the first
breath.

D-Day on a tuesday night,
the troops storming the shore,
the bombs blazing
in the infrerno of night,
my ex calling me
talking about
compassion.

So what did I do?
really?

I just tried
to be
civil.

I tried to tell her that my heart
was in another place,
that it was bending
and finally
broken.

Compassion doesn't live here anymore,
because so many questions
about cheating with white girls,
the same kind that her irish-italian blood
resembled,
boiled down
to
self-hate.

I tried to tell her
that I was in love,
that I was over her,
that these arguments
were the mute points
of her politicism.

She couldn't sway me
with a thousand dollars
or a million.

I was in love
and it hurt to argue,
because I wasn't talking
to the one,
I wanted to.

I was ******* with heathers,
when I wanted to know more
about  flying eagles
and the depth of feminism.

I wanted to know how deep it reached
her heart,
and how.

So now,
I'm angry
that you called,
because it wasn't the number I wanted,
not the voice
so clear
and liquid
as
truth.
s u r r e a l Jun 2016
i thought you were a painting at first,
with the way those dyed eyes matched mine,
with lips as full as a novel and as red as lower worlds,
made me think you were a painting--of something most divine.

i thought you were a painting at first,
with the way those small hands rose as mine did,
with the way those lips tasted of cookie dough and warm sugar,
with the way those eyes never seemed to leave me for naught,
and abandon me in lakes.

i thought you were a painting at first,
when i approached and eels ignited my mind--
with the thought--the picture-- the painting of you, O dear,
and set my mind within seas--clouds--of gladiolus's.

i thought you were a painting at first,
with that ever-always smile,
for do you not bleed at the mouth,
with that kryptonic sunshine?

i thought you were a painting at first, my love,
when my hand touched your sadistic smirk,
knowing i couldn't truly reach you,
and the heathers over-lapse me.

i thought you were a painting at first,
when my cheek touched your cool one,
and stained it with cherry pop blush,
for i know it's your favorite,
as you wear it to bed, all-while.

i thought you were a painting at first,
when i froze and my mind sung eulogies,
at my death at your satin feet,
for your beauty reaches past heaven.

i thought you were a painting at first,
when my smile synced with yours,
when they poked our eyes,
when they wrinkled our noses,
and when the sun shone still--even though ours were enough.

i thought you were painting at first,
until our lips met 'neath blue light,
and the shivers i bled,
fueled our world a-night.

for, dear, i thought you were a painting at first,
when i could see my heart beat--pace as yours,
and the moon and sun morphed--into entity,
and made us water lilies birthed with ravens.

i thought you were a painting at first,
when God told me,
'for you are the most beautiful person i have birthed from my lungs,
and spoke my heart to,
for you--and your painting here--are the only things that dance to my world.'

i thought you were a painting at first, my love,
when i bleed into pots and saw you doing the same,
now i know when my time is scuffed 'neath the barren sand,
your blood--our resin--stains lots.

lots.

lots.

for i know you're a stunning painting, O love,
for you lock many hearts.
i'd hope to own thrice of many,
so you could master theft over, and over, and over again.

i know you're a wondrous painting, O dear,
when people beg you to pose,
so they could see that beauty too, O love,
and kiss it a wish.

i know you're a masterpiece, love--
sweeter than melted butter,
and the finest of berries,
for you're worth--worshiped--much more than,
such mundane things.

i know you're a vintage classic, O wonder,
when my eyes turn blinding stars,
and fill up night skies.

for i knew you were a--

masterpiece...

master... piece...

master...   piece...

master.

for i knew you were a human, O master,
when my eyes gloss over in drunken clarity,
and my lips spill cider;
my hand becomes water at your touch,
for the pool knows no words,

to bask in my beauty.
So caught up within our beauty we don't see the world 'round us.
Sia Jane  Sep 2014
Heathers
Sia Jane Sep 2014
Can you not hear
The deafening screams
Directed to your heart
Firing out from hell
Demons wrenching
Your gut in knots
Twisted
Contorted
A soul of
Supreme disaster
Reined by hells angels
Blasted out
From under
Land fracked
Disturbing lands
Unknown.

Can you not hear
The very voices
You too
Fear
Tears so sincere
Distorting
Inner shadows
Ghostly intervals
Chasing innocence at once
Lost
Broken child
An unlikely warning
Skin on skin burns
Plastic dolls eyes melting
Wailing incessantly
I’ll see you on the other side.

© Sia Jane
karen champagne Nov 2014
oh forget me nots in my shaded woodland garden,
hibiscus of rememberance,
violet of the lavendars of my faithfullness,
iris of his wisdom and valour,
daisys of my white imagination,
heathers of my heart,
roses of his desire,
sweet pea of delicasies,
ivy of my eternal fidelity,
posies I desire,
he loves me, he loves me not.
an ocean breeze fills up your senses
the seagulls flock overhead
inside there is something stirring
as if heathers exploding within
shadows block the temptress taunts
alone in the silence,

couples running naked through the sand
happy people with eyes gashed with glee
somber moments were unleashed to revere
a volcanic hot ash experience
cascading..

does fear grip you the most ?
why does one equate logic as fate ?
burning desire inside yet we still high behind four walls
the chemistry is elusive in its solvent decorum
shades of green Pine embers fallen in a nearby grass knoll

we can escape if we drift
to hear the vast expanse of the Timber Wolf dash
yet never to distinguish right from wrong all is relative
let the time stop now no use looking back at the plough
in heavy burrows as if the fox had escaped through

many today escape through a prison in their mind
only to get locked up in chains
the demise of Satanic laughter filters through the duration
yet hope keeps one alive through the pain
a chance at beautiful brevity loosed in the moment
many swallow the debris of left over road ****

only to infuse a sense of togetherness
as we near this place with whom we seek
perhaps its in the never world beyond explanation
yet we still have a pulse to believe the impossible

Shoot for the stars !
Melanie  Dec 2014
Enemy
Melanie Dec 2014
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
My world was once devoted to you.

Daises are yellow,
Carnations are pink,
Our souls no longer stay in sync.

Heathers are mauve,
Lilies are white,
I can no longer battle this fight.

The bruises turn purple,
The scabs turn brown,
I think it's time to put my foot down.

I begin to see black,
Your knuckles bleed red,
What goes on inside your head?

I see the white light
And you begin to realize,
"Why, oh why, was I not right?"
When first I did see you,
My heart was a drum, beaten,
A fog horn blew out to sea.

When you looked at me,
Stark, true, across blue sky,
Sunshine piercing the clouds.

When you touched me,
Frost thawing at first light,
Misted dews on the heathers.

When you were upon me so,
Could I not but open, bloom,
Softly, wind on the petal.

When your hot eyes got me,
Set smoulder to stoked flame,
Aye, I burned for you.
the Terror  Sep 2015
ever ever
the Terror Sep 2015
you ever been
cold in hot weather?
no holds barred ever?
grown old forever?
ever wrote a red note,
blood letter?
ever eaten crow
and feathers?
ever known old scratch
in the false heathers?
you ever been
cold in hot weather?

— The End —