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Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Into the wonderment of your autumnal mind.
Where the skin of your grief sheds its leaves.
Is the song of your sea bound into colourful light?
The Shepherd breaches the flock of your dreams,
And the pastures breathe a sigh of relief,
As your tears of morning dew
Glisten the parched landscape.
Does your bouquet of *****
Lay wistfully in the wilderness?
The skies of blue that reside in your eyes
Serenades the coming of the tide,
Harvesting the fruit of our labour of love.
Is this a wind of smile that turns into a voyage of valiancy?
A flock of thoughts liberated with a cry of exclamation
As your fears of autumn blue
Are exiled into the rapacious wind.
Marco Buschini Dec 2016
Lie within chaos, and create comfort
In visions of endless love.
Riding slowly on the crest of a morning fling, and flutter,
The body stutters
Like a street dancer.
Shine in different directions
And end the yearning
For a love of creativity
By stripping off
And darting
Into a sea of uncertainty,
with a sense of
Unimaginable lust for what keeps you
Ticking like a sturdy clock.
Find the rhymes that combine
With what lies inside the mind,
To stumble upon the future pleasure,
That you unearth with delight,
As you wonder.
Inspiration is born out of desire.
Fuel to fire the birth of creation.
The mind quakes for a taste
Of the cake, that is blessed with greatness.
Marco Buschini Nov 2016
The pulsating, pearl moon
Harbours the last remnants of romance,
Scintillating, in the valourous sky,
As I surrender to call upon her spirit
To bring her back to me.
I longingly strip, craving the vivacity of her caress.
Irresistible, I would yield to the perpetual
Power of her touch.
Immersed in the shadowy depths,
Rippling serenities of thought.
I glimpse at her reflective soul,
Shimmering upon the ravenous river,
Emanating from the stars
In all their graceful radiance.
Her heart illuminates
The benevolent evening.
The breath of inevitability
Stings my skin, as I dress,
Firing my arrows of impatience
Disconsolately, into the shivering azure,
Hoping for a way
To penetrate her very being.
Tommy Randell  Nov 2014
Causality
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
The moon waits
               A word cannot be a reason
The night pivots on a point of light
               In its onward-ness the river is unchecked by the tide
A spider's patience pays off
               Two lovers exchange cigarettes, fluids and promises
Ceiling-paint peels randomly
               It is History passing, unwatched and unheralded
Life begins as a fold of skin inside
               Metaphors are viruses of Truth, endemic
The Mother chooses a dark way
               In coping with his images the Poet bleeds with Her.

Waves find no solid shore
               The tongue's geometry parameters meaning
Fossils are a fist of stone
               Dogs bark in clenched and sudden anger
Holding all in thrall, wet streets glisten their network wide
               Sleeping Fathers ignore their babies' cries
An oily carcass ebbs and flows
               ***** **** their nippers free of fleshy ooze
As the Poet remembers so his skin begins to crawl
               Somewhere a victim torches herself with doubt, aflame
What stalks the night is a shadow with giant's wings
               What fails to fly is chained in the heart with fear.
Spenser Bennett May 2016
Three sugars. No cream.
Stuck inside a 4 A.M. Dream
And there's nothing I can't do
Is the sky really black or just dark blue?

No cars, no souls save preying police
Their lights burn red and scream, "Freeze!"
And the night obliges
For it is not so mighty

Glass half full, still starving
Clouds overmind work their sky carving
Of all my favorite fluffy animals
Are vampires iron deficient cannibals?

The sun soon breaks like an egg on the edge
And the dream skitters light spiders from my head
Eyes pressed to withered pillow sheathing
Is this morning or deeper evening?

Am I waking from the dreaming
Or am I sleeping next to coffee steaming?
Angelica Yeo Feb 21
A painter of your own
Life is abstract yet simple

Count your blessings in every moment
As there are far too many
Joshua Brown May 2017
A Breath of wind is wind itself,

should true and steady braided shelfs,

foraged fords from handsome lords,

prayed hopes & proper ropes,

could life and science meet the world beyond Biology?

"A home," it cried, "a home for me with trees and lakes and reverie."

I tried and cried for something else, elsewhere

I found a leaning shelf.

Should what was true and even hold nothing told or helpless here,

I cannot hide a place inside,

though I cannot say I really tried.
Rohan Press  Oct 2018
i, knowing,
Rohan Press Oct 2018
i, knowing,
declare you in
manifest—

you're in my
words and worms
and winds.  

i embody you in
relation:

i, as aesthetic expression,
you, as visceral reception.
http://artsites.ucsc.edu/sdaniel/230/Relational%20Aesthetics_entire.pdf
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