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 Apr 2017 SG Holter
ryn
Heated...
Like the fevered blood coursing through veins

Malignant...
Like open sores upon the skin

Defeated...
Like the drums that faltered in the rain

Potent...
Like the potion quietly bunged within

Temporary...
Like the promise doomed never to be kept

Hasty...
Like the mouth which spoke too quick

Greedy...
Like the palms, too eager to accept

Dead...**
Like the heart that now refused to tick
 Apr 2017 SG Holter
ryn
It's not about going back
to the start.

It should be about
pausing,
rewinding
and going back to a point
where things made sense.

It's about understanding
why they mattered then.

And think if they still do.

If acceptance is
securing personal victory
by conceding,

then I accept.
 Apr 2017 SG Holter
ryn
Performer
 Apr 2017 SG Holter
ryn
He presents what you see
with impeccable finesse.
He hides everything else behind the curtains.
Heavily veiled by his smiles...
Cleverly masked behind his script.

He stands elevated, taking his stage.
From his vantage he sees all.
He allows his facade to bask in the light...
Whilst keeping his back in the shadow.

He's renowned.
By the light that kills the dark.
He's addicted to the nightly ovations,
cascading cheers and gleaming reviews.

But every show has an end.
Come every dawn, he wakes to the reality
that tolls at his door.
He's owned and he knows it...
Too well,
by the stage he built
and the drama he wrote and casted.
blossoms of ink,

the sighs of
spring's new
leaves looped
around the
sky,

the land filling
with the gold
arch of the sun,
white flowers
on the branches,
the ground
strewn with ivy
and green moss,

mute sun rests
in the sky,
the light pretty
joys painted in
the mind, pale
whispers of
shiny white,

gorgeous sea,
sings to
the soft flowers,
the waves start
to blossom,
blossom like
the boyish wind,

or drive on forever
like singing
rain.
been reading some sandburg today absolutely love his poetry
i.

impressions
shapes
and sounds,
the shady-lane
trees,

the yellow
balloons
of the skies
icy arctics,
the pink
feathers of
the soil.

ii.

surreal as the
shifting day,
turquoise and
angular, bright
sky drowned
in the cold, brisk
air, language
of love and air,
base note of love.

iii.

love, impressions of
light and dark,
soft brush stroke
of sea-blue, air
the colour of
lips.

iv.

witching night,
darkling clouds
pressed to the sky,

love, settling like
a mist.

v.

sweet lips
sipped,
incredible
sky of our
dreams,
drawn close
like the
pillowy clouds.
i.

the stars wait
for you, wrap
the sky into their
silver sea.

ii.

red roses of
summer, a ghost
parade of blowsy
whites.

iii.

you, swept
along like
a stream,
pretty blue
sky echoes
of the sea.

iv.

kiss for my love,
i follow the path
to my love,
he waits and the
stars blow like
a fierce wind.

v.

the stars, red roses,
you, kisses, blue
air split like a seed,

i follow the path to my love,
i follow the path

crazy star blossoming
as i long for him....
A box of prescription drugs on my table.
It holds your name. Stating what is wrong with you.
Flaunting the details of where your body is
Failing.

You notice the hair on my pillow.
Shame.
Worried looks.
Anger.
I find none of it in your eyes.
You buy me razors.
"Do you need any help?" you ask.

Kisses on my bald scalp.
Beauty. Now we match even
Better.
 Mar 2017 SG Holter
Don Bouchard
Spent banana peel
Rotten blackening yellow
Untouchable mess
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