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Once upon a time, on a site far far away, I would post and not a soul would comment, let alone read...

  
  
  
  
  
Minor poet,  
I am not even, but odd.  
  
A truth that slaps me unto tears.  
  
I seek your admiration,  
admonish your failure to
admonish me, fail me
unto tears.
  
Your academic hyper-pretensions
gods of overlording silence,
sentence condemnations of the
meagerness of mine deaf,
weary-worn entreaties.
  
Your ignorance and the  
vanity of my weaknesses,
pencil point punctuate my brain,  
holes filling up with the  
approbation of silence.

Tender unto me  
the Onomatopoeia of a concerto of boos,
barrels of bitter alliteratives
regretful rainwater,
send me curses of future inspiration.
immoderate me re my mediocrity!
  
Try try again, to charm thine eyes,  
populate your face with grimaced tears,
penetrate our mutuality  
with uncommon verse,
pricking the winter frosted windows
of a enmity and a common enemy.
  
Another day of self-persauding,
un-succeeding to accept that
successive minor failures,
are undeniably,
a success of sorts,
in a minor way.
  
A play on words,
as y'all play me.
  
Mr. Adminstrator, answer me!
Are we not all prisoners of Poetry?
(i want love in these woods)

while walking in
the quiet woods
        humidity causing
  blonde hair to stick
            to my neck
on wooden path
my footsteps move
and on highest railing
a squirrel beckons
      i smile */a real smile/

she stops
       as if listening for my footsteps
       then scampers forward
       a few more feet
       stops...tilts her head
       eyes gleaming
       listening for me again

i think she is the squirrel queen
bidding me to follow her
to my lover
waiting in the woods
i want love in these quiet woods
in the quiet night
under the moon
oh what a night
that would be
with you
the smell of the leaves
the sound of the crickets
eyes twinkling
soft blankets
this* night
   you should whisk me away
   to a place in the woods

but, alas
the squirrel queen
scampered into the woods
and i'm sitting
at a picnic table
in filtering sunlight
sticky
transfixed
heart pounding
dreaming of
love in the woods
with you.
[it all matters]

i seek a chain
made of silver
with three black orbs
and a bird facing the sky
to wrap around my chest
fall between my *******
clasp around my waist
and the back of my neck
to remind me
of my shape

all day
as i move
i am conscious
of a bead here
a tug there
and i am reminded
that i am a
woman
and
     i
           feel
power*    

i stand tall
       i feel sure
          i use my grace                      
and i wield my weapons                  

have you not seen
the plumage of
the birds of the sky?
colors
    textures            
and sounds
m e s m e r i z e

attract
or distract              
hide
         or reveal

have you not seen
the cuttlefish?
the intelligent
           mollusk
and  
       master of disguise
hiding in the sea?
beauty
and mystery
abound
oh    
that
i knew
     the ways    of
the cuttlefish        
what wonders
i would create*                        

female /human/
a fairly blank
canvas
unadorned in
color
but for eyes
hair  and
skin
no spectacular showing
     of plumage      
no mysterious                  
change in texture
                    or majestic wing    

some humans
are aware
of this
(seemingly)
                   overlooked
pomp and          
              circumstance
i want more bird                              
             i want more cuttlefish

so i seek a chain
made of silver
to remind me
of my shape

i seek paint of
many colors
to adorn my
feet and hands
i change the color of
my hair with
the wind

i line my eyes in black
i paint my lips
if i need warpaint
i shall have it

if i desire to blend in
then i shall
where can i shine?
where can i glow?
where can i
pattern          
myself  
like a leopard?

now
i am powerful
because
i am me
now i fit better into
nature because
i am of nature
i am as human as i can get

/i am all animals and all things/
roaring and silent
swift and slow
beautiful and plain
because i am human
i can choose it
because i am human
i create it
because i am human
i am claiming it
*and you are my witness
There is a deer standing in the moonlight beside a fir tree,
This is a beautiful place to see,
I love this place so;
The beautiful lake and the mountain covered with snow.
The moonlight ripples on the stream,
Everything seems to be a dazzling dream,
Beautiful clouds drift across the night sky;
The moon smiles from way up high.
Tiny breezes blow softly,
The stream flows quietly,
The moonlight ripples on the stream;
And everything is a like a dream.

*~Marian~
Probably not one of my best poems!!!
I hope it sounds okay, my friends!! :) ~<3
When I embrace you,
                                                       my right hand caressing your cheek,
                             running the length of your face to reach the nape of your neck…

                                                   I will stare into your eyes,
                                                           ­    smile,
                                                          ­           then kiss you longingly.
A conversation with Jing.
 Sep 2013 Shawn White Eagle
K Mae
Imagine Self
       excited in the dream
            abeam , aglow
   Companions in this space
        igniting with their own
              reflected fire
     All expanding creation
The imagination is our true self, and is in fact the living, creating God within us.
                                       Stephen Nachmanovich
Beyond the mountains, the mountains,
beyond over their bumps and hills and small pocket
paths tucked into the seam,
you're sleeping still,
still sleeping;
glass of water on the desk sat upright and uptight
next to a gathering of white sugar, they-will-work pills
that you've taken one of.

Before you woke the window watched
the street below, I joined in and saw
smoke and busses, taxi cab film rushes
uncut and newly coloured for the silver screen
that's too expensive to see.

That morning I tided your clothes in
neat piles and mountain tops
where the summit was socks ready
for you to wear again until you leave me lonely and go home.
from coffeeshoppoems.com
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