Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
  Jun 2014 Soph Raikes

A crescent moon now overhead
As I come rising from my bed
Remembering the words I said
A few short hours ago
Like linens hanging on the line
The clouds a comfort for my eyes
In secrets whispered on the skies
Along with breezes flow
I wonder of this time apart
As longings cling so tight my heart
In gilded frame like precious art
The sun comes into view
When then my open eyes can see
The man that I can surely be
If only you would come to me
Whatever I must do
With endless trees and hills to climb
My aches, my pains on borrowed time
The distant church bells set to chime
The miles in between
I follow on in destined task
Is it too much for me to ask
Within your arms I long to bask
If you know what I mean
To stumble on the crooked path
And weep these tears of aftermath
For comes the heat of summer wrath
In everything so new
I wander here and wander there
In hopes to show you that I care
With you my dreams I long to share
Until my days are through
Soph Raikes Jun 2014
Dance is everything, and it is evergreen.
These movements are the passage
to your mind,
your innermost loves and hates.

You are betrayed by movement,
by dance.
So seductive, so yielding, yet hours
and hours
are necessary to make it
truly yours.

Only after breaking pointe shoes,
only after pulling your world apart,
your body apart
for the right line of your arms.
Only then, when you see your own shadow
moving like water,
then you will know, that dance is
music made visible.

It is all your ninety-nine words for god.
It is evergreen, and it has
survived stronger people than you.
  May 2014 Soph Raikes
SG Holter
Norwegian Independence Day.
And 200th anniversary.

After the Black Plague in 1349
We fell under Denmark.

1814 there were many enough of
Us to start anew.

The Constitution was written a
Fifteen minute drive from

Here. The heart of the country. And
Here I sit. Outside. Shirt on the

Ironing board. Sun in the face.
So much green it's an ocean of fields

And foliage. Under my bare feet I
Feel the strong, steady

Pulse of the Land. Like that of a
Mother's to an unborn.


Happy Birthday, Mother.  
I'm here.
  May 2014 Soph Raikes
Julie Butler
My words
these words
to her they mean nothing
I feel like burnt bread
left stale in the oven
she wants
she wants
me to feel
and feel all of these things
but she wants nothing to do
with the one
that means
to me
Next page