stepping back into the west
chills reverberate up and down my spine
chiseling open obsolescent padlocks
dangling with dust
on ancient treasure chests

pallid colors in the attic release
a blossoming familiarity
faint hints of retrospections float on faded paper
granting me access to roads
where no map is needed

as i peruse the streets
my heart flows coalescing with the vicinity
caressing each detail i transform to fluid
and fuse with the past
through fresh strokes of watercolored memories

recollections flash before my eyes
revealing antiquated stories
though thought forgotten
an etched history endeavors to define me
renewing itself as i turn each corner

i shudder at some remembrances while encompassing others
through synchronicity realization hits
that I am all of it
yet none of it
at the same time

familiar faces paint meaning onto me
no longer do they know me
yet they airbrush vestiges of yesteryear
and coat me with connotations
i allow them to think i am whatever they imagine

i morph into their canvas temporarily
then break free in multi-dimensionality
they don't hear me with a new listening
no longer invested in their projections
once sharp triggers now appear in soft focus

an auspicious mist lies around the edges
of my former life
it is as if i never left
yet traces of the east lie sandpapered in me
a maturation commingles with my former self

flushing out on my skin
tethering newfound emotions
a gentle gratitude for home territory
nestles softly
inward

i listen to the clicks
of my scuffed cowboy boots
on acquainted yet somehow distant sidewalks
the echoes layering multiple impressions
glimmering with the utter beauty of this terrain

as I wander through the majestic rocky mountains
drinking in the quaking aspen's crimson edges
interfacing the evergreens
hushed whispers of autumn loftily rest
juxtaposed neatly against futures waiting to unfurl in the wind

an amalgamation of intimate sights and scents
dance in open wounds
dazzling
homesickness cured
a wholeness returned

as winter's crystal dawn blooms
i realize the depth of my growth
for in leaving here and returning
i cherish the west
my home

©2016 janetaylor

Eyes open and close.
Lean back, let what happens happen.

Words are sometimes like abortions.
Forced out before their time.

Screaming lips, hasty tongues.

Body tired. Uncomfortable.
Does it still belong to me?

Do secret vowels leak out
from weary lips? Am I touching

the right sort of optimism?

I want to drink the wine
of redemptive healing.

Letting it slip and slide
over the internal sickness.

When healed, when this is done,
I'll shout words of praise.
I'll proclaim eternal thankfulness
to God, who alone heals.

Must be from France , western European .
Dedicated equestrian , painter and poet .
Aristocratic by blood , proper family .
Well educated in all the facets of life .

Regal as the diamond jewels of the tiara worn like a crown .

Long black hair waterfalls over her shoulders .
Rose red lips that beg to be kissed .
Perfectly structured cheeks
And the round innocent eyes
Of an angel seeking wings to fly .

And if the eyes are the windows to the soul let my ship sail on in
Seeking safe harbor within
Sneha's eyes .

Words 149
Lines 30

Angels in the Airwaves
By Lisa Noe

It was dark and late at night
I’d said my prayers without sight
I couldn’t see but I could hear
A fluttering sound was oh so near

I was afraid and all alone
Kept hearing something outside my home
It came closer and I feared
Then a light appeared

From under my door a glowing light
Soft and calming, a pure delight
The humming noise became more clear
There was something coming near.

Through the door she appeared
A woman drenched in light, I leered
She was haunting with her beauty
She was there to form her duty

She was an angel in the airwaves
Floating gracefully she arrives
An answer to prayers I have made
From on my bed where I laid

She speaks not to me
She communicates telepathically
But I understand her thoughts
And all the love she’s brought.


© Copyright 2016 ~Lisa Noe~kittylove