Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
RJ Romero Sep 1
Yellow haze

Sun kissed gaze

as it sets,

the room ablazed

with warmth

Orange tint

of light

proof of day's



the lone



from the

tasks at hand
RJ Romero Sep 1
there's a melancholy
in the light of the sun
passing through the glass window
illuminating the dark room
warming the empty bed
the hot air inducing sweat
the quietness in the afternoon
filling my head
of nostalgia
lullabies me to sleep
into a dreamless rest
lk ode Aug 26
in the street fair
sun soaked air
on two pairs of
one weathered, covered in
dry clay
and working at a
pottery wheel
and the other smaller, younger
sits in paint
and waits and
Norman Crane Aug 22
I am white clouds
Blue sky drifting
Apart from me cicadas buzz loudly
Bare back on hot cedar planks
Mindfulness in bloom
Ideas like dandelion seeds
Arise before floating beyond the roof line
I am time—
The lawnmover engine turns,
reality returns.
Tears from the mystical sky
seeped in through my shoulder—
as I let its fervor tears
dampen my lowly soul;
he said, “hear me out”

The way it moves around
sailing toward to broaden
mysterious mists—the plastic clouds
covering most of the gleam of the sun
and the way he murmurs into my ears—
I can never get out again.

While strange stares pierced through
my core—a menacing way of
forcing unraveling fragile pieces
of my silent port, and there I
let a foreign one
travel his way through—
sailing beneath my springs.

On this day of August's chilly afternoon—
while the tears of the mystical sky
tumbles through my shoulder—dripping
my cold dry bones.
after a week of not writing.
alexa Jun 26
i've searched near and far for you,
i've found very few.

you come at night,
sometimes you even give me a fright.

sometimes in the middle of the day,
when i'm trying to keep my peace at bay.

you've never helped me;
yet i still need you
because you help me breathe.
You are the snowflake —
In the buoyant afternoon
Where you fade away — still, when I look at you,
Pure like a waterfall.

It crashes
The sound — the continuous wave
Where the water's steep falls
And down
And deep
And beneath.

You are the snowflake —
In the crisp of December
Where you,
turns into
A delicate sixfold symmetry.

Where you were as remarkable
As white
And bright — just like the brisk — where the coldness,
Can be the warmth.

In every season
There's you — different from time to time;
Still, when I look at you,
You are as graceful,
For the weather — forecasted — bluer than the usual;

And when I look at you,
You will always be,
The snowflake that melts
In the sunny afternoon — and a delicate sixfold symmetry
In the winter of December.
...and when I look at you, you will always be the snowflake that melts, that transforms, as white, as clearest among the rest.
Nat Lipstadt May 23
Late afternoon, tween twilight but before the dusk
in time for afternoon prayers, ******* followed by
the evening service, The Name reached out unto me
to touch my face, wake me from a lifelong slowing slumber.

My man! My good man, I’ve been numbering those days,
you will have no disagreement that you’re quite the closer,
close by, the chapter finale of our story, your living, a well
thumbed novella, enjoyed by many, and a favorite o’mine.

Do not restless rustle, no busing bustle, the Set Table^ cleared,
tabulations done, the sums and dividend distributed, in sync,
your words well distributed, remainders to be dearly shared, saved,
showings of great love, valleys of feeling, these your humble attire.

Look how easy the (our) words come, the fluids of a man for which
we have been long patient be awaiting, the company all in readiness,
for confession and days of permanent new creation, fast beginnings,
think on it, to be called child once more, how glorious this unknown!

Dimensions recorded, measurements tailor-taken, silk tuxedo deep bleu, luxe, a hint of violet, here-presented, patent, the leather for blue suede winged dancing shoes no airport dare ask you remove, before they beg you, say, save grace, just once, pronounce The Name, the one of Seventy!

To walk, talk, rhyme and theorize, to forget and memorize, always refreshing, knowing nothing lasts, except things that last forever, or last never, poems and decisions needing completion, choices, reordering songs loved best, repleting all sorrowed pains, uplifting prayers, hallelujah hymns, last rites...

You, a world to us, a microcosm of a triathlon life, juggling the many, last of a lineage who could^^ pray, making rain, reading poetry to angels, giving comforting absolution for making storms, plagues, tidal waves, volcanoes, concentration camps, death marches, stillborn children, incurable sadness.

Quick when the curtain calls, listen close for the cue, toe the mark,
take position, hands upward joined, eyes down, ahead are fearless words,
a soliloquy lasting hundreds of years, balances aligned, only now you  needed, to make mercy allocations, putting paid next to all my periods, all in place, properly positioned, now comes an  evening song.

then to commence the writing of only love poetry forevermore.

Sabbath May 23
woke from a half-nap, while listening to music heard a certain song, then wrote in a single sitting of thirty minutes

^ Shulchan Aruch
Eva May 17
Dandelions carelessly dance in the wind
to the songs of the rustling trees.
What was left of the afternoon sun,
buries itself under the ancient pines.
Insects fill the fields with a mesmerizing lullaby.
Luminous flowers steal the last ray of sunshine,
and hide away into the night.
I hope everyone is doing great in quarintine, stay healthy and stay strong:)
Next page