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Lilian Vector Sep 26
Oh, to be so bold
So young,
With your red,
Hair down
Casted by sunlight,
I wish
I could be you
Oh to be young,
And In love
With life
To you.
Lady Bird Soundtrack for inspiration and the afternoon air.
On the spot writing.
Donna Sep 10
Nippy Afternoon
Birds are quiet traffic too
Leaves fall peacefully
girl gonzo Aug 26
watching the same collage video on a loop of
leaves drying up
snow melting under the surface of a sweating floor
you leap up to grab me but there's only a cloud of moonlight coming through your window
you feel the arresting tackle of all the butterflies leaping out of your chest with rapid eye movement like the eyelash kisses you would give the mirror
the fluttering turning their wings into  heavy blades that leave a pinkish glow on your chest

my name was worn out that spring and you never learned to turn the light on at night
been awhile, since kept my named promise,
but here I am writing about planting, love making,
one of which I’ve got a small amount of almost expired experience
that still asks to be shared & sharing, whom am I to say nooooo

late August, and the hush all over the place,
in the sad notes of chilling & distilling the seasons fantasy,
summer will be forever here, escape to the sea sunroom visionary,
the ceiling fan whirring low and slow, should the heat increase,
onerous march of dimes times suspended here, almost,
hoping the heat will increase, and those negative
dropped acorn hints, early falling leaves, crumbs of nooooo

when we make love in the afternoon

will pour a little sugar on you honey, it will be a viscous wall
to hold back change, sticking everything in its place, “as is”
just as it exists at this precise second, wearing manly summer pink,
every day and no one thinks it strange, everything’s green
though rain is forbidden here like in Camelot + the sound of noooo

more is swallowed up in ooooohs and ahs, and if making love
in the morning, afternoon and all evening is what it takes to
stop time, to seize this day as a permanent forever day,
no sacrifice to great, no none, no nope, yes to nooooo...
August 24, 2019
for & with you
Alice Wilde Aug 15
Ivory, sheer curtains
Breathe- sunlit with passing wind.
Delicately brushing eggshell plaster
Before falling to original shape.
Closing my eyes
I wrap myself in their peace.
Matching breath to theirs,
And it feels like
I am being held by your
Kai Jul 23
a sweet dewy afternoon
fills with looming clouds
and the dark grey skies
that settle over my eyes

My thoughts on the cloudy day.
forgiveness for self is a thunderstorm ferocious,
cracking sounds so god awful fearful
that one questions his-her sanity,
an overage so unnatural that
only nature could create it

it is a moment momentousness
when the exhalation of exhaustion,
the winner and loser, both you,
surrender ne’er knowing
which you is which,
life’s son of *****, or just a plain jane mothering version,
either way you say to yourself got to
get past that lousy stinking
love affair
win the race to clean slate,
where the end is insight where everything replaced
in its used to be placed

goaded into melted nothingness,
goaded into believing that’s a real thing,
that when you finally get there,
enough is enough,  
get out of jail ticket will work,
but it ain’t never free,
even if you paid for it in
what you call
throwing bad after good,
monopoly money,
nope, ain’t never free

no idea what to put in the second empty closet,
who needs an attached to-the-wall-tile
toothbrush holder with one extra emptying space,
where to hide picture albums in a space
outta sight, outta mind, you still can find

why you didn’t care enough to
daily mat-wipe street shoes before
riveted in place
before entering your own! apartment and no,
you are consciously unconscious immobilized by
the missing calling out of her “don’t forget”

in the car’s ashtray,
a red kissed blotted red lipstick
tissue that needs discard-action,
but you incapable of either,
those collected records and cd’s,
her teasing your old fashion ways,
reluctance to let go

so you read
“that to forgive one self doesn’t forgive forgetting”
and it hits home, home run, score to the core,
since you wrote those words on a sun rain afternoon,
a punctuating thunderstorm day
refusing to decide
haunts worse

“poet, it’s your day,” she says.

groggily growls the growler,
“what’d ya mean?”

“the sun came up today early,
but partly cloudy interrupt-us has arrived subsequently,
worse, the Great Swami Interpet predicts rain comes
heavy this afternoon on our journey home.”

he reflects upon his craggy, scraggly image that is
reflected upon the cold brewed black coffee.

replies carefully without thinking,
“today I will commence writing under
a new guise, a new name, a different persona!”

“whom shall we be today then?”

come back to bed revelation poet
how poems get plucked from trees of passing conversations and new poets
come into being...
E B K May 9
I saw you today
it had been so long
Too long? Who knows
but anyhow

Our eyes caught
Yours brown
Mine blue-green
Spinning an eternity
between us

You nodded, I think
didn't smile
I'm not sure if I nodded back
but who knows

Libraries are romantic
They are piles and shelves of words of love
and lust
Stacks full of secrets
a kiss discretely
Hands grasped
stories told

Could we have been that kiss, those hands?
maybe, but who knows

I have written your name so many times
Scratched you out until you are, were
nothing but words and hopeless yearning

and yet now, here you are
With your nod
Those eyes

an eternity between us

by the books
I still have to shelve
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