I. Autumn came wearing forlorn eyes.
her relief made branches afloat amidst the storm,
yet leaves still fell with memories unmade.

II. Summer came wearing radiant eyes.
her laughter painted tall grasses, rows of  trees and fields of corn.
she smiled so bright sunflowers bloomed,
leaned her way, and mistaken her for sunlight.

III. Spring came yet her eyes remained the same.
although I'd argue, her gaze held winter's weight.
Her lips as tender as the earth kissed after rain,
as her smell sprouted daises in her wake.

IV. Tested by time as seasons unfurled.
throughout autumn's loss, summer's radiance and spring's quiet bloom.
The cold may touch with its chill,
Yet even then,
Winter never came.

Friends to lovers.
Lovers to nothing.

I remember the days you craved hearing my voice on your line.
Obsessed doesn't seem strong enough.
I would answer every time.
Completely gone over you.

But my voice was not enough,
Wasn't long before you needed my time.
My lips, my body, my touch.
I would give it every time.

I'm empty now, I gave it all to you.
Funny, now you don't want it.
Give it back, I need it for someone new.
She deserves this energy, that care.

She needs it, I see it in her stare.

But I think to myself now,
on these many auburn nights,
a year passed,
How lucky I am to have something
to miss amidst the fleeting
haze of life.

A photo I took three summers
ago; a boat immortalised behind glass.
It had reminded me of the careful details
and perfect colours, delicate strings
strung tall into ropes, pen barrels
into hard iron pipes.
  
The photo I took, buried under years,
a drop colliding with the sea,
indistinguishable.
The image is flooded with the fact
that it was never seen as I had intended.

Three summers ago, I looked at it,
and thought of him.
Though it was never shown,
it sits, buried.
Because, this winter, I look at it and
think of him.

How lucky am I, to have loved and lost?
How lucky I am, to have loved.

Gratifying sounds...
Delightful notes...
Each mirroring a sonnet of faith,
All conducting an aura of afroth !
For how could She, be such a gifted one ?!?

Sui generis" is the word,
Lyrical bliss per a chord,
Beauty as such an award...

A delicate Goddess within Her craft;
Why can't I spot any blunder in it ?!?
Soothing, soothing, soothing...
As pleasing as it can be;
She's of a divine femininity,
Yet, not precisely picturing Her glory,
Falling short in delineating Her charm.

Woman... O woman;
A certain euphoria, You conceive,
An eyeful masquerade, You evolve in,
An addictive healing, Your manoeuvre became to me.

~ A. Rose

Silence
I invite you
To bring me the truth

Silence
I adore you
For you are what you are

Silence
You help me
Find myself again

Silence
You are an anchor
In this present moment

Silence
You are here
And you always were

Silence
Sometimes
You are louder than words

Silence
In your lullaby
I want to fall asleep softly

Silence
In your presence
I am.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
Grant my pen a poet's gift
Let me scribble my pencil thin,
Writing, kindling your blossom smile.
You, beautiful as you flip my file
Which has me commit to your homework, while
Sitting at home with a radiant smile.

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my teacher?
'tis true, nobody's perfect -- nobody but you.
Naughty I was and punish you did that's true.
"Write, 'I will listen in class.'" you said demure,
"on each line of those two pages; and stop being immature."
I'd Sit and contemplate, drool and scribble,
"Lovely miss Anderson. My miss Anderson"

Ms Anderson, Ms Anderson,
Wherefore art thou my elder?
Were you younger, by a decade or two,
I grant I'd hop and merrily skip,
With you on the park and  buy you a sweet.
I'd look in your eyes, and call you Anderson.
My dear Anderson.

I watch you write,  
your pen flowing like a river,  
each word a current
that pulls me under.  
I am ensnared in your story,  
captivated and lost
in the beautiful, broken
and hurting depths of you.

©️Lizzie Bevis

The early rising sun,
                                  Removes the darkness,
                                            Of last night,
                                   The air starts to warm,
                          From the huge, fireball in the sky,
                   The birds are awakened, and start  to sing,
           We never know until it’s over, what this day, will bring,
      A sun filled day, the timing is right, to get your head together,
   In just twenty-four hours, tomorrow, could bring with it a stormy
                                                    night.
     ­     The seasons, seem to change faster, as the years pass us by,
                There will be days, that end, with a question of why,
                     Others, will be memories, of tears in your eyes.
                                         Cherish the smiles,
                                     That look at you today,
                                        Like everything else,
                                They will slowly, fade away.

                                   The original: Tom Maxwell © 10/31/24 AD