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Pam Wooten-Welsh Mar 2021
She was fierce.
She was wild and night-time.
A heart so gigantic
she could paint a picture world-wide.
Her style was her own.
Her spirit is unchained.
Liberated running away from society
touching the earth with her bare feet,
it embraced her soul,
leaving her breathless and carefree.
A natural and appearing
like a field of flowers,
bright and magical.
She was a kaleidoscope of colors
living enchantingly under the moon at night,
and cheerfully in the sun
with its radiance and light.
ALesiach Jul 2019
Gypsy sits under the twinkling starlight,
of a fierce love she sings into the night,
but never a lover is in sight.
Will you be her lover?

Gypsy fades to a gentle slumber.
Will her dreams be light or thunder?
Will they dwell on life's duress
or a lover's sweet caress?
Will you be her lover?

Gypsy can freeze you, put you on ice
or she can take you to paradise.
Do not forget to hold on tight
or into the abyss you will slip at twilight.
Will you be her lover?

Gypsy stirs in the morning light,
her dreams are gone like mist in sunlight.
Did you read the message in her eyes?
She will be waiting in the night.
Will you be her lover?

ALesiach © 09/19/2014
shooshu Dec 2015
Trying to breathe,
into the woods.
An old woman
in a furry hat
& I,
laughing together
still somewhat
Ever too proud
to play
or go fetch
for change
we live out
of bags.
Exactly where
we're meant to be
& 'how you say?'
...all that jazz."
--shoo.shu #doubleentendres #poetry #spilledink #inthenow #inthemoment #underdog #homeless #boho #bohemian #wanderlust #gypsy #nomad
scar Jun 2015
Of a night on a battered red leather sofa
It's moved with us three times
It sits in a room with a broken bay window
And we sit on it too
And we sit on it too

Drinking yellow anise from mismatched glasses
With ice, not warm water
Singing stories, spinning yarns with broken bottles
Of girls with leopard-print hands
And the straw man in the moon
The straw man in the moon.

The cord hangs on the wall:
A symbol, but not symbolic
As chords rise, break off and fall
All a sham, but not shambolic
A sham, but not shambolic.

Swapping tales and anecdotes of cars parked between cake stalls
And days with names that don't suit them
People dying for causes they don't understand
And war is an island; a land hyperbolic
A Green land, a war land; unplanned hyperbolic.

Linguistics are twisted and brass tales are dropped
A cork is unwrapped from the web where it popped
But the darkness is rising, the hours are ticking
The side is hitched up so we all know we're doomed.
We hear children singing in the guitar strings,
Their screeches rising as they fall,
Our speeches diving as they fall.

And speaking of speeches, he says, a performance is mine
But in France, man... in France the markets are open
And the fields of Provence roll down to the menhirs of Carnac
And Brocéliande lies to us all,
And Brocéliande lies to us all.
Bella Feb 2015
but see, there is strength in being gentle. when you are humble and patient and filled with love, the world gives back to you. i know there are those who would use my kindness as an excuse to be cruel. i know that there are situations where teeth and fists and fire are the only solutions. but so much in this world opens up when you take a moment to ask even the grass what it feels like to be in such a large family. i will take those who walk on me. there are hundreds of others who grow alongside me. there is much to learn from the shy softness that those who are all bitterness will never get to see.
Sarah Michelle Dec 2014
Describe It accurately


And give It a twirl of hair and boho skirt

Describe It once

with love full of hatred or


Until your arms & legs

Shiver, until your gemmed rings


to pieces

Until, when your glossy

fingernails melt, a monster's

heart burns with sympathy.

Call It on the phone, don't

apologize if you hadn't


the right

A stream-of-consciousness poem about expression.

— The End —