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Soℓ Oct 4
UNHURRIEDLY, THE days sink scarce, over sleepy cabins, banked breath fog the cold villages thick in white fire as if dying had a say made seeable. Now, in the shadows flake why not us illuminate the ghostly fever in silent resurrections.

It is a listless rhapsody.
It is love slumped.
It’s all the adrenaline of the grove
Among the ***** of the breeze,
It’s beyond the blue by boney antlers
A choir of tiny voices.
O delicate and crisp the daisies whoosh!
It chirps and sighs,
As the hoarse grass at last breath -
Under rapids that turn
The worn rolled pebbles,
This sorrowful soul
In this quiescent whinge.
Is it not ours? Yours and mine!
Whose unpresuming antiphon
By this cozy eventide; moonflower?

(c)  HollyD Poetry
So, if you've toured a realm where the sol sets shallow and closing times cinder unsuspectedly through the AM. You'll know the opposite arrives impossibly evident as well, eh?
Her love was unmatched
It was violent
Like the tide.

The deepest blue
waters held
all her secrets.

Her touch, warm and welcoming
Always comforting.

Nothing more pleasant
Than hearing my name
Escape her lips.

As quickly as her memory
arrives
It fades.

Allowing cold to enter
and keep its
stay.
It's been a good long while since I have thrown anything on here, and for good reason. I have been so busy with life events and things have really gotten away from me to the point of me not being able to get on here daily and publish my works. However, that doesn't mean that I've stopped writing. there will be a series of works coming through here. As always, I hope enjoy!
Bryan Aug 2018
Upon exiting the cabin,
I undergo broken cobble beneath my bare feet.
The remnants of stairs are round and mellow,
Yet some rebel rocks pierce and strike.
No matter, nature has willed it.
Leaving land, I enter upon a man made island
Planks and rods bring support coupled with stability.
String hangs in abundance from rusting cleats,
While dangerous protrusions threaten the innocent flesh.
No matter, man has created it.
As the water calls, I enter.
The buoyant vessel makes for easy observation.
Identifying the stagnant water, which buzzes in anticipation,
Creatures utilize my being for sustenance.
No matter, God has formulated them
To work in unison
In order to create
A recurring environment.
A reflection upon my friend's lake house in Troy, NY. A broken stove, one floor, and no service.
amber Jul 2018
Desolate:
Barely illuminated by the street light,
A dark figure stands,
With its hood up,
Looking into my bedroom window.

I wait for it to more forward,
To begin its expedition,
In murdering me.

But it does not move an inch,
As if to taunt me and say:,
"Stop looking."
Michelle Jun 2018
They are more starved for Nature
Then one can ever fathom;
Oh, where is that secret  
Off they go in a cabin;
that they may frequent
All the noise and pollution
It melts and floats away;
Into life's little solution.

It's back to the plough of life so rough;
They like the smithy toil day after day
Their life may be starved, very tough,
Oh, to listen to the wild loon's call.
How it haunts them each day after day;
How they stomach their bitter gall?
Taking a wooden loon back to the city.
Until that cabin is reached it is a pitty.
When the wild calls; Good-bye city.
We who are born

"We who are born
In country places
Far from cities
And shifting faces,
Have a birthright
No man can sell
And a secret joy
No man can tell"
Eiluned Lewis
Poetic T Jun 2018
Nature calved up, decapitated limbs
left in unmarked eulogies, only silence
speaks. The carcasses of the fallen now
lumber atop of each other. A mass grave
of something once tall now fallen & muted.

Within the insects of humanity now infest
this cadaver, putting what once was brethren
upon the flame. A funeral pyre of rings now
turning to ash, warming the lumbering morbidity
that has an aroma of pine cones screaming in the night.

They live within our gravestones of silence.
Nailing there memories within our husks.
Yet they abandon us like we were momentary
needs, for we are lifetimes in their finite moments.
                     And we decay from where we came from.
My take on a cabin as nature would see it..
nick armbrister Feb 2018
Thai By
This place gets under your skin. Slowly creeping in like black Texas gold. I said I'd never partake in the cat house girls. Seeing them each day for eighteen months was routine. Walking past the 'venues' to my shop. Usual hi's and hello's.

Then one fine humid day, bang! I happened. I changed. Cabin fever? I walked into Suzi's Place. I put my cash on the counter and grinded the mamasan first. Then her two daughters followed by every other girl in there. It took thirteen hours.

I totalled twenty eight girls. Most were nice. I can't tell my wife. My mate could, his wife's cool. Mine isn't. I'll say I was busy inking from dawn to dusk. I'm not sure what came over me. The Thai air got under my skin. That day tattooing could wait.

Maybe I'll do it again. Invite my wife and her toy boy. Did I say that people are strange here? I fit in well...
i can't sit still
i can't lay down
i can't sleep

there is no time for rest
there is no time for play
there is no time

there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do
there is so much i must do

what i've done is not good enough
what i've done is not enough

i have to do more
i'm so tired but i have to do more

no sleeping
i'll sleep when i've done what i must do

i don't know what i must do
but i know i have to do it
whatever it is
and then i'll be content, right?
right?





right?
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