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maxime Mar 2017
I don't need to look into a mirror to see that I'm turning into you.
I already know that I am slowly deteriorating.
Nightmares plague me,
So horrible I am trembling and barely breathing when I wake.
There isn't a single person who makes me feel safe.
You always told me you were wary of everyone.
Including yourself.
The words that fall from my lips are formal, protected, carefully calculated.
My words sound like their coming from your mouth,
Like you have possessed me and will never let me free.
The wanderlust is the most painful.
I'm pulled by the sharp knife twisted into my gut.
Wanderlust makes me reckless. Wanderlust slowly kills me.
Tell me, darling,
Am I haunting you like you're haunting me?
The further we are apart, the more we see we are alike.
Before too long you'll look in the mirror.
You'll see my face instead of your own.
This poem doesn't flow the way I want it to. I can't seem to fix it.
Ryan Hoysan Feb 2017
As human beings
We have the potential
To do anything we set our minds to
Except for this moment in time
I feel as if the odds are stacked just slightly too high against me
As though sheer force of will just won't cut it this time
As much as I hate to think this way I fear it might be true
I've started thinking that maybe the major that I've chosen to study in college just isn't working out. It has been my dream to study computer science in college and make a career out of it, but I'm not so sure of that anymore. Maybe I'll end up changing majors... Things are just kinda complicated in my mind right now.
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Listen to Time to turn the tide by Millpond Moon  global warming is affecting this gift....writing this made me cry ....for our sacred Earth.  This is a meaningful piece I had to dig deep in old studies and in my beliefs this was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful Aurora Borealis a few years ago. This is about stars, this place- Vermont, Heaven, angels and death or coming omens. Peace - Vermont
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
Julie Grenness Jan 2017
By mistake,  I joined the rat race,
A one off, felt so out of place,
All speeding at a hectic rate,
So, I was in the wrong lane, great!
When changing lanes was a risky business,
Home in one piece, that's all to say, I guess!
Feedback welcome.
Àŧùl Dec 2016
The secret to her happiness is love.
No, you are thinking wrong.
I am not her lover.
Not anymore.
Her love is objective.
It is ever-changing and variable.
She has loved many things.
Parents. Cousins. Friends. Siblings.
Boyfriends. Even girlfriends.
She is bi-curious if not bisexual.
HP Poem #1301
©Atul Kaushal
Marilyn Sistinas Dec 2016
The roof is collapsing,
caving in on every promise,
breaking down to show what's real.
The walls are condensing,
concaving in unspoken words,
building up on what's been broken.
Structure built on false foundation,
only creates faulty condition.
Leticia JL Sims Oct 2016
My thoughts
my thoughts about you
they are changing
I feel
it is a blessing
my thoughts
my thoughts about you are changing
myself is doing very good
good without you
I thought this pain I was putting on myself
would never go away
but as the leaves start to fall and time goes on
you are becoming nothing more then a man
I thought I loved.
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