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Richard Grahn Aug 2017
Yearning for sunlight
In this warm summer daydream
My stem reaches out

From the moist earth around me
Into the sunshine
I reach out for the heavens
Just learning to sprout

In the breath of the morning
Down by the river
With the crisp air around me
I  bask in the glow

In the still of the daylight
Warmed by its bright rays
Mesmerized by the dewdrops
I can now cast my shadow
Started this poem about a week ago.  Then my body decided to have a ******. Spent four days in the hospital and then came back and finished the poem. A brush with mortality can surely sharpen the senses. All is well though.
Diána Bósa Jul 2017
You find me within
the interim for I will
be recognized as

the final. Though the
distance is my shelter, I
am near at hand;

on my way just to
get in yours. Reflect me; see
what is hiding your beneath.
Diána Bósa Jul 2017
Your memory is
like an expired polaroid
film - I still keep it

as though it would be
the most precious treasure of
mine, yet I am

aware of the truth:
till I walk this earth I will
never take a look at it.
Richard Grahn May 2017
I’m one tiny seed
For a little while longer.
My hope is to grow
And present you a flower.

I don’t need much care
But I need to be watered.
Illuminate me;
Let me bask in the sunshine.
Rejuvenate me;
Let me waltz in the moonlight.

I’m one happy seed.
Contemplate me completely.
Just plant me and watch
As I grow in your garden,
As I greet you each morning.
This is my first shot at Choka. Had to sleep on the last line. The 5/7/5/7…pattern has a distinctive rhythm that is tough to break out of at the end.
Ashley Somebody May 2017
In those Summer days
When the green grass scratched my legs,
The mud cooled my toes
And I ran through the cold stream,
Pulling off green leaves
From the bushes by the house
And twigs from young trees.

Somehow the fall came—
I liked to call it Autumn—
And I walked slowly,
Picking up acorns and nuts
Before squirrels came
And quickly hid them away.
As morning frosts came,
I began to feel the chill.
Somehow the world changed,
As an apple will grow ripe,
And the world changed me.

In Winter's strong grasp I woke.
I looked around me
And in every grey shadow,
I saw a regret,
A what-if of circumstance:
A sharp memory,
Hanging like an icicle
Just waiting to fall.
Summer would sweetly call me,
And Autumn smiled,
But Winter's embrace choked me.
I would leave the world,
Fly back to the land of dreams,
If I knew a way.
I would cry to the grey sky,
Ask all the questions,
If I thought it would answer.
And so I slept deep,
Knowing nothing could be done
Unless the world changed,
Giving me fresh hope inside;
But it never would.

Spring has crept up to my door
It has knocked loudly
And shaken me from slumber.
Its face is grinning,
Smiling so wide, and laughing.
I've opened my door,
Not fearing a winter wind
For the first time now.
Spring calls me from my bedroom,
Asking me to play
And hang up my coat of doubt
By the scarf of shame
And the hat of my worries.
Spring pulls on my arm,
And even though it hurts now,
Somehow growing pains
Are better than the bedsores.
So take the shoes off my feet
And teach me to run again.
Choka 5-7-5-7-5-7-5...77
Diána Bósa May 2017
With you, I gladly
dance the sleepwalkers' waltz, yet
still, while on my way

to descend, picking
up the thread by following
Ariadne's line,

like vigilant ones,
I would rather desire to
be on the watch by your side.
Diána Bósa May 2017
So, I just sit here,
waiting for you to defeat
the oblivion

and again, at last,
remember where you left me  
like a forgotten

toy from your childhood,
and like every toy I too
need magic to come

alive again; that
kind of magic from the sweet
little human of

mine, the one who, at
once, placed an incandescent
piece from his soul into me.
Diána Bósa Apr 2017
With arms wide open
and with a mind open wide
I would too open
my body to you; yet you
remain unopened,
thus, for you, nothing more but
my veins are left to open.
Diána Bósa Apr 2017
You said at once that
this kind of love poetry
does not resonate
with you yet still, you see, from
a distance, I keep
imaging to kiss upon
your weary eyelids
again, for a moment, it
gives me back my loss:
my sea of tranquility,
my moonbeam of inner peace.
Diána Bósa Mar 2017
On the sky's hummock
she is like a ziggurat;
a gardener of

stars who takes care of
their shining watching over
their sparkling glimpses.

My only hope that
maybe she intend to look
after our little

and unfortunate
star too. The dim one under
whom our love was born to beam.
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