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Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Will There Be Starlight
by Michael R. Burch

Will there be starlight
tonight
while she gathers
damask
and lilac
and sweet-scented heathers?

And will she find flowers,
or will she find thorns
guarding the petals
of roses unborn?

Will there be moonlight
tonight
while she gathers
seashells
and mussels
and albatross feathers?

And will she find treasure
or will she find pain
at the end of this rainbow
of moonlight on rain?

Published by The Chained Muse, Famous Poets and Poems, Grassroots Poetry, Inspirational Stories, Jenion, Poetry Webring, Starlight Archives, TALESetc, The Word (UK), Writ in Water

Keywords/Tags: Night, starlight, moonlight, mystery, flowers, roses, petals, thorns, seashells, feathers, rain, rainbow, treasure, *** of gold, romance, romantic, romanticism, love, passion, desire, longing
C Cavierre Feb 2020
Water dripping and starlight trickling,
angels of sleep appearing—
comfort-bringing in your dreaming,
puffing clouds and wish-fulfilling.

Peaceful sighs and darkened skies,
kindly and gentle moonlight—
harmless shadows under wings of white,
shielding your blissful night.

Cotton softness beneath your head,
feather-light dandelions around your bed—
silver rivers you imagined
lulling serenely toward land of rest.

Soothing, patting hand of hope
beckoning promises of tomorrow—
blessings awakening on your horizon,
fending unwanted future sorrows.
conjured this in the middle of a 12-hr night shift
Serendipity Feb 2020
There is no hesitation
to pick up bird feathers
from off the ground,
and heal an angel's
broken wings.
But there is a pause
before we reach a hand
to the broken claw
of a demon.
Tell me now,
Are they both not in need of saving?
lua Nov 2019
From his back, grew feathers
Those so dark but when the light hits them, a thousand colours shine through
The skin around his hind legs bulged and swolen
And with each right step, he grew flowers
And with each left step, it leaked fire

His face morphed from person to person
Yet his eyes, they stayed the same
They followed me, every move I made
Meadows behind his shadow wasted away to ash

I rest my palm on his cheek
He rests a feathered wing on the back of my hand
"Who are you?"
I ask him

He tells me:

"I am everyone and anyone

I am someone you see everyday

I am the face you see in the crowd

I am the thunderstorms in the night

I am the gentle breeze that hits your face

I am the sound of children's laughter in your ears

I am the wind below your feet

I am the first tear that drips down your cheeks

I am the sweat down your temples

I am the tremble in your hands, the shiver down your spine

I am the place the light can not reach, yet I am the light

I drink yet I do not thirst

I eat yet I am not hungry

I breathe in air that does not exist

I want what I do not need

I take what I do not want

Yet I am not a god

I am not a man

Nor anything in this world

I am no one

I am nobody

I am nothing."
Dream Fisher Nov 2019
I'm sitting on the bathroom floor,
Eyes closed, head low
Drowning in so much emotion,
No one knows.
They say that i should just be strong
Looking at my tired arms
My atlas bent from trying to push on
And i lack the mental prowess to carry on.
As my hand reaches to grip the pencil tip,
I write my own swan song.
I write my own swan song
Mark Toney Oct 2019
Quacky little bird sound
When you hear it coming duck!
If farmer Ted is after you
You're running out of luck

Totin' shotgun and bird shot,
Son, he's aiming not to please
He's sneaking close behind you bird
You better hold your sneeze

Cuz your feathers are a tickler
Your bill is orange and bright
While the farmer is a stickler
He will sup on bird tonight

Lord love a duck!
Of him you mustn't run a fowl
Pain from your freshly plucked feathers
Will be enough to make you howl!
7/17/2019 - Poetry form: Light Verse - This is the first poem in my new e-book "Bird Beaks & Bee's Knees", a collection of bird-brained poems that attempt to answer the following question:  What can you do when you're as busy as a bee and life bugs you to the point where you cry fowl?  And there you go, barking at the geese, ducks and swans, swatting carpenter bees with your tennis racket and drowning ants with your water hose as if that will help.  The Woodpecker Gazette calls it "A silly, idiotic and unintelligent must-read." So as not to run afoul of the grammar police, please understand that my poetic license is up to date, misspelled words are intentional and the use of puns is clearly authorized. Why in the world would I use puns? To make it more punny, of course! Ok, I'll stop now. Maybe...
SøułSurvivør Aug 2019
Her cheeks a'blooming
Fresh petals
Assuming a charm
All their own....

Flesh roses
In a flute of bone.

Her arms are strong wings
Ethereal beauty, poised
For her journey, as a
Tern is
On its long feathered flight
From the North
She wings her way

To the South
Only to meet
The arctic waste
Once more...

Yet the flesh roses never fade

For they are
frozen with tears.

Catherine Jarvis
8/19/2019
Another poem for the book. This illustration done by Sarah, who has a skilled touch & wonderful imagination.
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