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Savio Fonseca Jun 2023
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky
and gracefully sway with the Breeze.
Bringing Calmness, Sanity and Peace around.
Blessing the green fields and the Trees.
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky
and Splash on the window Panes.
So Children can hum their rainy Tune,
While it makes puddles in the traffic Lanes.
I'm waiting for the Rain to fall from the Sky,
To Wish Us Hello and Goodbye.
To each Pretty Soul, it gives a tender Hug.
Taking their Blues to the Mighty Sky.
I'm waiting for Raindrops to fall from the Sky,
So We all can have some Fun.
The Raindrops must Kiss, each one of Us.
Before the Sky, gets covered by Sun.
Isaace Apr 2023
And opposite,
In the electricity fields,
Sit rows of hollowed-out shells.

Now in-land,
Though out of place,
The Lightning Whelks generate Hell.

And parallel—
Conducting phantasmagorical light—
The pylons coil around them;

Reverberations from the industrial fields
Where the blood lines coagulate and dwell.

And the blood lines—
They feed the hollowed-out shells—
Form conglomerate veins.

And in their hands—
The great fires they weld—
Ever-surging, moth-coaxing light.
Bardo Oct 2022
My Mom, she was well versed in the Old ways
I remember in the late summer and autumn time
She was always making jam
Blackberry jam, strawberry jam, gooseberry, raspberry, blackcurrant, apple, plum, damson
I don't even think we had any damsons
But still she could make damson jam, such were her powers
So one day she said to me "Go on down the fields there and get me some blackberries, and I'll make some blackberry jam", she gave me a plastic bag
So I looked over the fence, checking to make sure the farmer wasn't around
I don't think he liked us walking on his land,
So I go down to this field and I look over the gate
And as far as I can see, there's nothing in the field, no animals at all to be seen
So I jump over the gate and walk right across the field to the bottom ditch
Where there's loads of blackberry bushes and I start picking my blackberries
It's very quiet in the field, eerily quiet and there's this strange sense of space, that you're very small in a very big field
After about five minutes I'm getting kinda bored so I stop and turn around to take in the  view
And straightaway I see in the very corner of the field, under some overhanging tree branches
This big white horse and he's watching me,
(You wouldn't have been able to see him from the gate
There might have been a little indent there in the ditch where he was hidden)
I said to myself "God, you're lucky, lucky it wasn't a Bull or you'd be in real trouble, Bulls can be vicious, they can **** you, I'd heard stories
And I'm no matador"
Anyway suddenly the horse he starts galloping towards me
I say to myself "Well, nothing to worry about, sure it's only a horse"
Well he gallops right up to me and then he rears up on his hind legs with his front legs pumping and him whinnying like crazy
And I'm shocked thinking "What the ****!"
And I start backing into the ditch 'cos I'm afraid he might kick me or something
Then he goes and drops his big hooves about two inches from my foot
And I'm thinking "Wait a minute, you could have broken my foot there if you had have landed on my foot, with your big hooves"
I was going to tell him "Look Mr.Horse you're starting to cross a line here man"
But he's not finished, he moves in closer to me
And with his big head and his big long face
He starts nudging me further and further into the ditch
And he has these big teeth that are clenched, their almost grinning at you
I'm nearly afraid he might bite me
So I'm now there in the ditch, I've long since dropped my blackberries
And I don't know what to do, I know nothing about horses
What am I, John Wayne or something
What am I gonna do, shout "Help! I'm being molested by a horse"
And I wonder "Why don't they teach you this at school Self Defence against horses, something feckin' useful for a change,
Then I think of that Mel Brooks film Blazing Saddles and the mad guy Mongo punching the horse
But I say to myself "you can't punch a horse, that might really make him angry, god knows what he'd do then, he probably would kick you"
So I'm there practically in the ditch at this stage and very traumatized by the whole experience
Suddenly the horse he seems to tire of me
He turns around and starts to slowly trot back to his corner
(It was probably a territorial thing),
So I pick myself up out of the ditch and  tentatively start to try and cross the field back to safety, to where the gate is
But I'm half afraid he might turn around and come back and catch me out in the open,
But no! He keeps on just trotting back toward his corner...
So when I judge he's far enough away I suddenly clandestinely take off in a sprint across the field back toward the gate
But still there's no reaction from the horse, he's just not interested anymore,
It's a funny thing about human nature but once you know you're safe you kind of get a bit brave
I remembered I'd been on Summer holidays a year or two before
And I'd gone for a walk in these woods on my own
And I got attacked by a swarm of ******' bees, I must have disturbed their nest
I got stung 5 or 6 times in the head, the ******* nearly killed me
I remember passing some tourists and me screaming like I was a man on fire,
Now I'm thinking, Jaysus I just go down the fields to pick a few blackberries and now I get attacked by a ******' horse
What's goin' on, the feckin' Universe seems to have it in for me, I should stay at home in my bedroom where it's safe and lock the feckin' door.
And I'm quite angry now, in fact I'm really *******
And of course, now I know I'm safe, I know that if he runs at me I'll get to the gate first and can hop over it
So I start walking toward the horse and I start taunting him
"You ******, you ******' horse", I give him the finger or the fingers, then I put up my fists like I want to fight him,
"Come on you ******, come on out and fight, I'm going to McDonald's tonight, gonna get myself a nice big horse burger, yummy yummy,
Lots of onions and ketchup, you'll taste lovely,
I'll be licking my fingers over you baby,
The Knackers Yard that's where you're going to sunshine
Then I think I'll insult his mother, that's what I'll do
Your Mom, yea! She was a tasty little snack
A nice little snack box
I hope you're not gonna be too stringy now.
I turn around and start shaking my ***/bottom at him,
"******'horse! ******! you're a ******' ******"
Then I make a run toward him with my fists flying, "Come on you ******, you white c**t!"
The horse just stands there looking at me, he doesn't make a move.
Then I start to think better of my actions "****! You better watch out, better be careful, someone might see you, you might get into trouble
Imagine if the farmer was watching he'd be saying "There's something wrong with that kid, he must have some mental health issues, Look! he's abusing my horse
Well Farmer your feckin' horse abused me ,
I'll probably have PTSD Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after this
I should take him to court, that's what I should do.......
Then I thought funnily, ..."Mr. Ed anyone ?"
Autumn piece about the perils of jam making. A true story, it happened many years ago when I was young. Remember Mr. Ed the talking horse from the 50's.
calypso Jul 2022
i feel the heat in my cheeks
and from your hands
say it again
when i sleep
when i lay on fields
when i pick on the pedals
whisper it in my ear when we're alone
to me, it lost its meaning, becoming
an overused invaluable phrase
something everyone expects but never gets
i did for sure, and learned my lessons
but from you, it was different
nothing less than my shooting star wish
i landed on the right pedal
you say it when you are
when i think you're not, but you mean it
but you always remind me
and show me you do,
i do too.
im drowning in a field of flowers when im with him, more when im looking at him. he's my heartbeat. i finally have my fairytale!

i wrote "...,becoming" because it took time to be what it is today and to me.
Jessica Feb 2022
I am most alive on a warm summer night at dusk
Walking through a field of tall grass
With a warm gentle breeze blowing
Stars just starting to fill the sky
The sound of the frogs and crickets in the air
No one know I’m there
Mark Toney Dec 2021
winter solstice comes
bare trees, long hibernation
~ don’t risk bleeding lips

gardens lie fallow
field mice attempting entry
~ long dark frigid nights

Mark Toney © 2021
Poetry form: Haiku (for you) - Winter solstice—Tuesday, December 21, 2021
The December solstice marks the start of winter, when the South Pole is tilted closest to the Sun, and the Sun’s rays are directly overhead at the Tropic of Capricorn. (The seasons are reversed in the Southern Hemisphere.) The winter solstice is the shortest day of the year.
Brett Jul 2021
I want to build a rocket ship, but this full moon blanket,
keeps me tangled up in bed.
Maybe a sun shower ,will birth a rainbow,
and I could build a bridge with that instead.
A walk with the weather, may be what I need,
to clear the clouds above my head.

The soggy sounds of rain, strum the chords,
that sing a song inside my brain.
A violin or guitar riff, to untwist the tornadoes,
my heart’s stuck with.
Who needs the stars, when I’ve got the sun,
to shine for me when bad times come.

My sandy feet always have the waves, to wash away,
the darker shades of cloudy gray.
These lonely lips even have a kiss, and the warm caress,
from her outstretched fingertips.
I want to build a rocket ship, but today,
I’ll just exist.
Brett Jul 2021
Youthful exuberance never grows old; I suppose, until the creeping ivy cradles your gravestone.

This life; to me, is a passing train that always makes its way back around. Just not for you.

Every stop lets off the lost and picks up a child; weary, on their first day of school.

The hero in my mind rides, toward the destiny where he dies.

The wink inside his smile; resigned, for one more longing look up at the deep blue ocean canvas, where he penned the story of his life.

In his fading grin, he whispers one last nothing to wind. A cool breeze carrying his freedom. The silence, his last season.
The silent season
Ayesha May 2021
A laugh is not a pretence
I wanted to tell you that, Urooj
And maybe to myself too
Because I know you saw peeps
Of the vacancy
Nestled in my skin
And I too was acquainted
With your queer sorrow
That rises and falls
With a schedule of its own
We saw the jolly winds flirt with olden trees
And heard many a strange talks
In golden fields of youthful wheat
And mustard flowers alive

But we ran too, didn’t we?
I pointed to the slender tree far, far away
Count as I go, I said
And count you did as I rushed
Rushed clumsily on
My feet twisting in troughs
Eye-lashes fighting dust
Twenty, you shouted, as the tree grew
But I barely heard
my body singing a battlefield

You stumbled through the ploughed soil
Hardened through suns
Crushing the remnants of harvested wheat
beneath the flat soles of your sandals
(who wears those to a field?)
Then more
Through soft, chestnut soils
Trying not to damage the baby onions
And I laughed through my burning lungs
A smoke piled up in me
Yearning to gnaw all away

And we licked the gusts singing gossips
Of sour, raw mangoes
Then relished the cool water that
You forced the earth to puke
(I still don’t get how that hand-pump worked)

And I know you sneaked along a wilted rose
From your sister’s grave
And wept, quietly sniffing
Seeing her in all the birds I pointed out
All the leaves dried to immortality
In my notebook
I too treaded through rows of childish guava trees
And struggled to will my ghosts away
I too got stranded in the insolent rays
of the dusty sun

But we joked still, didn’t we?
And when, on the way home,
I reminded you stories
Of the silly children we once lived
Your laugh glimmered all around
And mine mimicked

And the radio was ****
So we swam in our own private silences
Got lost in the rowing birds
And I know, at some point,
All the dead days
And all the rotten mangoes
Seated themselves in the car
Along with us and our shackled beasts
And the villages and the stalls and empty fields
Ran past in silence

But we had laughed
When the restless winds nearly sent me
Tumbling down the tree
And we had laughed when
The freshly-watered soil tried
To **** us under
And a laugh is not a pretence
Urooj, a laugh is not a pretence.
I wonder if we know.
For Urooj, though I doubt I'll ever show her.

(I wrote this one on my arm. Was on the roof, with nothing but a pen; as the sun sailed away, my skin got darker lol)
Alone he sits,
in the field,
waiting for the birds to migrate,
from an eternal winter,
he hears their song no longer,
except when she smiles,
only when she's around,
does the sun fulfill its duties,
warms him,
for he is cold from the rain.
I'm alone.
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