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Payton Feb 25
You always give me butterflies.
Won’t you take them away?
I find it nearly impossible to think when my heart is beating to the rhythm of their gossamer wings.
And it’s all because of you.
This poem was written in 2017.
Gossamer draperies swell
with heat, eastern winds
push daylight
over tangled bodies.

Fingers travel up
and down your naked torso,
my hand caught suddenly
in yours as you stir,
a sleepy god awakened
by the warmth of morning.

Your body, a sundial,
keeps perfect time with mine;
two lovers cached in silken strands,
our sacred place now fully lit
with the hunger of summer.

The solstice lingers past its prime,
drifting over equator
and into southern skies
as autumn patiently waits
outside the bedroom door.
annh Oct 2020
Did she mean...did I see...did her veil part its gossamer filaments just for me?

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‘I always find it more difficult to say the things I mean than the things I don't.’
- W. Somerset Maugham, The Painted Veil
Nat Lipstadt May 2020
———
“called alveoli, where blood and air are separated by such thin membranes that oxygen and carbon dioxide can pass into and out of the bloodstream, respectively. Between them, the lungs have somewhere in the neighborhood of six hundred million alveoli.

Severe COVID-19 causes many of them to either collapse or fill with fluid. The virus attacks the cells lining the alveoli; our overactive immune systems, in trying to fight the virus, may be damaging them as well.
The result is that not enough oxygen gets into the blood.”

                                                        ­          
§§§

we forget to marvel at the finery of our bodies,
the microscopic interactions, the minute particulates intersecting,
the multiplicity of languages of each limb, each system, multilingual,
the beauty of all this communicative combinatory,
that enables the gossamer threads
that make the ordinary a repetitive miracle, understanding both the
wonder of our instinctual, our five senses, and their finite limitations

we tendency focus on the visible,
the skin, our excretions,,
accepting even normative, please go away, periodic pain,
but the exceptional,
that states loudly,
what you cannot see can ****,
we ignore until the last minute

hopeful that the clues that are maybe contained,
re the tearing of the fabric of six hundred million
sacs you were unaware you possessed,
can be rewoven, the palpitations your fear be calmed,
the chest muscles quaking, the gasping for molecules
of oxygen can be ventilated, just like the truth that too,
needs a good and a proper airing, without the artifices tubular

now that you are fully conscious of the unseen beauty upon
which each depends, and the masks we wear proudly lest others
we infect, greater irony that we mustn’t pollute our atmosphere,
perhaps, will it make you question the supposed certainties
we sarcastically,
say we know for sure

and respect the uncertainties by which we live and breathe,
the poetry of the body internal,
every second an exercise in risk taking, the miracle of each moment
a blessed privilege, not being conscious that our physical subsistence
is a near thing, depending on thinnest membranes unseen,
not fooling ourselves that we are each a human god,
an Oz, great and powerful,
who hides behind a curtain.

§§§§
Sat May2
in primo autem anno plaga coronavirus
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
The Aery Faery Princess
by Michael R. Burch

for Keira

There once was a princess lighter than fluff
made of such gossamer stuff—
the down of a thistle, butterflies’ wings,
the faintest high note the hummingbird sings,
moonbeams on garlands, strands of bright hair ...
I think she’s just you when you’re floating on air!

Keywords/Tags: child, children, humor, light verse, princess, fairy, gossamer, thistle, butterfly, hummingbird, moonbeams, floating, flying
Emily Mitchell Feb 2020
Strands of drifting silk
Glisten in the gentle breeze
Intangible wisps.
Inspired by that time of season when the baby spiders are ballooning using strands of gossamer silk to get from place to place.
John Shahul Oct 2018
The murmur of the sly hours seize
Panting the breath into violent grief,
Love that disdains
Leave anyone in despair.
True link thus detests,
All things in the world  disdains
Other than dear ones loving heart.

Love must ever be known for sincere
That sincere love looks upon
Mutual striving towards each other
And the intensity of love looks upon
Being upfront in and out
With no taboos
In sweet surrender.

And the language of love looks upon
The cravings to meet each other in the eyes,  
Desperately seeking to tell the love
And stare at each other until communicated
And love be spoken as they meet
And retreat in sweet dreams
Like shining stars.

Love is of the kind related to mind.
Falling in love is such a wonderful feeling;
It shines like a diamond
Inside of the mind.
When heart is broken, love is more cruel
Than diamond particles slowly gaped in
And times merriment forsaken.

If love is not timely sought,
Pain will never cease
And pangs of death imminent.
Love is not a gossamer in dew’d grass
But a magic web of encircled kindness.
Love is of the kind related to mind.
K Balachandran Aug 2017
gossamer thin net
of her enticement she casts,
at willing captive.
Ceyhun Mahi May 2017
White gauzy smoke is blown through the lily,
Floating on air,
Fondling leaves and dewdrops who're glittery,
A view so rare.

On a picture elegance is enjoyed,
A Polaroid,
Presented in a silver-gallery,
Who's gloomy ne'er.

With gauzy threads from a silky cocoon,
White as the moon,
Lily-hands craft blooming embroidery,
With flowers there.

Like gossamers this elegance's tender,
Lit and slender,
Shining at the afternoon silvery,
Which does not flare.

O Mâhî, this form is a web of rhymes,
Who slowly chimes,
With threads we're finally stitching poetry,
Crafted with care.
A 'Mustezat', a modified version of the Gazel or Ghazal adding two shorter lines to the couplets.
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