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The Noose Feb 2023
He is pain
He is light and love
Cocooned in his sublime presence
Hazel eyes that glimmer in daylight
I feel as though I'm to depart from this life
He possesses tenderness
in the way he moves and talks
A delicate man
He is pain
He is mine.
4 April 2016
Anastasia Oct 2021
Autumn came before me,
And she asked:
"When all my leaves change,
And burrows are dug,
When your sweaters are worn,
And you fall in love,
Please protect my golden boy,
Stare into his hazel eyes,
Run your hands through his straw spun hair,
And hold him close until sunrise."
You were born of Autumn.
And Autumn loved you so.
She put you in my arms,
And asked me to never let you go.
I'll honor her wishes,
I will keep you close.
Your heart is made of gold,
And I'll love you the most.
So when Autumn comes,
Once again,
I'll tell her that
I was your friend.
Ms Ann Thrope Aug 2021
Have you ever seen the way
A bushfire sets beautifully ablaze
The deepest, darkest forest trees
A melting-orange intensity
It brings about an ash of gold
Like the smothering dust of charcoal
The wildest destruction ever to see
In the eyes of a son who came from me
Written 2021
Dedicated to Knox James Alexander
Aylin Chavez Mar 2021
It was always the eyes
The ones that captured my attention
But yours
Were like no other
The warm honey
And the forest floor
I felt so at peace
You were my yellow
Payton Hayes Feb 2021
Rock n’ roll music, Folger’s, and paint-smeared hands.
Dresser drawers filled to the brim with undeveloped camera film.
Blue bonnets and overgrown grass, pecans and crunching fall leaves.
Dirt roads and river-rocks, typewriters, polaroid cameras, and feather-quill pens.
Those hand-me-down blue eyes and brown ones that are “sometimes hazel.”
Crystal clusters and Lord of the Rings.
Countless mosquito bites and play-pretend games in the clubhouse.
Early-birds and night-owls.
Trudy; and Randy Hayes.
“Don’t touch everything you see,” and “If you say you’re bored, I’ll find work for you to do.”
Sweet tea and okra and southern dishes blackened and drenched in cheese or gravy.
Grandma always burned everything to make sure it was fully cooked, and to her, it was never burned, just “well-done.”
Cigarettes and carpentry and cookbooks. Wild blackberries and birthday parties at the lake.
Sleeping in all day and staying up all night and procrastination.  
Shepherd's Pie, potatoes, and four-leaf clovers.
“Nil Desperandum. Never Despairing.”  
I’m from a whole house that eats eggs for breakfast, and I’m allergic to eggs.
And trees as tall as buildings and buildings as tall as trees.
“You should never take the lord’s name in vain,” and “Jesus loves you, so you should love others.”
Day-dreams and stargazing and thunderstorms.
“All or nothing,” and “There is no try, only do.”
Old family pictures in dust-glittered frames.
We are crystals. We have facets, each one makes us who we are.
With only one window of our lives to express, we’d merely be glass.
I am a part of each of these things just as much as they are each a part of me.
This poem was written in 2017.
Mellow sunrised.
The dew of the afternoon high light.
Paradise sunset.
Tuscany, Marigold, Chartreuse, Caramel.
Amber, Copper, Olive, Saffron.
Honeycomb mystery of rejection... or doubt.
Freedom sparks; feet and hip dilate and constrict; lips close to feel the colors and open again, blinking to suffocate the oasis into the dull reality of smog and soot, of cemetery.
The psychedelic picturesque star stares back, dusk-like fireworks of heaven gained and lost.
One second that sealed his fate.
Death will be hazel eyes.
This is an extra poem I wrote after finishing my anthology, trying to explore a new style of poetry of almost pure imagery and sensory information.
JKirin Dec 2020
Long ago now (if ever), once upon a dream,
I was saved by a deity – lovely, serene.
Circumstances were dire, I am telling the truth:
I was down under water, caught in vines, couldn’t move.
It reached out to me, then, from the depths underneath,
Pulled me up to the surface; I struggled to breathe.

With a song it has lulled me,
Of my safety assured me.

Years by, haven’t once I remembered the vision.
Not until our sudden (or fated?) collision.
When I look in your eyes of warm hazel, I hear
Softest voice from the memory – ethereal, dear.
Are you possibly someone I’ve once only seen,
Long ago now (if ever), once upon a dream?
about that deja vu moment
Poetic T Aug 2020
Hanging off my limp branch,
             tucked away in there

soft shell..

      These nuts only ever


               no nut crackers here .
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