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Liz Apr 2021
The colour of fir seeps over the water
A bright spritely white tail dashes past
Home to it’s tea.
Mirror glass ripples as
It’s mist gently rises in the dusk
To form the dew that soaks the grass at sunrise.
Brilliant arcs swell behind
Coots tending the nest.
Blackness has nearly set upon the lake
A ghostly orange tinge on the
Horizon signals the dying of the day
Cold fingers and brisk steps.
Willows make rainbow archways
From bank to water
Lime green fronds dragging the current.
The platter of water drenched moss and spatter on stone,
Blossom trees fit to burst
Dozing in purple twilight
Wrote about my walk last night
Poetic T Apr 2021
I could never count stars
  as they were always shooting
point-blank at my forehead...

Hollow point dream killers,
   my eyes open pools of despair..

                       The night shone,
within the white pools,
   non-reflective reproductions of

desperation..

Every sheep that jumped over
that
       hedge...


Face hugging the granite of my
                dried up lake of sweet dreams..

I'm still awake....
Diljeev Mar 2021
A year ceased to the known,
crystal to each other
selves of their own,
clear as day,
but the day's long agone.
Her voice still etched in his ears,
and as it appears,
it sure won't be gone for years.
Years to come, years to go,
will there be another to the known?
each day passes in this question's wake,
another day of talking and giggling
over something his mama baked?
will there be yet another night
skinny dipping down the lake?
Zack Ripley Mar 2021
The air is cold.
But I don't notice.
Because as I walk across the frozen lake,
I know I can't afford
to make a mistake.
The longer I look
At the fish that swim below,
A feeling grows inside me.
It's not fear.
But fascination.
We always say we wish
Time would slow.
And walking on water
Makes me realize it does.
We just don't notice.
The peak, of the mountain
Towering, so high,
An enormous background,
As the cumulus, clouds pass by.

A winding creek, flowing,
Swiftly, without A spill,
Lined by pine trees,
Standing, tall, and still.

At the base, A lake,
Reflecting, the sun with A glare,
When this scene, grabbed my attention,
I had to stop for A moment, to stare.


Tom Maxwell ©   2/6/2007
William Clifton Feb 2021
This afternoon, I time a Loon
the length that she stays under.
Upon the shore, I keep her score,
amazed and full of wonder.
Beneath a wake, one minute eight.
What is it that she plunders?
***********
No hook needs she to fish so free.
No line nor rod impedes her.
What sense applies to depths she dives?
Which rhythm moves her meter?
As if in air she swims so fair
To seek that which may feed her.
***********
On this Fall day, I wish to stay
and watch her dive and surface.
“Get back to shore!” My mind implores
as work beckons its service.
And yet I stay in silence, bade
the Loon to bear me witness.
************
Share I with Loon this afternoon
to gladly dive and swim?
In friendship be the Loon with me?
With her would I find kin?
No.
As land locked Loon, I must resume
to fish the drink I’m in.
To gaze in wonder.
Carmen Jane Jan 2021
Nothing was said by the tides of the lake
As they were frozen in time
Nothing will do to start and shake
The core of this lake, oh, sublime!

One can try to guess what was last spoken,
Perhaps it was hating on all things unfair
Nothing was left behind, not a clue or a token
To unveil the secrets, to clean up the air

One more look at these rough edges
Underneath of a smooth glistening glass
They are there ,muted for ages
Frozen thoughts , waiting for winter to pass!

Only celestial kisses that fall quietly
Gather to form a white blanket
On the chest of this lake, oh so lovely
That holds its  breath, unshaken.
Part I
The night, no moon in the sky
The wind, full force as to fly
The cold, as to numb the blood
The trees, shadows the vision flood
The night, dark blue in the water
The wind, of rose is the howled attar
The cold, close to freezing the lake
The trees, static dormant to a shake
The night, solitary is the dark
The wind, momentary is its mark
The cold, nearly settled is the doubt
The trees, silent is their spout

The night, the wind, the cold, the trees

A Swan glides with an asynchronous thread
Feathers in the umbra, the heart partly dead
He has lost his dearest, his alluring arch
Spring isn't coming, no September or March
Once there was another swan
To make the lake shimmer with dawn
Their courtship was the core of the pond
A rare gem of opal coloured their bond
Unlike gems, though, be crushed love can
And it was time's deed right there and then
She now is in a new safe haven
And left was him with an egg of a raven

In the midst of this midnight dreary
The Swan was forlorn and weary
But the clouds of metal became of cotton
The grey marsh sudden, was brief forgotten
A shred of light, two lions glowed
Their manes of fire their passion showed
"What a scene" the Swan had thought
"That's the fervor my heart had sought
Forever bound by a curse of ice
I am void and there's no price
To unlock me from the eternal dream
And let me find my lion gleam"

Still, the sky is yet so white
And the past gloom cannot him fright
At his right the Swan stare
Intrigued by the unceasing flare
A piglet and a spider, what a scene
Why are they ringed by a sheen?
In the night, they play like friends
Fight, discuss and make amends
A web of favours and support
Parades of gratitude are never short
"Oh, is it fondness what I am lacking?
Is this why I am ever cracking?"

Now the display is certainly over
And the Swan hopes to find his clover
No more than ever he is so keen
To live anew and be serene
The night enjoys the happy mood
And let the moon stop its brood
The clouds, at once, no more than mist
An ethereal cast, will this be a tryst?
The moon glitz on a past reflection
A female black swan of mystic complexion
An owl hoots afar and is dismissed
As the hero sings after being kissed:

"Where have you been, my dove?
Why did you leave, my love?
I was so lost in here
Without your voice to hear

Without you to kiss me
Without you to bliss me
I was just a shadow
Missing the rain and the rainbow

But now I can see life
And each thing is so rife
I will give you my heart
So we won't fall apart"

Part II
Night, the moon is sublime
Wind, tame like no other time
Cold, feeble against heart's motion
Trees, mere pawns in this ocean
Yet silence cannot much contain
The disturbing growls of owl disdain
It thrives with strength, to fill the lake
To **** the love and pleasure take
The Swan, still, has just eyes... no ears
So to halt death from ousting his tears
Joy runs his body with iron vigor
His love denies dearth of such rigor

The courtship swims with celestial sync
In an opal ballet of black and white ink
Lastly, his arch the Swan can complete
With a dubious promise of endless heat:
"Our past is antiquity and shall be erased
The future, fertile, a wish to be chased
Let us embrace and with nature be one
Me and you, the rest will be none.
Though, I will only expect your happy devotion
No fear, no sadness, no other emotion
You are my minion, and mine in exclusive
Is this what you craved in your hope elusive?"

The Swan is soon hesitant of the deal
His novel grasp masks her appeal:
"Your words of ice burn down my feathers
Your crooked intentions prevent us together
I was foolish in you to trust my belief
Your offer won't stop my desert, my grief
Love can't ever be monochromatic
Yes, there are moments one's ecstatic
But endless joy is not the way
It will prevent freedom and will me betray
The value of love is shallow without anguish of partition
The bones of love are brittle without a conflict's remission"

The eyes of the black swan fumes in red
The clouds, the moonlight they shred
A tempest thunders over the misty lake
Out of the haze, the bird is now a snake:
"Your faith is missplaced in a callow profile
Your passt came closse to you beguile
You think your luck in love issn't departed
But you are full of sself-pity, fainthearted
Honesst love iss the piercer of my power
And IF you find it, I will to you cower
Yet you have nothing; you're dessperate for ssomeone
Had welcomed the deal, you wouldn't be undone"

The water spreads cold with every heartbeat
The quick rime sings Swan's defeat
The snake reveals its fangs of ink dark
And bites the Swan, a sanguine red mark
All seems lost to this tragic hero
A heart's betrayal in the absolute zero
Until a hoot echoes through the trees
And the bird finally the owl sees
With claws of steel, the snake it slashes
In response, lightning flashes
It breaks the ice and the reptile sears
The Swan is now saved, but not from his fears

A boy wakes up in a nice little room
With a painting of the lake and a flower in bloom
A bee buzzes around about the place  
And in the White Rose, lends with grace
Both make a sound akin to a chatter
They seem happy with their talking matter
The angered boy, annoyed by the insect,
Into the painting, the bee he projects
With a new aspect thrown away
He burns down reality's display
And when a dove finds its way out
The man its wings brake and his out route
This poem tells the story of a forlorn Swan that finally finds his true love but ends up discovering she is an illusion of his own desperate desires. It is divided into two parts as this is a large poem that features two different sets of struggles: finding happiness for yourself while everybody around you seems to have already found their answers, and learning that falling in love with anybody solely because of loneliness and desperation is not healthy in the long run. The poem transforms the speaker into a Swan and ends with an ambiguous point where it is unknown if the Boy is real or if the Swan is actually the real version of the Boy. Or maybe it is left ambiguous if the emotional events of the anthology have left the speaker confused about what is real and what is a dream (is the dream the reality he wants to exist in?), and now he needs the face this new reality he is in instead of dreaming about mystical animals, storms, and flowers.
Rea Jan 2021
And just like that,
the sun sets on the last golden, cresting wave of summer.
Standing on your porch and clinging to you,
not wanting to let go of these memories.
Tapioca and folklore,
drive-ins and sing-alongs,
green dresses and sail boats on a lake.
The heavy gates slowly shutting,
and now, we move onward.
Towards applications and last years while
clinging to our gray film childhoods,
and your pleas to "stay here".
May our love be passed on.
I think I knew, even then, that would be our first and last summer together.
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