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bronze brown heather
wet and tangled from the rain
beaten smooth
as is the rough ill tempered land
no gentle hand has brushed these clouds
of wind-whipped winter sky
reflected fish skin waves skim white
shallows in blue,
mourning deep among the painted grey
a solemn yet a not unpeaceful day
of drinking moorland streams
which river run
to feed the misty sheep strewn hills
all dappled winter appled green
and on and down through ancient peat
so black and rich and free
to the breeze bent grass at waters edge
which sings of you Lough Fee
Unpolished Ink Dec 2023
Home for the holidays
smooth brown hills
set in a falling landscape
farms and fields of winter wheat
out west beyond the windmill
arms spread wide, dancing hands
that bow to grace a fertile gentle land
what new and subtle changes lie
beneath the wide wind blistered sky
that same familiar patchwork view
perhaps the change is me not you
Vitæ Nov 2023
Wandering the field of his body
arched in rising sunbeam,
her fingers trail the valley of
his wildflower skin.

Veins bend like strokes of river stream
weaving through rolling haze,
raw forest of tangled dreams
brush across his waking gaze.

Like distant hills sleeping inside
soft blankets of Spring,
she lies on his delicate shape
sinking into the infinite landscape
of him.
Man Oct 2023
Don't die on a hill
You are really only familiar with,
By name.

All the same,
Life is our own to live.

If you choose to lead it
With half-thought ideas;
You have only yourself to blame.
Lacey Clark Sep 2023
On my journey to my grandmother’s, the landscape holds my attention with subtleties.
Muted hues of soft lavender, pale brown, and ashy green painted outside the dashboard. Everything peeking out from a gentle coat of dust.
Yellow weeds and thistles dot the golden hills.

This corner of the country feels like a cherished family heirloom. The color palette resonates with my only sense of familiarity. Maybe it is my fixation on the colors themselves that buffer any sense of grief I carry towards instability.  None of us in my family have claimed permanency in structure. Yet, my grandmother’s home is a sanctuary.
this house has recently been demolished
Sara Brummer Sep 2022

Dawn, take my sorrows.
I tired of being a passenger
of the dark.
Make me awash with sensation.
Let me forget despair.
Let me feel the city’s vibration.

I want to be a carefree wanderer
upon wide open boulevards,
piercing the veil of shadows’
oblivion, following a series
of endless crossroads
towards some conflagration
of urban lights, captured
by the conjurer of thoughts

I reach into all the hidden spaces
searching for the essence of myself.
Only there in the vastness of starless
unconsciousness can I perceive
that celestial expanse of light.
I S A A C Feb 2022
I hate seeing your face, I really do
You painted me like a landscape, green and blue
Green with envy, Blue and subdued
I still question, what I mean to you
I try not to let the abandonment issues win
I try to reimagine myself partying in Berlin
I miss the blaze of the blunt, the bass in the club
I miss the days when I felt enough
without anyone other than myself
AP Vrdoljak Nov 2021
And before me lay
The glory of the world.
Hard as we might try,
We could not defeat its beauty.
Rama Krsna Oct 2021
wizard and le wand ~~
pruning that black forest
her moist velvet purse

© 2021
dedicated to all the lonely women in the world
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