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Charly Lou Davis Jul 2016
In peaceful moments
we touch our present and past;
the memories that
made us who we are; all the
love, light, pain and dark of us.
Edward Coles Jul 2016
The cello sings Ave Maria.
Distilled calm; blister packs
In a wet July.

There is peace in every grain,
So fine. Wore away the stone,
Three drownings in the sea.
Annihilation

To build a monument
We settle upon:
Our paradise recovery.

There is warmth after the rain.
Ukulele played on the
Gran Cervantes balcony.
Off-white scars;
Pyramids with no eyes.

Every stoner sleeps.
Every kind heart cries.

The Arc of Life sings a lullaby,
Still I cannot get calm.
In a wet July

A comfort to staying inside.
We tried, wore away our lungs,
Three renewals in the sea.
A leap of faith,

An old keepsake
We contrived upon:
Our lunatic discovery.

There is movement in death.
Pollen falls to the ground;
Exhale of recovery.
Dead-end joy,
Statuettes with no eyes.

Every criminal weeps,
Every kind heart lies.

The cello sings Ave Maria.
The strings that heal
In a wet July.
C
Ram B Jul 2016
In silence,
you hear me.
In silence,
walk with me.
Fear not,
to feel.
Yes,
I am real.
Anna Mosca Jun 2016


I notice the silence

not anymore the chirping
or the chatter of the wind

I notice the hummingbird
trying stillness by furious

flapping I stop engaging
myself I let go of my eyes

frantic grasping of letters
on a page putting the book

down where it was letting
my head as beheaded

falling too
www.annamosca.com

From the collection California Notebooks 01
Brian Goosen May 2016
"Under the tree sat Buddha, meditating with his fear.
He grew to understand how to face Mara, less his habitual red ears.

The red ears of resentment,
The red ears from fright,
The red ears that pushed him from tranquility to fight or flight.

A similar story comes to mind,
One I know all too well.

The story of mine is a tale to tell,
As long as judgements forever set sail.

Leaving the moment for the past, I see a hateful boy.
Distant from the world around me, so confused & annoyed.

Transformed from my façade of impersonation, to the feeling of being lost.
Stemming from the monotonous & everlasting worriment in thought.

From mediation I understand, what red ears did to me.
The red ears transformed my thought process,
Into someone I'd grow to see.

From growth came lessons, and new habits from within.
To sit with perceived problems patiently takes courage & a half Buddha grin.

A smile to acknowledge,
An acknowledgment of growth.
For the one I was to who I've become had to happen, as if renewal were a must.

The change was essential, & shall stand the test of time,
from the old wondering & circumventing rollercoaster thought ride.

The form of wonder we know all too well, that steals us from here & now.
I wish we could all learn how to live presently & apart from the modern crowd.

Tranquility was foreign to me, however the possession of is a must.
A must that changes a boy to man, which should happen before skin to dust.

While undergoing transformation, a man will come to see,
That who he wanted to be is he, while listening under the tree.

As I sit back to reflect, I can now understand.
I understand how the test of time transformed me from boy to man."
The Enlightened One's tale retold in comparison to the changes I've underwent through practicing meditation.
Anna Mosca May 2016


early morning
every one works

to make the land
more beautiful

sprinklers sing
water jumping

up in the air
birds grooming

their songs
elderly women

with rolls walking
their poodles

old pick up trucks
filled with new

flowers to plant
slowly driving by
www.annamosca.com

From the collection California Notebooks 01
Ma Cherie May 2016
I was proud to be your daughter
I am proud of that today
I am proud to be your Mother
I'll be proud of that tomorrow
I am proud to be your Grandmother
I will be proud of you when I'm gone
I am proud to be your sister
Your friend
Your companion
Your confidant
Your ear
Your shoulder to cry on when your eyes are teary
A rock to lean on when your legs get weary
I am a place to rest your heart.
We are everything to each other
And you are everything to me
All Rights Reserved *2016 Cherie Nolan
Not sure where some of this is coming from!
Edward Coles May 2016
Throw the window open
To bring cool air to a room
Which gathered heat
With all the thoughts
Bouncing off the closed walls.

Night. The sky, a bruised purple,
The clouds faint, infra-red.
The trees are cut-out silhouettes
Placed in the foreground of endlessness.
1.a.m. The night is still.

There is the hum of a plane in the distance,
Last train now long past earshot.
Thin blue curtains play at the breeze,
Tickle my shoulder
As I kneel at the ashtray,
The windowsill altar.

Ornaments reveal themselves
In the black gardens below.
The gnome with the broken tambourine
That kicks up in the current,
The wind chime on the Apple Tree;
The bell on the house cat’s neck.

Staring into space all night
But with this view
I do not have to strain my eyes.

Do not linger on the details
That are lost in the shadow.

Always made time for the moon.
The quiet one at parties,
Only came alive at night,
In the company of those who drink wine,
Swallow pills in the morning
To see the day through.

Room scarred with scorch marks,
Stains from drunken falls.
All those endless nights,
Dead bedsheets,
Waiting for the chemicals
To push my head underwater,
To find sleep.

Windowsill vigils,
Awake with the moon.
Kept myself alive
For these pockets of time
Where I do not need to talk.
Where I do not need to move.
C
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