Shubhi Jul 31
So late at night,
When the all the birds sleep,
An owl awakes,
With bigs eyes,
Eyes picturing you,
Waiting for you to rise from slumber,
An owl awakes...

Flamingo you are,
What more I can say,
Beautiful more than anyone,
A charming bird,
Ready to fly in the open sky,
Play with clouds,
Rise high and high,
Just don't forget this owl,
With open eyes,
Eyes with you in them,
Awake so late at night...
rob kistner Jul 26
(I have always wanted to get lost in this moment I describe here!)

in this moonlit forest
midnight shimmers
through the misty boughs of old growth
as if star clusters dance the branches
above our high-mountain meadow
lake aglow like sterling satin

a crystalline wonderland
this night holds deep and quiet
save a great white owl
echoing through the frosted cedars

lover and beloved
we entwine
embraced in half-wake
entranced by the spectacle
just outside our window

I hear myself whisper
how long have I been awake
is it morning
yet I do not want to know
I do not want to break this spell

but rather
to lie here in your arms
and fall again
into gentle slumber
to traverse with you
the time and space of dreams


rob kistner © 2010.
Imagined lover's reverie.
Yule Jul 2
“Why is it you always write about the night?”/ he asks as he sees her scribbling down her thoughts again late at one in the morning.

She turns to him, unfazed and gives him a smile meant for the sun to shine down on.

“Because I feel there’s more sense into them. The night and us have something in common— something only the two us get.”

He lets her words sink into him, now looking over her shoulder with wonder in his eyes. He touches her ink stained fingers, pulling it close to his chaste lips.

“I do feel it.” He nods wholeheartedly, letting his eyes flutter with the beating of his heart echo in each other’s mind. She do hope he feels hers, too.

This is what she meant. It’s the silence and wishes that surrounds them. It’s the serene feeling, the stillness between them, that’s meant to be under the stars and the moonlight casting over their skins.

She finds comfort in the stars as it reminds her of his bright lit eyes. As he feels safe under the moonlight every night; it’s her softness that draws him the same with the moon in the sky.

The moon and the stars will not bat an eye as they just continue to look after you.

It is the night that hears the most silent and powerful prayers from the heart.

And I do hope at some nights, no matter how far we are, he would be awake as I am not visited by sleep— he would think how somewhere out there, there’s someone wishing to be a moon to another like him. There’s also someone wishing to be closer with the stars.

— ironically, I wrote this at dawn.
I can see over my writing figure, longing for the night in her arms.

180603; 5:51 am

taut wings
ready for flight.

a rat will die tonight.
Ormond Jun 17
In the long nothings of blackest night
Owl whispers.  Hair of mouse stands,
As only an under sieged without spear
Can and grave vole, simply wide open
On his mat of dead leaves, drying time
And even the hare, without hope, hops
Maddeningly caught in dark labyrinths
Without sight, dear is the silent scream
Of all that was mere, so slim after light,
Night scurry, dash, curled fingers, prey.
Dream-like, the owl perched
High upon a headless pillar
As a surrealistic statue
Bathed in a lupine moonlight

A still night
Wintery and ghost-like
I had suddenly noticed the owl
And got the feeling
It had always been there
That I had been unaware

The two of us had been staring
At the same view of the city lights
Its head then moved
As if in a nightmare
I blinked, but still it was there
Alone and timeless.
sunprincess May 3
My favorite creatures of the night-
Sometimes after midnight
They fly around the neighborhood
and call out loudly "Who"
And then sometimes repeatedly,
they cry,  "Who, who, who"
Why must they always ask this question?
Jim Musics Apr 28
Owned  0.9333...

Standing on a big rock in the middle of Owl Brook
Moss so green, a good green
Last week, last mortgage payment
Mortgage, yeah, what a word
So I own it now?
Not the water that flows, evaporates, rains over the whole Earth, not any of the rest either
Used me up mostly, paying tho'
Pinch pennies now
Was – at least I have a job
Now – at least I'm still alive
Rice rules
Bargain beans, 'good as any
Homemade bread, 'get me a solar oven, sunlight's free.
Make bread while the sun shines
'Will dig me a well
(they wished me well as they thought of themselves)
Go fish
'Just a matter of time
I don't own nothin'
Yet right here, now, it's beautiful
More moss,
Bardo Apr 11
To the soft strains of the sea
The booming of distant hill and mountain
The stars dance about, waltz in the night.

Where atop of a startled canopy of leaves
A moon like a big owl sits, ready to pounce
The sea rising steadily now

Inching its way up onto the shore
Giving added buoyancy to the sailing boats
Nestling in the jaw of the bay.
A nocturne at bedtime for restful sleep.
a lawyer's
batch in
a brief
if hiring
direly break
trepidation that
equality sucks
when a
state of
confusion interrupts
rights to
a genuine
occupy of
love where
intent only
makes mark
in society
a note on hiring in land of oz
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