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Flaming tears fall from her eye
With knowledge that she will soon die
Her sisters, they do weep
They know what they wish to seek

Beasts in fur, search for prey
With scythe in hand, wish to slay.
A swift slice across her belly
She falls smoothly, elegantly

Vampires roam about the day
To find her sap and dig their fangs
Into her firm and smooth skin
Draining, leaving her limp and thin

Ghosts float over head
Releasing toxins which have led,
Many of her sisters to perish
Their memories are cherished

Those who survive are often bitter
with needles on their shoulders, fine in figure
Firm, they do stand tall
For them, tears do not fall
Vines can reacheth up to the sky
Supp'rt'd by the sturdy pine
Given the chance to groweth and thrive
Curl and twist'd up rough skinn'd oaks
To seeth the w'rld through eyes up high
Unreachable but f'r those deep, stout roots
Anon finally able to floweth'r and fruit
Climbing up by the crackling bark
On the backs of the pines and belly of the oaks
@LadyRavenhill
2018 rewrite of 2016 poem
Starting a collection of just my Shakespearean poetry called
W'rds of a Nimble-Footed Mistress. check it out on my profile as I add more, I have so many still to post. Who knows, maybe I will finally publish something?
Maya Lednevsky Oct 2018
Green light beam shines upon the web of streets,
The messenger from strange and distant worlds.
You're far away, for me it all repeats -
My town is empty, shadows roam the walls.

No Savior comes, I run into the void.
And when the masts of pines come into view,
I stop and fall on salty sand, destroyed.
It does not matter if I cry for you -

It's not the wind that rustles sleepy trees,
It's not the chirps of sparrows or jays,
It's Moira, saddened by the Fate she sees,
Unknits the lace of my remaining days...
Arthur Habsburg Jul 2018
Cockcrow harbour:
the gulls whining like tethered dogs
about rooftops
paliophobic cars and
grounded vessels..
Look:
on the hoary horizon
a glaucous *****
beguils
with backwater.
Not putting on a show
the frigid sea benumbed..
Easily,
with a tail of emerald jelly
skim a vanishing lane off that
lustrous sheet
and watch
the trailblazing mainland
scuttle.

Now,
Only scattered dreaming is possible.

In it's bachelor pad,
cradling over crinkles,
away from the meretriciosness
of validating the real by sharing it,
THE WIND
blusters off any veneer.
Here,
stale but spry,
fare your way around the inoffensive isle
to it's most shyest of harbours:
a mouth full of silver
saving it's breath.
The windows facing the sea
seem
black & white,
their wooden frames hooked to the wind,
the splattered gulls meow
your name
in a way
that's
personal.
Of course comes to mind.
The pines
are demanding a visit,
They're whispering
so you can hear them,
each as different as every snore,
these pines know
how to grow in the sand
and still reach for
the Nimbostratus with heads in unison.
The spaces
between their trunks illuminating
the blazing needles
raining down
painting the ground
familiar
to your lover's
skin texture:
Feel her closeness
from jilted borderwatchtowers
as she speads her mire
like no one's watching:
weedy and sugared
with bellflowers,
the waves in her shallow armpit
billeting a pair of white swans:
demurely they float
sometimes as pillows and sometimes
as question marks..
Go ask the seasoned locals,
they say the bones she parked
when she let her ice sheet melt
are portals
to her noble underbelly.

Hidden in the woods
reminiscent of your heart,
the red
tank-sized stone
is sealed,
but what the lighting reach cannot
the rain shall sluice apart
dumbly.
And though her hair has
come to be
the moss
black and hoarse
as sailor's beard,
there is still time.
The void says
her noisy neighbour is nothing
to die for.
The theadbear car with absent doors
incites
to drive her
in reverse gear
to the first few
days of holidays:
her golden locks a-blaze,
her arm around your
hind-sighted doppelganger.
Going to Prangli island.
Mary-Eliz May 2018
blooming white
over
verdant pines

that breathe
a shimmery mist

clouds offer

a moment
a handful

of happiness

above
mauve topped
ridges

shining
gently

like
a beloved child

the blue earth stops
to see
birds smile

rivers
weep with joy

and
arms embrace
Cecil Miller Nov 2017
Son, oh my son, tell me no lie.
Where did you spend last night?

In the pines, In the pines
Where the sun never shines.
I shivered the whole night through.

You've been away long; I'd given up hope.

I slept where the cold wind blows;
In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun never shines.
I shivered the whole night through.

Do you remember the traveling man?
Just about a mile from here
His head was in the driving wheel,
His body ain't never been found.

Blood of my blood, fruit of my tree,
Tell me where do you go?

In the pines, in the pines
Where the sun never shines.
I'll shiver the whole night through.

In the chill of the night, nobody's around.
Of that there's much to be said.
The stars don't judge; The moon doesn't hang.
The clouds have no price on my head.
The original writers are lost to history.
I wrote all the verses that reference the parent/son exchange.
I will claim copywrite on my additions, written this morning and posted here immdiately nov 2, 2017 3:30 a.m.
Meagan B May 2017
There’s not much left
Post spending spree
I have spent so many
dollars/hours/hearts
finally broke, i guess
I’ll cut my spending in half

Can’t half a soul
Can’t half a heart
Halfway heartless, I’ve been called
So
walk the park we lied in / in the city that you’ll die in
But not me.

I’m going North
to find the right trees
I was barking up the wrong one
All along.
Briar Rose Nov 2016
In ancient meadows
of green velvet,
the gentle wind
whispers a melody
of lost love...

"On top of Old Pines,
all covered in
moonlit snow,
I lost my true lover,
For i was a bride no more"

-Sweetly singed the
maiden, voice of
nightingale echoes
down where the
blue river swiftly flows
Lady Ravenhill Nov 2016
Vines can reach up to the sky
Supported by the sturdy pine
Given the chance to grow and thrive
Curl and twist up rough skinned oaks
To see the world through eyes up high
Unreachable but for those deep, strong roots
Now finally able to flower and fruit
Climbing up by the bark
Of the pines and the oaks
@LadyofRavenhill 11/13/16
Costructive feeback on my poems is always welcome.
Dana Skorvankova Jul 2016
We live to cease
To cease existing
As the way from
The birth back
To the past

We die to crumble
To Crumble - to fall apart
So that we're not
That easily given
For the last time

We walk to scent
To scent the cold wind
Down in the pines
For we cannot maintain
Our urge to pass
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