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Kichiya Hayashi Jul 2018
Feels like plain
peaceful all at once
ocean scent lingers
through my skin
emotions scribbled
and leaves are falling
skies darkens and
soul is weary
unfolding bliss
as I continue walking
Enjoying the wind ^^
the folly of chasing
an impossible dream
drained the fellow's
limited money stream

invoices stacked high
in a towering pile
the paying killing
his lopsided smile

a snow queen sending
unending requests for powder *****
an addiction dependent
on the cash cow's stuff

the ledger outgoings
to the province of York
extracted more than a few
rashers of prime pork*

in time they'd wipe out
every shilling he had
which was an expense
of a destiny so sad

there he sat grappling
with the long years of loss
all fanciful ideas
*smothered by moss
Ryan Holden May 2017
Hold my hand, as I hold your breath,
Comforting my soul,
Pull me closer, conquer peninsula,
I've missed you, and I can't bare,
The thought of you going,
Back to the conflict filled province,
So please don't leave,
You've only just arrived,
My heart is absence in yours,
And this can't go on any longer,
But only,
Because of the conflict filled province,
When you depart,
Kiss me goodbye, and hold me me in memory,
As it may be our last.
a poem about a woman saying goodbye to her husband who's going back to war.
Let my sweetheart kiss you all around
Today is a full moonlit night to tell
How light comes embraces the ground
See how I am under your love spell

Every moment is in love beauty to dance
My sweetheart let me be your real prince
I aspire to take just chance after chance
Love is my domain beauty is your province

Lord is love Lord is beauty and a Truth
He celebrates all qualities in His creation
Soul is to satisfy while heart is to sooth
Essence of spirit is a passion and a fashion

Col Muhammad Khalid khan
Copyright 2016 Golden Glow
It should be dark.

Ethereality is brought upon by shadows
Comforting shades that beautifully waylay prancing lights
permeating mysticism to arouse the blandest of hearts.
Clustered crowns of effervescent greens scraped the sky
Their lithe fingers clasped, uneasy to divulge light
yet they do so for their trunkless kin at their feet

There should be music.

At dusk the chiming of army throats moan
the deep humming legato of elastic croak to their content
rich baritones with an orchestral blend of alluring notes.
Exoskeletal feet, an angels' choir too quick to play
Their voices, violins in concerto with hissing air
that slither in between the crevices of trees for beauty to play

I should be afraid.

A tiny mouse that shifts beneath dry leaves should scare
Rustling grass dimmed by jet skies fill you with dread
The tapping of leafless hands on rusted roof puts you under duress
Flash lightning mimics the morning in negative filter
The heavy blows of drizzling rain harmoniously mix with discordant wind
Then when it all settles, the beating of your own cardinal is unnerving.

Then I realize, all of which I stated are now in memory

That the stone road that always greeted me is now but dry and dirt
That the music I once heard met a sharp end that made everything else flat
That the movement in the brush no longer shivered my spine
That the birds and beasts will never again come to cheer
That the storms that ravaged my midsummer's night dream
is the same storm that ravaged my youth

And without these childhood memories
I am left unsophisticated, rural
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Alisha Vabba Oct 2015
The air smells like South America
I am cold and damp and the sky is lilac,
Lit up like the fields in Valensole.

(And I suddenly miss something that’s not there.)

The wind shakes the trees,
A neighbour’s drain gurgles distinctly
and I always loved the smell of the rain.

Oh, to be unlimited, to be free!
To flutter in the reality of possibilities
I’ve discovered for myself out here.

(I close my eyes and smell the air.)

And I’m running now,
With my feet on the damp grass
Alongside my discomforts and fears.

On the tepid sand of a beach somewhere,
With Northern Lights flashing above me
And christmas lights burning within me.

I do not care now.
Those distant judgements and colds,
cannot touch me, cannot hurt me!

I slip into memories
Of humid walls, *** and adventures.
Of bright white mornings without sleep, yet at peace.

(And I float back, into the stormy green.)

Five trees: I never knew there where five trees.
I wonder why I never count the things around me!
And the lonely nails on the wall

where the wisteria climbs in the spring,
All the way to the roof top where I lay.
And time shifts into darkness, but I feel no fear.

I am immense, and for a moment
the world is imperfect like me.
My finger tips tingle and my ankles sting.

I feel myself, wet and eternal
And for a moment, just a moment,
I am free.

— The End —