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In your eyes darling, I see:
Infinite beauty
Blooming flowers
Dancing butterflies
Singing birds
Moving rivers
Spring air
The Full moon
Twinkling stars

In your eyes darling, I see:
A cozy home
Soft heart
A Rainbow of hope
An Ocean of love
Fountain of determination
A Life boat,
Safe Shores

In your eyes darling,I see:
Sweet dreams
Warm sunshine
A new dawn
Fresh day
Thousands of smiles
Happy songs and
Enchanting nature

Hussein Dekmak
I feel
how you
are always
there, as
in rivers,
moving in
by the
as the
flight of
I am
here, in
your eyes
of the
of heaven,
I dream
as a flower
under your
gaze, it
brings me
to tears,
I wish
for you
to know of
how the
rain of the
heart’s ocean
is the beautiful
depth of the
pain of love, so
rest upon
my wings,
we shall fly in
the sky, let us
soar beyond
this earthly
realm, with
of my
in little
all for
I S A A C Oct 2022
many moons ago, i wished for growth
my own wishes have been granted
heart filled rivers no longer suspended
thought processes have ascended
became my recommended
became my #1 investment
many moons ago, i held you close
my dread is now all my own
haunted by images, pursuing solo
independent rivers
follow the erratic flow
Andrew M Bell May 2022
(In memory of Norris Hickey 1935-2014)

Love of family and fly-fishing: twin tributaries flowed
into your heart like a braided river.
Paradoxically, a sociable man who preferred to be alone
on some braided river,
basking in the peace of the wilderness,
hearing only birdsong and the gentle whirr of the fly line,
its nylon whipping to where you hoped the fish would rise.
Patience comes easily in peaceful surroundings,
unlike waiting for the blessing of grandchildren.
Eventually rewarded with five blessings.
You always said what a lucky man you were.
I’m glad your luck held because you would weep to see
your precious braided rivers drying up down here,
****** dry by the farmers’ greed for white gold
and the threatened tarāpunga (Black-billed gulls)
getting their nests crushed by callous four-wheel drives.
It would be enough to make your big, generous heart burst.

© Andrew M. Bell
I S A A C Nov 2021
your haunting hands, my anxious eyes
your passion burning leaves me hypnotized
by the glow of the flame, its unpredictability
the heat of the flame, but you are so undeserving
should be perfuming my body in your kisses
should be dancing your fingers in my rivers
they call out your name, haunted even in the day
haunted at every sight of rain and Janelle Monae
we were in the eye and I was naive
now my anxious eyes follow me
and your haunted hands lead me
to an inner journey to find the key
to unlock and unblock my potential
Brett Oct 2021
Who will cherish me,
              When withering autumn leaves
              Are stripped of their golden gallantry
By the biting winter winds.

Writer and reader alike,
               Chasing streams of contradictions;
               Like our will to death, fighting for life.
Am I here at all if I am not here to stay?

Points of purpose in shallow moments;
               Ripped by tides and dragged away.
               We mind the depths,
So to never dig up our dead;

A fading
Remember when.

Time: our great captor
               Tattooed on Earth by currents
               Forever outpacing the fruitless lives of men.

Unearthed and submerged,
               In the instant between
               The angel opening their eyes,
And the tired who resign to dream.
Brett Jun 2021
Down by the river I lie alone. Folks wade on the banks,
Sifting for gold. Washing the aches from their brittle bones.
This land of the forgotten, has never felt so close to home.
Detached from the blood-oiled machine,
Not much to part with, but
Every footstep carries with it
An imprint of meaning. The current here
Flows away from greed. Deposits into a reservoir,
Of pure intentions and peace. Tucked away from the cracked city streets
That mirror the crying streaks of those bewitched by the banal belief
Of progress by any means. Power here,
Is a drink for the weak. The outstretched arms of willow trees,
Cradle this quaint town. The last bastion of human passion. Bereft of malevolence.
Indeed, the realms of Hell seem to have a slice of heaven left.
Tucked away by a river there is a place of peace.
Our lost tears turned to lost years.
Our rivers fueled our waterfalls. Still,
no amount of water ever guaranteed
flower bloom. Our make believe
garden was only a lost cause.
Warrior Poet Feb 2021
A belly full of tasteful food,
With a tankard filled with good drink,
As well as the smell of sweet tobacco
Is calming to the mind of any man;

A fire with a kind flame,
A book filled with adventure,
As friends tell cheerful tales
Can fill his life with enjoyment;

The cool wind upon his back,
The fresh air entering the lungs,
As the rain falls from up high
Offers a relaxed feeling for most;

The sound of calm streams
As well as the mighty rivers,
And the sight of the forests
Is enough to bring a man's soul peace;

The green leaves that are on the trees
That grow to tremendous heights,
With roots deep within the skin of earth
Brings much amazement and wonder;

When the sun has fully sunk
A sky full of stars is revealed
With a moon that shines bright
Brings tears to the eyes;

Home is where the heart is
And mine is within the mountains,
For having experienced their beauty
I pity any man who's never seen them.
Man Jan 2021
bury me living
for i am in a world of dead

where the zombified stumble around
looking for meaning

maybe it'll make more sense
six feet under
and down the river styx

tie me to a raft
and let me drift

far, from this meaningless charade
known as life
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