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M Solav Mar 28
So this is how it feels
To be nailed to a cross
On a backdrop of pillows.

That mattress on which we lie...
The bedsheets are like the wind
Floating amidst your thundering sighs;

Yes, they are hammering me down
As you hold me there with your thighs
Beneath mine.

I am powerless,
I am breathless
As I tread upon the night sky
And the echoes of your sighs.

There is a crossroad as I follow the path:

One to sorrow,
One to hopelessness,
One to indifference
And one to the divine.

And now at last there's a silence
That may linger til the morn.

We’re all prepared for renewal
From a past that won’t be left behind.
Written on January 7th, 2021.


— Copyright © M. Solav —
This work may not be used in entirety or in part without the prior approval of its author. Please contact marsolav@outlook.com for usage requests. Thank you.
Phil Meup Jan 8
Do you believe in fate?
Or is it just some romanticized emotion?
Do you think people are connected?
Or does love only come from devotion?
Have you ever felt sad without knowing why?
So you stare while you drive and you try not to cry
The salt water blurs out the road as it sits in my eye

Everything in me wants to let those waters cascade down my imperfect skin
Yet everything in me holds back that raging sea with the quick motion of blinking lashes

There is nothing and everything in that moment
Time is here and every emotion once felt rises to the surface
Every regret of a path not taken stares at these flooded bloodshot blue windows
They shine the brightest at these moments
Who I truly am dances and shines as it reflects my inner most being
My soul swims in the blue

Regret smiles
No tears are shed
I smile
Regret subsides
It always does
I always love

When time continues I exist
When time stops I thrive
I’m here I’m alive and somehow I survive
fray narte Apr 2020
by now, the moon knows that my chest is just a burial ground for this thousandfold of sighs — in their hands, all different ways of my undoing, and i am a breath away from one. you see, some nights are for the softest, gentlest moments of lunacy. some nights, for waging wars and succumbing into these sighs, barely held by the petals tightening around my throat. by now, the moon knows that i had once been a battlefield and it's a pity — growing poems on such an unholy ground, only to fall apart like aster leaves and ancient city walls.

darling, it's getting dark, and this is starting to look less like poetry — and more like spoils of war from inside my head.
Where Shelter Apr 2020
my nose now runs seasonallyfrom sigh droplets

every new season celebrated by the constant continuation
of its running from, running to ?, or as I joke,  
from  September to September inclusive

but something new, my eyes now watery, a permanente daily irregularity, the imaginary laundry lady whines consistently, as she cannot always locate, prior to machine insertion, for all my secret hiding places of the always everywhere ***** tissues!

“too many pockets, too many tissues,” she underbreath mumbles,
but secretly I observe her similarly daubing~dabbing of the eyes,
in this time of constant sorrow, no one immunized, the sigh droplets
pass through any mask and gown, and then become full time residents

wry thinking, “let he or she who is without stone, cast the first tissue”
but we are all ****** all the time, heavy heaving, eyes tearing and
noses running

it don’t take much, the continuous reportage batters me and turning
away from my electronics impossible, they now hard wired inside the maniac-brainiac, wifi’d, from every side, even a actual glance outside at the desert of our dehumanized streetscapes always amazes

we no longer worry that every sniffle or tear
is a warning sign of  a more serious ailment;
no, we understand too well this is a sad spirit inside,
it’s symptoms unleashed but un-lethal, the antibody
to a weariness that has no name, only tissues that

cannot cure nor disinfect
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Instruction
by Michael R. Burch

Toss this poem aside
to the filigreed and the prettified tide
of sunset.

Strike my name,
and still it is all the same.
The onset

of night is in the despairing skies;
each hut shuts its bright bewildered eyes.
The wind sighs

and my heart sighs with her—
my only companion, O Lovely Drifter!
Still, men are not wise.

The moon appears; the arms of the wind lift her,
pooling the light of her silver portent,
while men, impatient,

are beings of hurried and harried despair.
Now willows entangle their fragrant hair.
Men sleep.

Cornsilk tassels the moonbright air.
Deep is the sea; the stars are fair.
I reap.

Originally published by Romantics Quarterly.

Keywords/Tags: instruction, sunset, night, skies, wind, sighs, moon, silver, portent, sea, stars
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
The Tender Weight of Her Sighs
by Michael R. Burch

The tender weight of her sighs
lies heavily upon my heart;
apart from her, full of doubt,
without her presence to revolve around,
found wanting direction or course,
cursed with the thought of her grief,
believing true love is a myth,
with hope as elusive as tears,
hers and mine, unable to lie,
I sigh ...

NOTE: This poem has an unusual rhyme scheme, with the last word of each line rhyming with the first word of the next line. The final line is a “closing couplet” in which both words rhyme with the last word of the preceding line. I believe I invented this ***** form and will dub it the "End-First Curtal Sonnet." Keywords/Tags: curtal, sonnet, *****, form, tender, weight, sighs, heart, doubt, presence, gravity, orbit
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Once
by Michael R. Burch

for Beth

Once when her kisses were fire incarnate
and left in their imprint bright lipstick, and flame,
when her breath rose and fell over smoldering dunes,
leaving me listlessly sighing her name . . .

Once when her ******* were as pale, as beguiling,
as wan rivers of sand shedding heat like a mist,
when her words would at times softly, mildly rebuke me
all the while as her lips did more wildly insist . . .

Once when the thought of her echoed and whispered
through vast wastelands of need like a Bedouin chant,
I ached for the touch of her lips with such longing
that I vowed all my former vows to recant . . .

Once, only once, something bloomed, of a desiccate seed—
this implausible blossom her wild rains of kisses decreed.

Published by The Lyric, Writer’s Journal, Grassroots Poetry, Tucumcari Literary Journal, Unlikely Stories, Poetry Life & Times. Keywords/Tags: kisses, fire, incarnate, lipstick, dunes, *******, heat, lips, breath, sighs, passion, desire, lust, ***, bachelorhood, recanted
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Corona
by Michael R. Burch

There was a moment
  without the sound of trumpets or a shining light,
    but with only silence and darkness and a cool mist
      felt more than seen.
      I was eighteen,
    my heart pounding wildly within me like a fist.
  Expectation hung like a cry in the night,
and your eyes shone like the corona of a comet.

There was an instant . . .
  without words, but with a deeper communion,
    as clothing first, then inhibitions fell;
      liquidly our lips met
      —feverish, wet—
    forgotten, the tales of heaven and hell,
  in the immediacy of our fumbling union . . .
when the rest of the world became distant.

Then the only light was the moon on the rise,
and the only sound, the communion of sighs.

With all the understandable gloom, doom and despair over the coronavirus, I was reminded of this early poem of mine that used the term "corona" in a much more positive light. I wrote this poem around age 18 and it has been published by Grassroots Poetry and Poetry Webring. Keywords/Tags: Corona, coronavirus, touch, union, communion, sighs, expectation, unity, trumpets, heart, pounding, ***, arousal, union, ecstasy, consummation, consecration, omen, comet, shooting star, talisman, moonrise, moon rising
John McCafferty Feb 2020
Feeling empty inside
Silent raw hollow cries vibrate
Heavy a weight but wait as a
voice from within sighs
Uprising begins to follow on strong
Bones turn to dust
Metal will rust
What do you hold at the end
of your day
If only a name
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
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