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Mind worries as sun blazes
dwindling up water sources
held so close like precious treasure,
As earth spins, yearning for change!!

Soil waits in anticipation
Longing for monsoon’s gentle touch
and to hear stories from heavenly sky
gathered by collective clouds!!

Leaves stretch out their eager hands,
While roof tops become willing recipients
To embrace the raindrops
As convoy from the sky above!!

Mind dances as if on cloud nine
As celebration of renewal
Of dried-up life and leaves...
Waiting for the splash of rain
across every breeze in its way...
Of lone long walks with no barriers
between soul and heaven!!
Louise Mar 4
If I cannot be with you
If I cannot see you again
I would still have you
and see you still.
I would see your eyes
in the oceans I would dive and swim in.
I would feel the heat of your skin
within the kiss of the golden summer sun.
And I would finally feel your kiss
everytime I feel kindness time and again.
I would feel your body's warmth,
in every care that will be bestowed on me.
You will be in every island I would go to.
You will be in every sunset I will witness,
that everyday I would look forward to.
You will be in every phase of the moon,
that every night I would look for
and look up to.
You will be in every star
that I would wish upon,
until the very last one
that I wished for you.
If I cannot be with you
If I cannot see you again
I would still feel you everywhere,
just as kindness and warmth
is everywhere, too.
Whenever I would see kindness, I would remember your face.
Louise Feb 29
Where the flowers, sand and the rivers are,
that's where I will be.
My breath is the summer breeze,
my laughters are the crashing of the waves.
Feel the solstice from the tease of my kiss,
the monsoon comes
when you miss it and crave.
Where the ocean, stars and the colors are,
that's where you'll find me.
The sun is one with my body
and its heat enamored with my skin,
the palm trees sways, the leaves groove
as I pass.
Thunders are no threat to my heart
and its ever steady beating,
typhoons and hurricanes
no longer scare me at last.
I am a tropical island, I am even a mountain.
I know my views would not be this grand
if not for all the heavy rains and pain.
First of summer.
Anais Vionet Feb 23
Saint Tropez is a summer town.
Smaller than it ought to be, really.
Like when you realize the French quarter,
in New Orleans, is just three blocks wide and long.

In the fall, there’s a feeling of disuse in Saint Tropez.
A turquoise bike leans haggard against a stone pine,
and summer leaves gather in gutters like trash.

Your appearance in a bar is treated like a surprise.
The wait staff gathers, like they might take your picture
and not your order - one brings napkins another the menu.

Summer memories are indistinct now, from disuse.
You aren’t sedated by sunlight and warm ocean airs.

Was summer some French, romantic, cinematic fantasy,
like "La Belle et la Bête" or "And God Created Woman"?
Or was it deliciously bright, seductive and real.

You find yourself saying, “In the summer, when the thyme,
lavender, rosemary, citrus and jasmine bloom, the aromas
are strong, actually physical, like going into an Ulta store,
where a thousand delicate perfumes vie for attention.”

But it’s like describing ghosts or deserts under glass.
You search for the words, like a poet or an actress, unable
to remember her lines - lines that would make it real,
invoke it, precious and immediate - like a spell.

The Saint Tropez of summer.
BLT Marriam Webster word of the day challenge: Haggard: tired, disheveled and abandoned
Dylan Feb 21
I've dreamt your hands painting the twilight
and folding my epistle into a rose.
So many pages stained with black coffee,
so many poems limned with doting prose.

I've dreamt the fragrance of warm linens,
your patterned quilt and sleepy eyes.
Ever so slowly, the pink-clad nimbus
wheels across lavender skies.

I've dreamt the embrace of limpid waves
breaking upon the charcoal shore
and as I'm wrapped within moonlit shallows
my gaze shall cascade into yours.
Dylan Feb 20
Lazing in an unbroken innocence;
a whirled undersea, under me.
Blazing tides taking hold of ambivalence
a calm serenity sweeping through the boundless deep.

An oceanic labyrinth,
rolling in the shadows of the sea.

Gazing past an apparent diffidence;
a cold melody for remedy.
Minding these subterranean incidents,
my torn identity plunges in a swirling stream.

An oceanic labyrinth,
roaming in the dimness of the sea.
Louise Feb 19
At oo naman,
oo nga naman;
dapat ay dahan-dahan...
kung hindi ay mabibigla.

Dapat ay hindi binibigla,
kung hindi ay madarama ang puwersa.

Dapat ay hindi pinupuwersa,
kung hindi ay hindi makakababa.

Dapat ay dahan-dahan...
kung hindi ay masasaktan.

sa pag-baba,
sa pagtalon,
sa paglangoy,
dahan-dahan...

sa pag-ibig,
sa pagsisid,
sa paghalik,
dahan-dahan lamang...
This poem is about freediving.
neth jones Feb 7
it's all occupied with dark fumes of flatulence
      the bus hanger
          it's teething and earning      a low ceilinged thrive

regularly cleaned    the roof portal
   with a large drooping eye
          brags of blue sky
the coaches are idling
   fretful   to be burdened and go

elsewhere
the public urinals
there's a strong smell of iron
are the morning users dehydrated
  malnourished or ill ?
i feel a little flated

elsewhere
in the waiting area
   a neatly turned out teen
    wants to give their seat to the infirm
does not     and hurts inside  averting
(a public act of courtesy
   would   after all   be an embarrassing one)

attention back to the importance
my friend has ungreeted me
  i have wished him ease
  and he has passed between the cordons
amongst amiable cattle
  he pauses at the authorities verification
who   in turn
   tails them to load up their luggage
                    and become their driver

                             - goodbye my friend
22/08/23
Vitæ Feb 7
You live
in the cells of me
suspended in
radiant light

like roots resting
under a willow tree
weeping silently
into bloodstream

or softness planted
in summer rain
blooming petals
on a pulsing vein

beneath soil
rich with life,
all leaf, insect
and cell
are One

You —
are a garden
quietly living
as the Sun.
keneth Feb 1
do you remember when
all that mattered was
holding his hand

and smelling the sun
on his sunburnt skin
laid on sun-set sand

do you remember when
the only song you knew
was his second name

and now the only dance
your feet understand
is a stance with his toes

can you take me back
the night i cried
like how lampposts died

asking myself why
your moon only shines
when you speak of his smiles

could you take me back to sun-screened streets
where all that mattered were
our touching feet
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