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Rachel Rae Mar 9
The Magpie dies in Act No. V
Though the audience was hardly privy
It was only me, in the backrow seat,
Who saw the gentle feather
Who heard the silent clink
Its branch that swayed bare
Shivering only but a moment
Before it found a new pair of feet

The roar of the crowd rippled and swelled
With the song of the main headline
Licking the tune, wetting the eyes, but at the end
My lashes remained dry
For I, at least, could spare a glance
Toward the soul who belted Act I through V
Laid angled below the plastic bushes
Gone, dead, died
Wood burns from blue flames
Air drawn in does change
Prepared for events to unfold
Stationary held for take off
Past the count of numbers out
Breathing easier now
A transient being announced
Green lady elevates state
Orange eyes merge, lights diverge
Lifted into what seems to be
A tunnel of colourful multiple Vs
Pleasant fate when identity dissipates
No pain, no pressures, no claims
Just white space
Until pulled back into this place
To live a life again
(@PoeticTetra - instagram/twitter)
A rickety iron bridge
worn out by time,
roofless, look up
to an intriguing sky.

My spirit leaped out,
a meteor shower, along
with the blue moon and stars;
it looked down at me.

Epiphany, not a dead one
ferns sprout from cracked walls –
mute spectators to life.

The raintree standing on the right
homeless, dipping its leaves
into the stream,
meanders through me,
the moss-covered bridge –
transient. It was my place, ours,
yours and mine. Homeless.
Rachel Rae Jan 4
Haze, Haze
Ask me questions
Tell me names
Whisper sweetly
Always stay

And when I leave
Fill the mold
That once was me
Slowly, gently
And with ease
Taylor Dec 2020
I see the
world
in passing

Home
and countless cities
just like it

whizzing by

like faces
on the metro

Gone too quick
to remember the details

Were Spanish streets
cleaner than their
English siblings?

Did Thailand taste
like ginger?

Or was that Japan?

What did America sound like?

Memories of home
and the stops between

mingle like
voices
in busy street markets

echoing in harmony
with the droning
neon orchestra

Will the memories leave me?

Will recollection take flight
like the last of your
stray hairs?

Will I wander so far
that I forget
our
language?

I don’t belong here

I never will

and soon
I’ll see another land
and greet it
as a friendly stranger

with a nod
and meeting
of the
eyes
that lasts
just a bit
too long

and its face
will join the others

indistinguishable

and distant

I’m an outsider

I am
transient

foreign

and lost

and I don’t know
where you live
anymore

Could the world
stop
just for a second

so that I may clearly see
your face
on the other side
of the track?

So that I can
remember
a little longer
what home looks like?
Bryn Kennell Jul 2020
Breath visible
Ice sculpture ephemeral
Fear Inevitable
Beauty Immeasurable
Bryn Kennell Jul 2020
Flower once loved
Uprooted
Beauty no more
Limp body
Beauty she was
Left there to die
All because she had wilted
As her outer beauty leaves her, this flower is thrown away, simply because she has wilted.
Michael R Burch Apr 2020
Mayflies
by Michael R. Burch

These standing stones have stood the test of time
but who are you
                             and what are you
                                                             and why?
As brief as mist, as transient, as pale ...
Inconsequential mayfly!

Perhaps the thought of love inspired hope?
Do midges love? Do stars bend down to see?
Do gods commend the kindnesses of ants
to aphids? Does one eel impress the sea?

Are mayflies missed by mountains? Do the stars
regret the glowworm’s stellar mimicry
the day it dies? Does not the world go on
as if it’s no great matter, not to be?

Life, to be sure, is nothing much to lose.
And yet somehow you’re everything to me.

Originally published by Clementine Unbound. Keywords/Tags: mayfly, mayflies, time, mist, transient, transience, pale, inconsequential, stars, sea, everything, A. E. Housman quote
blazing soul Mar 2020
Tears so subliminal that it quenches the scorching  radiation of the sun, that it watereth the most dreary of deserts..
Tears taken from the very ocean of life,
Ocean which is the event horizon of ships..
Ships whose propellers are naught but two elements, with the given names pleasure and fear..  
Two elements driven the ship thither and whither but to the nigh end..
End which is determined yet not determined, an interim end which transient into phases..
Transient between phases..
Ekzentrique Jan 2020
It was a hot Sunday afternoon on my way to the bus terminal
Wearing khaki shorts, white converse, and my favorite blue shirt
Walking under the scorching sun like some Quiapo criminal
Craving for ***** ice cream and buy one like the woman on red skirt

Tired, I arrived at the terminal and heard the conductor shout,
“Lucena, Lucena, Lucena,” so I ran and immediately went on
There were a couple chattering and beside them their kid, a scout
Vendors selling Chicharon and Espasol and then they were gone

I can see from my seat most of the bus’ eccentric passengers
One is a weary mother and her cherubic baby crying out loud
A busy businessman on a call, and another is a group of fashioners
But I thought these were all temporary, a transient crowd

So, I stared beyond the vast plains and the nature in disguise
None was ever permanent in this episode, my deep introspection
But one thing I know is certain as sure as the sun will rise
That is slowly I am nearing home, I’m sure of my destination
My journey en route home
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