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my melted minutes
searing sunshine sultry stares
torrid tropic tease
haiku
Marla R Nov 2021
Polyrhythms & sunny synths
rippling across the surface
of a blue lagoon as we are guided
to ascend by an enlightened
soul with the force of a typhoon.

Tinkling melodies & shining stars
gracing through the galaxies
within our hearts, pacing
in circles as it all continues
to lovingly fall apart.

Good vibes & joyous moments
take us all on a mystical journey
through the folds of time
as we flow through the waters
of golden beaches so divine.

What wonderful luck to be alive,
coexisting with the beauty
of a land touched by starlight.
An uplifting sea of memories
surfaces as nostalgia subtly sways
through the summer leaves,
floating upon a gentle breeze
giving way to an easy night.
A tribute to Masayoshi Takanaka & his wonderful music. Thank you for all of the good times!
Anais Vionet Sep 2021
(a five minute poem - sorry, that’s all I’ve got)

I came to the university
to get some needed privacy
- to learn about the world
and give adult life a whirl.

I’m up here in the frozen north,
where I expected cold and polar bears
and the pressure of academic cares
- but there’s a storm every week
- my mom, back home, has started to freak.

This weather feels like Florida
should we keep the windows boarded-up?
Can we get the power back?
The butteries are flooded
- we can’t get snacks!

I think it’s all hilarious
and so far, a peak experience.
This looks like one of my best decisions
in spite of natures interventions.
University life, so far has been wet fun - like summer camp!
Hannobal Jan 2021
Palm tree grows on sandy soil,
feel free to sit below it,
take photos of selfie on sandy beaches.

Tropical climates within the coastal beaches,
feel the breeze in daylight,
take moments of silence,
breathe sea salt.

Tropical climates with clear sea waters,
in paradise, feel harmony and peace environment,
Take chance to experience the scenery breathtaking beauty.
tropical beaches
Brian Yule Sep 2020
Sultry days
Lustrous beads
Drip from hanging papaya
Glistening like
Amber teardrop earrings
South City Lady Aug 2020
I feel your eyes emblazoned as stars
stitched into a river of ebony
your hands, how they extend from heaven
wading across our distance
tasting of cedar and salt to my mind
of every dream I've yet to realize

I squeeze the rind of you
from coastal sunsets
drinking your essence as blood red pulp
you sing within the cicadas' song
as I wander through tufted sea oats
searching, longingly, for your voice

the whimsical splash
of your laughter is a brilliant fusion
of lemon, fuchsia, and tangerine zinnias
framing my cottage pathway
you become the smile
of every face I encounter,  
the tickling glimmer of sunlight
between scrolls of Spanish moss
dripping like lace from my heart

you are wisteria and wine
late summer afternoons spent
in naked conversation
I want to be drunk on you today,
tomorrow, every day
we're promised tucked
beneath your chin,
slumbering to the sound
of your cool rain
coating oak leaves
island poet Jul 2020
morning first poem: tropical storm coming north

two days of rain, with a first appetizer of
***** white clouds falling to earth where
renamed, fog, a wonderful guttural word

fog

a curse, a wonder, a summary, an exclamation,
later the rain and the wind will visit to remind
us who’s the boss, if the  blackout whiteness
was insufficient to mind mortals ro their proper
places, basements, closets, and  under the  covers,
thinking of Dorothy, visiting Oz, going home to that imaginary,
wherever it really be, if there is such a place

the avians coat the lawn, camouflaged in brown grass,
and climb the house as an animals-only observation deck,
a big buffet breakfast ordered, (possible delays for a civilized
lunch and a roast beef sup) in anticipation of the change in
atmospheric pressure, which is far more accurate than
the goofy looking weatherman on channel 61, who announces
disasters approaches with exactly the same unwavering, unnatural
damnastic enthusiasm as a gorgeous July Fourth weekend

and here I am watching, observing, thinking
maybe I’ll move the chairs and umbrella into
the garage, you know, be responsible for once,
instead of a lazy whatever pretend poet writer,
but the coffee is warm and fulfilling, the music
randomly licking, hitting my mental G spot,
this creamy easy poesy coming so pleasy so
being responsible just too damnistic boring,
and why start now?

Robert F. and Walt W. wave by, on their way to someone
better, it’s ok, they gave me the old college try,
and the ground is more fertile up North and
tropical storms are not of much interest when
the world is burning itself up and history is
being revised by rose colored glasses to make us forget,
if we clean up ancestral blackness evility incivility

then Jude Johnstone one of America's finest
songwriters sings her Wounded Heart, and I
hear it solo on piano, hear it break my heart,

”Wounded heart I cannot save,
You from yourself.
Though I wanted to be brave,
It never helps.
Cause your trouble's like a flood,
Raging through your veins.
No amount of loves enough
To end the pain.
Tenderness and time can heal,
A right gone wrong.
But the anger that you feel,
Goes on and on.
And it's not enough to know,
That I love you so.
So, I take my heart and go,
For I've had my fill.
If you listen you can hear,
The angels wings.
Up above our heads so near,
They are hovering.
Waiting to reach out for love,
When it falls apart.
When it cannot rise above
A wounded heart.
When it cannot rise above
A wounded heart...”

~
and now a tropical storm seems like no big deal,
and maybe someday
I’ll write so sad n’ soft, good
and
be at last
heart-satisfied,
no longer afraid of the tropical storms
that live within...
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