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Star BG Apr 14
As fog covered my outside landscape I sat,
relaxing and aligning with poetic ideas
to scribe at later date.

The air was warm, as a faint scent of lavender entered nostrils. My human eyes couldn't make out anything more than a shadow but; my inner senses knew I wasn’t alone.

The being whispered adding fog to the room. With deepen breath it now made sense of my visitor recalling my art background. Remembering, my prayer just days earlier how I longed for a great maters of art to flow through me.

As moments passed, the blur became more distinct. There he stood before me adorned with painters hat and smock. With a smile as he held up a brush and made like he was painting my form.

I giggled with air of breeze. My third eye exploded with an image of Monet. He began to fill my mind with picturesque visions.
Flowers entered my eyes as I felt a creative power serge.
Fields of afternoon strollers adorned with paroles entered mind. And birds rustled in trees, as a flowing brook traveled within.

More scenes manifested. I could almost taste the sweet air running down my throat. When I was filled to capacity, he stopped and I understood. He was providing me with fuel for thought. Scenes to transcribe into poetic jargon.

As he bowed, and I whispered gratitude, he disappeared. I was again alone with my keyboard, dancing hands and vivid imagination tweaked with his talented light.

I now was ready to create on canvas screen and of course my new curator of verse, Monet.
Here is something different. Was thinking of Monet all day today so my story unfolded in mind.
Altar of false reassurance, symbolizing return, of the hat bearer
“Home is where you hang your hat.”
How many of you have the hat bearer hung on temporary walls?
During intermittent crawls from house to home
Kora Sani Oct 2018
there you are
sleeping in my mind again
second-guessing your presence
still hurts every now and then

a long-term visitor
overstaying your welcome
my heart was your home
now that feeling is seldom

the blame is on me
it's my fault in the end
there's no disguising that
i'm the one who invited you in
Gray Jun 2018
Its fur is gray and matted down.
Its whiskers are a bold shade of dirt brown.
Its teeth are yellow and jagged in a crooked smile.
Its claws are razor sharp and vile.
Its eyes are not white, and give off a feeling that puts anyone in fear.
Its tail looks like a dried up worm that’s been poorly stitched to its rear.
Its nose looks like a chewed up and spat out jelly bean.
It smells as if spoiled milk and rotten potatoes collided together creating a gruesome scene.
Put these all together, and what do you get?
Something that you soon want to forget.
Isabella Terry Apr 2018
Death comes knocking at my door,
My footsteps echo on the floor.
Because of time, I know it's him;
Who else would knock at 4 AM?

Opportunity comes a'knocking,
Watching, waiting, sulking, stalking.
The clock is ticking, ticking, ticking,
Time's conniving, tricking, tricking.

I tilt my head and listen near,
His breaths outside still reach my ear.
He's come to taunt me, nothing more,
To flirt with me behind my door.

I want to run, to back away,
but fear has frozen me in place.
Fear and footsteps, time and lore;
Death comes knocking at my door.
Thirty-six hours passed with no rest
but I am now deep within a dream
of strange substance and color
my emotions strained and stretched
my body turned inside-out by
floating lights
this is the price paid when one denies sleep

I blink from a nightmare of glistening
silver probes
to see in my awakened state
the blank stare of almond sized black eyes
a gray
silhoetted against the vanilla ice cream colored
shades of my living room window
the contrast visible
even in this monicum of light
he leans a bit to my right as I jump into consciousness
and I know he is surprised
before sending me back

When the morning Sun brings me around
my body
head to toe
feels worn
with fever
my daily aches
routine with age
are maximized and accentuated
the gray is fresh in my mind
the first clear thought
the clarity of his presence
undeniable

A quick check
testicles intact
coffee to chase the headache
a shower to
wash away the abuse
Oldie - slightly revised
A visitor,
not a resident
once again.

You walk in and out
as though it was a revolving door.
You visit me as though I am a sovoneour shop,
just to see how much one would miss you.

My heart has become exhausted of
the constant switch between the void and the presence.

For you make a vacation out of me,
when I ought to be a sanctuary.
You turn me into a hotel room,
when I ought to be home.

My name was not the one that was to be traced on sand and washed away by the waves
but the one you would engrave with ink on your skin.

I am oxygen
I am water
Not momentary
or unncessary
like the label of the presence of expiry you labeled me with
Or your temporary devotion.
Laz Farrell Feb 2018
6am
His face was too familiar
The unwanted and out of date
A real gentleman
Someone who cares
Despite that prevailing optimisim
What’s he here to do
*
I appreciate you coming
That deep burning brow
Handing it to a shocked friend
Whose schedule don’t allow
I’ll learn to compromise
Despite significant disruption
I still won’t show any reaction
Mystic Ink Plus Feb 2018
In a new avenues
Under the radiant skies
With unknown identity
Like a wonder of a visitor

On closing those eyes
So far, I was lost
Spending time in circle
Ultimately, I found my way, beyond

Calm silence, everywhere
Colored reflection of breaths
Echoes within memories, and
Chorus of forgiveness.
Self Discovery Mantra.
Shared from my Anthology, Canvas: Echoes and Reflections.
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