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At some unnamed night,
and it will be bright,
I’ll go away.
The door I will never
close
the flowers will keep
fragrance.
My children will have fallen asleep
the most deeply
covered and caressed
and somebody will cant to them again
a cradle song.
It will be light like in a temple
and clear like a voice
in mountains.
Then I’ll leave
forgotten all the words…

A branch in the white snow.
 Nov 2012 Victor Marques
Mitchell
Sneezing transitions in mass transit routes
Tram rocks underneath the black and blue sky
Ahead of me is infinity
Behind me the past,  sticky & stagnant - inescapable

Smells of cat food unintelligible *****
Passed on hopes & forgotten dreams
Cackling whistles of worn out break pads
A man coughs as another rolls up his socks

Next to me a man slumbers dreaming of home
His wife in bed alone, his son's and daughter's
Hide under thin white sheets, waiting for Him to phone
The door creaks open, he'll wait for morning to speak

Hazy recollections across glossy wet cobble stones
Solidarity is the only way to work sometimes
The sting of smoky nicotine flows up my nose
Pushing past the marker of ill-received news

Nights out drinking, talk and talk and talk
More of the same as I frame the outcome summarily
Atop the page is where the life is
A rainfall of experience to purge this ****** emotion

Labeling oneself does not mean defining oneself
That is what the whiskey is for
I hide behind a wall dripping with insecurity
I fear, I love, I live, and one day, I will die

Shuttle to a stop, bewaring of adjectives
I have the urge to stay, but am the last to leave
My eyes adjust to the soft orange glow of the streetlights
And into the night living rather than dead

So in place of the hours I believe I need
Staying awake looking at these pen marks
I need nothing for something only brings more worries
Anxiety being a killer - I try to rid myself of the poison

Humming up the stairs I attentive & aware
There in the elevator savory sweet hickory perfume
Another year away from an old place I called home
Time passes slowly, as I slip in between the folds
Please Santa,

All I want this Christmas is Daddy home
Mommy keeps crying, she misses him
I miss him too, I'm only five years old
He is a soldier and has been away
He has been gone over eight months
Please bring him back, I don't want toys
Last week two men came to the door
They looked very important to me
Wearing uniforms with medals on
Mommy was given a letter and a flag
Not just any flag, one of the country
But when Mommy read the letter
She started crying, she hasn't stopped
Mommy won't tell me what it said
I'm scared I won't see Daddy again
So please Santa, I'm begging you
I don't want anything else
I want you to bring Daddy home
I brushed my hand across what you said
then remembered
the exact moment I discovered
my favorite hiding place
where my heart could take deep breaths
and move away from the shadows
speaking as echoes across my mind.  
I could feel them move far, far away
from my beating heart
taking me to heights
where I could escape to a better place,
I thought I'd never find.

The deepest pain.....all the hurt I feel,
becomes trivial in this journey
where I define myself
and rises above my existence
here in the solitude
I find
within this hiding place.
Here, my heart becomes softly addicted
to leaving behind
the complications which cling
to the railings
of all my inspiration
when I attempt to write
the song of a nightingale
and every bad memory.........
erase.
Copyright ©2012 Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
Sometimes two hearts write the most beautiful poetry together, completely by accident.

It's one a.m. and one heart can't sleep...........sends a simple message ......I Love You My Heart, not even expecting a reply.  It's one a.m. and that other heart can't sleep either.........replies, I Love You..........

Ah!  one heart replies, I knew I felt you, where in turn the other replies you can feel me anytime, which of course for those of us with a sense of  humor can be taken lot's of ways, both hearts think with a smile.  

The first heart replies, oh yes, always, but sometimes it's as if I can feel your breath on my cheek..........
Neva Flores
From where my body understands
that youth has told me goodbye.
A few steps more......
and I am starting to think
my life still contains
little pieces of a beginning
that will never die.

Betrayal, fills in the blanks
when I try to hold back
from singing the melody.....
of my heart.
When I'm looking for that someone
who is able to run
through my forest
written in.........
as my other part.

In all this waiting for love,
my youth.......has become
a memory.....
protected..........by no sword or shield.
I cannot find favor on any day
that I spend counting leaves on trees....
that stand........
in quietly, fading fields.

I can no longer stand in secret
knowing my youth
lies on its back, pleading.......
to be young, once again.
While I breathe in the footsteps........
of a long lost smile......
weaved around a love
I keep waiting..........
to begin.
Copyright @2012 - Neva Flores - Changefulstorm
 Nov 2012 Victor Marques
Tom Orr
Like love, know that time lies,
Heart in the day want feel away
Night make world say don't words think.

I'm mind little things light.
Don't long man face look left, right
Tell people need good soul.
Lost sun, hand place hands new pain.
Old inside smile.

Remember full sky,
God hope days cold.
Ill thing live,
tears black leave dreams.

Oh skin, air, gone past lips.
New thoughts can't far white,
Going beautiful dream.
Girl goes deep, your sleep stop.

Hail that lovely laughter juice.
I just noticed some of the words in the trending words section seemed to correspond well together, and in a way sort of made "semi-sense". Some of it I have altered, for example, words like "knew" I changed to "new", to add a little more meaning to the line.

The last line comes from a short medley of words I put together using big fridge magnets in the Tate Gallery in London. I felt it would be a suitable closing for the poem.
 Nov 2012 Victor Marques
Mitchell
Doubtful of the future
As our wooden furniture
Creaks and cracks
Like wounded soldiers sutures

House on the edge of the water
The Earth shows to
Only be getting hotter
Heaven may only be a starter

I've asked all my questions
Meandering in drunken perspiration
The moon hangs laughing
Behind my back
Where I was before this
I can't keep track

Trams, metros, terror colored in streetlights
All souls around me barely giving off light
Piano man plays with broken fingernails
Screaming he's guiltier than all that is wrong or right

Could have beens
Would have beens
Should have beens
Sticky black tar regret

Stare at the sun and
Unveil the lie they've
Been telling you all along

I wrote something
That looked like something
That came before
I wrote that other something

And when I read that something
And read the other something
Both seemed to be about
Nothing and nothing
As well as
All of the above

Staring at the stove top
She lays upstairs in bed
Silence atop these fingertips
Secrets flying high
In this unstrung kite

A cloud stubs his toe
The sun makes His move
I feel like a real man
Acting like I have a plan

Too fast some days
Other days
Too slow

Proving routine
Is the curse of the
Owner's of the silver spoon

I hang on the edge of
A smooth, round beer bottle

My hardened fingertips
Show to be slipping

I'm lost in a sea of forgiveness
Frantically keeping my head afloat
While smiling to myself that I left
The life vests tied upon the boat

My need for revenge has
Sunk into The Black Sea
Bitterness was such a boring feeling
Like an old ring I was always wearing

I hand out my pleases
Like ripped off store candies
Everybody's got their maybes ready
I look at my hand and see its steady

This day
This month
This year or so away
From home is
Showing me

Only I

Know where I need to go

Let the snow fall
The government post what they will
High up where we can't reach on the wall
All will be remembered
All will be forgiven one day

The last man to laugh
Will be
He who believes not

In His own trap
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