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Star BG Jul 2017
Airstream Of Breath
In an airstream of breath, I rise.
Celebrating, moments that echoes with light.
Celebrating, birds who whisper daintily,
as dogs that romp with voice.

In an airstream of natures breeze, I rise
Dancing, in knowing I am divine.
Dancing, with puffy graceful clouds
as flowery smells open heart.

In an airstream present, I am free.
Free, to drift in grace anointing all.
Free, to remember  who I am
as all my precious dreams align.

Dreams that root,
in garden of an airstream breath.



StarBG © 2017
#breath #celebrating
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Star BG Jun 2017
Airstream Of Breath
In a garden of an airstream of breath, I rise.
Celebrating the moment that echoes with light.
Celebrating the birds who whisper daintily,
and the dogs that romp with voice.

In a garden of an airstream of natures breeze, I rise
Dancing in knowing I am divine.
Dancing with puffy graceful clouds
and flowery smells that open heart.

In a garden of an airstream present, I am free.
Free to drift in dreams.
Free to remember all my gifts,
and all my precious dreams.

Dreams that take root in the garden of an airstream breath.
StarBG © 2017
inspired by poet Valarie
#dreams #celebrate #breath #dancing
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King Panda May 2016
all things beautiful
rain
mud and grass
common prayer
good weather
good people
art
and umbrella bags
because who wants to
get wet?
unless it’s with you
I could
I would
jump into the lake
for that rock
sew
cleanse
initials made in sharpie
and unclamp
we run
around the park
the afternoon surrounds us
the woman in the bikini
passes
and we laugh
iced tea
decaf coffee
cake without teeth
and that airstream camper
you always wanted
I could live in your
backyard
I could live somewhere
not here
in silver
prostrated
with my back to the
moon
like dead
like a mummy
like a mirror
and life would make sense
life would be beautiful
like this run
with perfect amounts of sweat
and conversation that runs
waves in the sand
and tells the squirrels
goodnight, tractor
see you tomorrow
and the land that billows
is dug up
and chewed
like a goodnight poem
this run with you
takes rest
on my soul
and I crack my ribs
to take the spring’s
twilight
aroma
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donia kashkooli Jun 2016
airstream
it smelled like love and a dive bar.
polishing liquid, flowers, stale smoke, patchouli oil.
the floor was covered in a blanket of antique carpets that
were the color of levi’s after being
mixed with bleach
and red lipstick that hadn't been removed
after 2 days that needed to be touched up.
that character practically lived
in the silver giant
and he decided that tapestries with the edges duct taped to the windowsills with designs
that were so deeply eloquent to the point
where the human brain could effortlessly get lost in them
were 300 times better than curtains.
there was a transistor radio in there,
oh, the good ol’ transistor that
was adored despite the raging amounts of
static that would pour out of
the speakers...
whenever the dead or zeppelin came
on the volume switch would turn as far
to the right as it would go.
he would smile
and within an hour
his fingers, bound in
layers of opal and turquoise rings would turn an ordinary
sheet of silver into
a glistening piece of magic.
every second spent in the airstream
was an abstract painting as tangled and mystifying
as those tapestries on the cracked
fingerprint stained windows,
where life took place in the subterranean depths
of the paper grains that no one
had dared to venture to.

-*z. vega
my childhood ( that was pretty much spent in my dad's jewelry studio) summed up in words.
#art #beauty #music #nostalgia #family #smoke #lipstick #magic #bleach #vintage
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Star BG Jun 2017
Caught
Caught the garden of an airstream of breath, I rise.
Celebrating the moment that echoes with light.
Celebrating the birds who whisper daintily,
and the dogs that romp with voice.

Caught in an airstream of natures breeze, I rise
Dancing in knowing I am divine.
Dancing with puffy graceful clouds
and flowery smells that open heart.

Caught in an airstream present, I am free.
Free to drift in dreams.
Free to remember all my gifts,
and all my precious dreams.

Dreams that take root in the garden of an airstream breath.
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Sanjukta Nag Apr 2016
Pebbles Of Sun
I can still remember that dusk,
We stepped out in the drizzle to collect
The pebbles of sun.
They kept swirling in the airstream,
So soft, so free like your thoughts
Inside my ribcage.
Cold sprinkle made some of them wet,
Some even vanished before we touched their senses.
Mostly oval and round shaped,
With the playful brightness of seven colours.
You moved through them,
And let your skin absorb their vivid glow.
Fragments of violet brushed your eyelashes,
Hair accepted the waves of green.
While I placed
Sensual conjugation of orange and red
On your palm.
And it blushed like the primitive dawn,
The dawn of creation
When sun had first dropped its pebbles,
On the bare chest of earth.
#sun #nature #colours
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Daniel Magner Aug 2013
Anosmia
It would drift by
on the airstream,
created by a stranger somewhere,
soft and sweet.
I'd stumble in the subtle
shades of the scent
till it dropped me at you,
the trigger pulled on a bottle
of perfume.
But my nose hasn't
gobbled up those particles
for quite some time,
your aroma
no longer on my mind.
Daniel Magner 2013
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Lee Hamilton-Evans Oct 2015
I was grieving in september
I was grieving in September
I felt loss
the sky was empty
without summers abundance of life
there will be no more aerial displays
swooping birds on the airstream
feasting on unaware flies overly engaged in their own ceremonies of the sky
high spirited flight, with purpose such a magnificent sight
I was grieving in September
for the swallows had gone
left for another’s warmth
another’s ability to provide
but they will return
they always do
to the white cracked home
in need of repair from winters effect
together making the home as new
and bringing new life to celebrate
and I will watch in awe
as they learn the sky dance of their parents
these thoughts
And the promise of their return
keeps me warm
as I settle into winters cold
#summer #winter #gone #season #flight #bird #swallow #migration
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Simon Quperlier Jan 2014
A Figment of Funeral
We saw the crosses
And the dozen of roses
Each for the 12 graves
Every tombstone reading
'Jesus Saves'
Then an open bible
With a funeral verse
That sounded like a fable
A flocking mass
All in black with poignant faces
A bald-headed reverend
Howling ashes to ashes
Clouds change to thunderhead
And the airstream consoles
The bodies that have lost their souls.
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Alyanne Cooper Jun 2014
I Want What He Sees
I met a guy,
And when he looks at me
I know he sees
Him and me
Down the road
When we're old
Sitting' on that back porch
Drinkin' sweet tea
Or maybe whiskey;
Him and me
Down the road
Livin' in an airstream
Like gypsies
Blown from place to place
Never stayin' settled too long;
Him and me
Down the road
Hand in hand
Watchin' our
Sons become fathers,
Daughters become mothers,
But always our children
No matter how old they get;
Him and me
Down the road
Side by side
Six feet under
With his epitaph that reads
"Her and me forever."
And mine that reads
"What he said."
#love #relationship #forever
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Terry Jordan Mar 2016
If I could only carry a tune
If I could only carry a tune
I'd write songs to go on tour
Sentimental ones-oh how I’d croon
Just so you would love me more
My Dear, just so you would love me more
If I could just win the Lottery
There’s your Instant Retirement!
Oh, what fun to hire that limousine
That’s only my first requirement
For when I win all those riches then
I’d hire us that limousine
To take us to Cruise America
Pick up our brand-new Airstream
We would drive North to Tallahassee
Pick up supplies along the way
Stop at Sam Ash for your dream guitar
Then could you love me more, I pray?
Just so you would love me more
I’d shower you with presents galore
“Can’t buy me love”, you say, my Dear
You sang that song I’ve come to adore
So say those words I long to hear
As we drive West to see The Rockies
The majesty makes your face glow
What matters to me on this journey?
That you love me more and say so
Inspired by my muse, a guitarist, who likes me to practice with him, occasionally, & I'm not able to carry a tune at all!  I can sing 'Sixteen Tons', by Tennessee Ernie Ford, however.
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Terry Jordan Feb 2016
Shoot Straight
Shoot Straight, Sister
The Burly Man yelled loudly
Shoot Straight, can’t you?
Pointing my new gun proudly

Shooting Practice
My brand-new Smith & Wesson
I’m having my
Very first shooting lesson

Shooting’s easy
I hit the target’s bullseye
Brilliant shooting
Like Annie Oakley was I

Shoot great, Baby!
Where’d ya learn to shoot like that?
I’m scouting for
A new Wild West Circus Act!

Shoot straight, Mister
Only if I’m Top Billing
An Airstream, too
And for that I’d be willing
Silly, really; inspired by a commercial I heard on the radio, selling guns-I think the gun store was called SHOOT STRAIGHT
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T Blake II May 2013
And from there I sat and watched
All the people and colors move by.
Life poured down streets and tiny brick
Sidewalks rubbed with decades of shoes.
The aroma of yesterday and tomorrow
Filled the airstream carried by the traffic
From a vendor a block down.  Gyros.
Every-so-often I like to come into the city
To see how people act around other people.
It keeps me sane and washes from me
Big land’s disconnect. I recall, with every
Memory trigger that shoots off and cracks
The things I have not thought of since
My last trip here. I think to myself why?
Memory and time, occasionally, don’t mix,
But time needs memory to be remembered
And memory needs time to exist…
I suddenly thought of you, though—
That time you told me that news and I
Ran off for a year and some months.
You called to say you were sorry—
You even wrote me a letter, but I was gone.
Your call the other day was nice.
It reminded me why I am the way I am,
And you are the way you are, and why
We aren’t together, and why I enjoy spending
Days and days alone on old barrier islands
To spear fish and make camp in the sand.
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jan oskar hansensapopt Jul 2017
a reflection
A reflection

Today is the last day of June and thanks
to a northerly wind and some rain, it has been a good month.
It is a Siberian airstream wonder if it knew
I was a communist until I saw it was just a dictatorship
where men in ill-fitting suit decided our future usually so old
they lived in another century their idea of freedom had
little to do with reality.
Today Russia is a modern state semi – democratic and there
is a freedom of speech if played by soft violin music.
But Russia is worried the mighty USA is spoiling for a war.
I will not think of the afternoon, enjoy the cooling wind
and let the world pass by.
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Sara Went Sailing Jun 2018
Sense
Green grass of serenity.
The starling's nest
is full with worry contrary
to the advice of pennant
blowing.

Comfortable sun soaks
this arthritic marrow
and a cleavage of trees
looks on.

For now,
I am the cotton wind
folding smoothly.
A cannabis hammock
snoring against the shutters.

The brick house in
its selfishness knows
there is an airstream
of opportunity.
I shall begin to write
without my mother's hands.

Sara Fielder © June 2018
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Whit Howland May 2020
Airstream
Permit me to go
deep

because there is nowhere else to go

but to ponder the meaning
of silver

and the properties of
aluminum

and which metal is more precious
as well as

is value something that can be measured
or

is it all just conjecture like the best way
to crack an egg

Whit Howland © 2020
An abstract word painting.
#blackmountainpoet
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matthew scott harris Feb 2020
Asleep courtesy deep relaxation music
Elongated dazzling radiance cast abeam
sensational blinding brilliance
thru eyelids cast agleam
buoyed upon soundcloud airstream
entire corporeal complex edifice

rocked upon gently
shimmering weightless as moon beam
metaphorically floats yours truly
autonomic kickstarting process
since... flagellation enabled conception
circulating, distributing, enervating...

dna chromosomal genetic
data packets craft
lifeforce fueled bloodstream
aforementioned haploid gamete
kinetic, microcosmic, and opportunistic

unbridled, likened, and fashioned bream
identity guarding, glorifying,
edifying dynamic counterstream
crème de la crème
deoxyribonucleic electric kool aid

acid time tested testicular cream
erecting scalar, singular, stellar
survival of fittest
legendary, mandatory, and noteworthy
twenty three and me crossbeam
cast adrift amidst

one after another
continuous pleasant daydream
wafting mysteriously current
squarely bobbing (think sponge)
idyllically, harmoniously, haphazardly
and gently flowing downstream

nimbly manifesting lusciously
kneading jubilantly inescapable
heavenly glorifying dream
begetting coruscating prismatic halo
quintessentially orbiting eyebeam

orchestrating laser inducted fleam
painlessly piercing poetic pulsating gleam
analogous to virtual reality occurring
currently within whirled wide
webbed dammed headstream.

Meanwhile along Battle Creek boughs
tooting, trumpeting tussling,
nonetheless resolute triumphant hornbeam
built barque remains intact amidst every inseam.

Lumbering ship of state seaworthy
in league with moost any other galleon
forging full steam ahead
lake any other mainstream
weathering riveting pond during microbeam.
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Freya Adwin Mar 2019
Trust Your Eyes
Trust your eyes,
trust your eyes,
what lies ahead, they won't disguise.
Your eyes, your eyes,
they don't tell lies.
...right?
Trust, trust,
believe, believe.
You can tell what's wrong, what's right,
what is a lie.
You could always trust your eyes.
Couldn't you?
Your eyes, your eyes,
to them, you can listen
and yet disease slips from your vision.
As it creeps into your body,
unnoticed, unseen,
as it spreads like wildfire,
flowing through your bloodstream.
As it kills you off,
limb by limb,
cutting off your airstream,
inch by inch.
You’re dying slowly,
what a surprise.
All because you trusted your eyes.
Just because its normal doesnt mean it doesnt deserve to be questioned. Always stay suspicious!
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— The End —