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1335

Let me not mar that perfect Dream
By an Auroral stain
But so adjust my daily Night
That it will come again.

Not when we know, the Power accosts—
The Garment of Surprise
Was all our timid Mother wore
At Home—in Paradise.
1577

Morning is due to all—
To some—the Night—
To an imperial few—
The Auroral light.
Rakha Mar 2018
You worth more than a thousand golden crowns
and continent wide silks
and all the brighter, wilting stars in the dark
and had you pulled the universe to you,
it will surely crawl under your thigh
as a machination made only for you.

And you worth more than the ten thousand horses that I had slain
and I pulled them onto your sheets
as whispery faeries gnawed onto its skin
onto its slippery vein
gory, but lovely all the same.

Alas, you worth more than another ten thousand of them running
hooves clattered across the impenetrable glass of auroral dome
and I saw you rode on another ten thousand that had not deserve you-

as you deserved gold and stars
and all the greater fury of this land,
not treachery and I.
Gold was the color of your ruse
and your words deify scorching stars into bloom
and you reek of rust — the finest yellow there was.
- and once more i pray to see you
Jamie King Mar 2015
Matrimonial stars in aisles of Auroral rainbows. Mizzling rays of twilights, arraying bays with skylines of lucent waves.
  
A plethora of scarlet roses reposed in florid clouds. Ashore the Giddy ocean in a gentle motion, caressing Mali garnets, mirroring effulgent lights, kissing the mountaintops before refulgent nights.
lost in moments of bliss thinking There is beauty all around us earth is beautiful life is beautiful you're beautiful
Her calming, gentle auroral light can turn to a blazing inferno of everything red and hot in a matter of seconds
You blame her womanhood for all her anger and anguish
While your manhood ironically suffers an inferiority complex
Which you reveal through your anger and depreciation of all life
Her womanhood is what held you
Cradled you, and fed you
Her womanhood whole-heartedly accepted you even when she knew you could become so cruel
So you blame her womanhood for all her anger and anguish
When it was your manhood who told her, her place is on the ground while you flew through the sky
I

Just as my fingers on these keys
Make music, so the self-same sounds
On my spirit make a music, too.
Music is feeling, then, not sound;
And thus it is that what I feel,
Here in this room, desiring you,

Thinking of your blue-shadowed silk,
Is music. It is like the strain
Waked in the elders by Susanna;

Of a green evening, clear and warm,
She bathed in her still garden, while
The red-eyed elders, watching, felt

The basses of their beings throb
In witching chords, and their thin blood
Pulse pizzicati of Hosanna.

II

In the green water, clear and warm,
Susanna lay.
She searched
The touch of springs,
And found
Concealed imaginings.
She sighed,
For so much melody.

Upon the bank, she stood
In the cool
Of spent emotions.
She felt, among the leaves,
The dew
Of old devotions.

She walked upon the grass,
Still quavering.
The winds were like her maids,
On timid feet,
Fetching her woven scarves,
Yet wavering.

A breath upon her hand
Muted the night.
She turned--
A cymbal crashed,
Amid roaring horns.

III

Soon, with a noise like tambourines,
Came her attendant Byzantines.

They wondered why Susanna cried
Against the elders by her side;

And as they whispered, the refrain
Was like a willow swept by rain.

Anon, their lamps' uplifted flame
Revealed Susanna and her shame.

And then, the simpering Byzantines
Fled, with a noise like tambourines.

IV

Beauty is momentary in the mind--
The fitful tracing of a portal;
But in the flesh it is immortal.

The body dies; the body's beauty lives.
So evenings die, in their green going,
A wave, interminably flowing.
So gardens die, their meek breath scenting
The cowl of winter, done repenting.
So maidens die, to the auroral
Celebration of a maiden's choral.

Susanna's music touched the ***** strings
Of those white elders; but, escaping,
Left only Death's ironic scraping.
Now, in its immortality, it plays
On the clear viol of her memory,
And makes a constant sacrament of praise.
Ripened by night
the profound sea,
as a huge archaic mirror
embracing a pasture for reflected star

Beneath the stage of luminous enthusiasm,
wavelessly rising your meditation,
which unrequitedly falling in love
with the moonbeam

Withering somber luna,
as the faint Cupid
shooting an arrow of ice
into an auroral mirage
with shining rosiness

Ought to feel out eternity
the lily wings, finally
turned out to be the feeble oar
knocking the ebb rootlessly

Affection
inexhaustible braveness and endless scrupulousness
But what are these amongst us? -
The tacit contract
between sunrise and seaside;
also the blurry distance
between darkness and dreamland
We shall launch our shallop on waters blue from some dim primrose shore,
We shall sail with the magic of dusk behind and enchanted coasts before,
Over oceans that stretch to the sunset land where lost Atlantis lies,
And our pilot shall be the vesper star that shines in the amber skies.

The sirens will call to us again, all sweet and demon-fair,
And a pale mermaiden will beckon us, with mist on her night-black hair;
We shall see the flash of her ivory arms, her mocking and luring face,
And her guiling laughter will echo through the great, wind-winnowed space.

But we shall not linger for woven spell, or sea-nymph's sorceries,
It is ours to seek for the fount of youth, and the gold of Hesperides,
Till the harp of the waves in its rhythmic beat keeps time to our pulses' swing,
And the orient welkin is smit to flame with auroral crimsoning.

And at last, on some white and wondrous dawn, we shall reach the fairy isle
Where our hope and our dream are waiting us, and the to-morrows smile;
With song on our lips and faith in our hearts we sail on our ancient quest,
And each man shall find, at the end of the voyage, the thing he loves the best.
Ma Cherie Jan 2017
The great Green Mountains,
up where the tallest evergreens grow,
stretching,
upward an outward,
toward the heavens,
a perimeter of boundaries,
where white iridescent angels,
can drift,

Touching the clouds,
in winds of change coming,
gathered together sheltering storms,
alongside barren maples
and birches,
with shriveled others aging,
gracefully,
bowing down to winter's bone,
and ready for Spring's solstice.

When,
in surging solar winds,
upward of,
a million miles an hour,
40 hours after leaving their sun,
raining in an big bright ariel shower,
emphasizing their greatness,
in an eerie tranquility,
behind a diffused hazy luster,
a distant soft moon light,
in a beautiful Glory Shining.

Silvery satin ribbons,
and celadon green bends,
as colors wait pensive to create
in messages it then sends,
a heavenly landscape,
for their part in the prism ballet,
these arial acrobats,
yearn to touch tips on sturdy cutouts,
of tall old aging trees,

Dancing into ever-changing,
multifaceted soft,
an inspiring hues,
an shifting in the breeze
they move above,
in a mystical rhythm,
a dark and mysterious,
black smoke rises
in between rays,
in the opaque darkest hour,
for the creation of,
a spiritual backdrop,
mysterious feeling power
in the magnificent,
Magnetic Midnight.

The darker the sky,
the brighter the light,
for an otherworldly setting,
as colors merge and ignite
while they mix the palate again,
I am lost in silent reverie,
for the forces that dance there in that blackness,

Awe-inspiring,
breathtakingly beautiful,
alien,
frightening,
imparting comforting wisdom,
it is everything an so exciting,
and healing to your soul,
like a hauntingly familiar sound,
of
music to your ears.

moving like in an immensely,
active native conga,
while flitting eiree,
ghosts of glaciers perform,
when fueled folklore beckon,
swirling magic colors
in a perfect moving storm
these beauties from frozen skies,
spraying snow & tossing sparks,
as their created stars,
saturate the deep,
as their tears are shed,
in big butterfly kisses,

playfully floating,
in lovely little fine wisps,
of cirrus smudges of pure refractions,
bending in rarified veils of light,
into a seamless,
shimmering skyscape.

A hiding crystal clear,
deep Alice blue sky,
now fading,
as colors are now blending,
from azure into darkest denim,
then turning periwinkle,
stretching out,
into auroral archways,
dusted in a tangerine glow
in transitioning brushstrokes,
gently cover impressionistic sketches,
evolving into luminism,
on an endless open canvas.

As I paint the words,
where I sit there quietly,
respectfully awaiting answers,
as clouds and moonlight smear,
into watercolor scenery,
using up each angel tear
an intimate engagement occurs,
the passion of nature,
is sublime,
just perfectly,
these synchronized sky swimmers ,
becoming one

As a stormy sun is forcing,
red light dancers,
holding torches,
colliding and becoming excited,
edging themselves,
these powerful ominous portents,
becoming the framework.

Around a fantastic fluorescent show,
the cast wearing blushing pink,
and wild viola purples,
tinged in chartreuse green,
basking in beauty,
where hope lies,
in these colors I've never ever seen, since,
transcending skies of tomorrow,
into an age old masterpiece,
waiting patiently for this,
spiritual journey,
to begin,
with an eager & beautiful,
dawn coming.

Where the North winds,
send a brilliant light show,
of atomic wonders,
in watery pirouettes,
of shaped effects,
& teardrops sacrificed,
swirl in spirits of harmony,
completely memorizing,
I am transfixed,
an astonishing feat,
of brilliant pigments,
smudged into,
the mysterious lightness,
my drifters heart wanders,
melded into atmospheric colors,
we can only wish to see in this lifetime.

Where life seeds now
glide,
on the giving winds,
and Eagles and hawks can,
applaud this much beauty way up there.

This place,
a heavenly firmament,
where all the sacred souls come to die,
  where all the very, very, wise end up,
where they all spend their eternal lives,
young and old alike,
eventually they all retire here,
bringing us hope or warnings,
a chance at redemption,
striking hot iron in a glow,
metallic bits,
stars form,
restless,

Sighing, awaiting,
  a gifted chance to share with us,
along with all the parished,
souls and spirits,
playfully transforming,
from native garb,
mocassin covered feet,
change into favorite animals,
stomping on the colorful floor,
a great bear,
a wolf,
a beluga whale,
a soaring raptor,
not wanting for anything,
walking in Native American circles,
to the sounds of long silent drums,
morphing & shape shifting,

Again,
and again,
and again,
where rain shadows dance,
in ancient skies,
celestial bodies are illuminated,
reflecting the fire circles,
from where distant oceans shore,
take me there...ancestors
take me there once more,

As night slowly declines,
as daylight seeps through cracks,
bleeding into tomorrow,
to fly again to share what they must,
they pray and worship their God,
and they trust..

And Aurora Borealis is her name.

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Listen to Time to turn the tide by Millpond Moon  global warming is affecting this gift....writing this made me cry ....for our sacred Earth.  This is a meaningful piece I had to dig deep in old studies and in my beliefs this was BREATHTAKINGLY beautiful Aurora Borealis a few years ago. This is about stars, this place- Vermont, Heaven, angels and death or coming omens. Peace - Vermont
(I watched my video again in astonishment.)
I hope you all are well n happy. I'm OK....
Solaces Feb 2020
The bands of light had a auroral emotion to them..
Where I was a moment ago was no longer the place I am now..
It held my hand and walked me through the gray rain..
All while emanating these beautiful luminous streaks of light..
The light was every color I knew and remembered..
It took me to a beyond..
Past the other side..
And into the sun of my thoughts..
The star at the center of my memories..
The beginning..
It let go of my hand..
And let me free..
The music flowed through my soul..
Leaving behind an aura of colors..
A memory of her smile fell onto me like the rain..
Never fading..
But always remaining..
It took my hand again..
It was me. . . . . . .
Just a daydream
Even as a child, of sorrow that we give
The dead, but little in his heart can find,
Since without need of thought to his clear mind
Their turn it is to die and his to live:
Even so the winged New Love smiles to receive
Along his eddying plumes the auroral wind,
Nor, forward glorying, casts one look behind
Where night-rack shrouds the Old Love fugitive.

There is a change in every hour’s recall,
And the last cowslip in the fields we see
On the same day with the first corn-poppy.
Alas for hourly change! Alas for all
The loves that from his hand proud Youth lets fall,
Even as the beads of a told rosary!
M Harris Mar 2017
Photochromatic Sanity & Fluorescent Visions,
Metallic Vanity Initiating Phosphorescent Collisions,

Luminescent Effervescence In Her Iridescent Constants,
Convalescent Spells Of Her Tumescent Transplants,

Auroral Apertures & Acronycal Fractals,
Floral Kisses Of Her Quintessential Portals,

Velvet Transitions & Twilight Transmissions,
Reverberating Vocal Inhibitions Of Her Satellite Renditions,

Razor Rivers & Rogue Delights,
Shining Laser Echoes On Vogue Nights,

Molecular Suicides In Abysmal Desires,
Drowning In Atomic Oceans Of Her Ethereal Reprisals,

Static Pulses Of Her Prurient Delights,
Amorous Impulses With Hymens Of The Night,

Shaded Whispers & Livid Overtunes,
Serenaded Ceilings In Her Vivid Offtunes.

Condensed Rainbows Over Her Silk Citadels,
Slithering With Oblivious Love Of His Ghostline Vessels.

Extinct Hemispheres Of Her Tender Tracings,
Broadcasting Distinct Light-Years In Spiritual Casings.

- 03:50 AM -
The Tinkerer Aug 2015
The gray days pass
On and on, one after the other.
If you're looking for color.
You're in the wrong place
There is none here.
We're all just sitting here. Waiting.
We're just here,
The destitute, forsaken scoundrels.
We're here waiting.
Waiting for something *Auroral
I needed to try my hand on something new.
Needed express something.
Fi Jul 2016
grin penetrating my mind and your touch - your grab - sewn into my side
sinking as a summer without fin(n)s drowning in your baby blues,
boy
and fooling myself into early christmas hollyboughs? go-lightly on me, oh please!
A ****** bisou beneath mistletoe
with curled toes and auroral, idolising eyes
fantasising eyes
overall, decriminalising eyes
Annie excuse at (H)all to see you and
re
-vive (mes soins, votre sécurité)
-kindle (the ignition to my inspiration)
-pair (poles apart)
a pair in the most offensive of ways
my only vice is cleansing yours
but your sins or psyche?
am i wounded or warming?
my truly fatal frailty
Women Who Love Too Much
Book by Robin Norwood
Lora Lee May 2016
I am ready
for every single cell
to be lit up
like a torch
flaming up to
the constellations,
all past debris
to be scorched
I am ready
to spread fingers drifting
to the finer points
of the sky
to hold up
the firmament
of my own existance
without needing
to question why
I am ready
to dance on water
toes on surface
splashing
I am ready to
travel deeper, further
without fear
of my heart
crashing
I am ready
to take on
the the indigo fire
of truth
I am ready to feel
my full ripeness
inside me
blushing youth
The juice of the fruit
is just at the edge
ready to burst and to pour
in tiny dewy droplets
bespeaking the promise
of more
I am ready to turn on the switch
and let the light show begin
my auroral inner cosmos
erupting
       from within
A M N May 2012
Touch my cheek,
burn a hole in my heart and stop its beat. Let’s
wander the forest and pretend
that its paradise. You and I, only
one life: a hole in my heart,
a hole in my old self and you’ve burned away
crucial parts of me.
Where’s this girl whose incandescent fingertips held her
world one moment,
a pen the next. Recreating the world
in faux romantic colors, was my medulla.
Crisp pages dripping with lust and love can drive even
a cynical ***** to art and insanity.
“Medulla, I need you.
Muse, where are you?”

Tomorrow the forest leaves me lonely,
Thoreau all dressed up in nature, auroral colors kissing
my skin and eyes, cannot even console me. Searching for
my Muse, I’ll wait.

I need no medulla but my brain’s.
I touch the leaves, the trees, a cigarette.

And I will learn to find my own Muse.
Sungmoo Bae Aug 2020
Woe to the being
in its brilliance ever illuminating,
ever since it was brought out to this world

full of wonders
—you might’ve thought as such, at first—
to your initial senses
just born into the earth.
Stellar you are, and they regarded you such at first,

but considered as a constellation baffling,
soon after, thus celestial, irritating
    to their perception  
    —belonging to none
    of the earth; heathen you’ve been,

    and so that’s why, I see,
    you’re deemed a heretic.

Looking around,
you walk on the heaven’s arc
painted in all its auroral glory,

    wondering,
    ever yearning
    for the only answer they might give you someday:

    to which stars
    the people of the earth
    give their praises so pristine.
(C) Copyright: Saul Bae (Sungmoo Bae)
Mark Sep 2018
Could which of nature's art, out-glow her grace?
Of silver specks in night, I start with ease;
her pupils win as deeper they, than space,
should stars so blued auroral night, she'd seize!

As solar orange fuses morning sky
that but a glimpse of beauty I behold,
when dreams awake she enters then mine eye
the golden sunbursts were as tho' my mold.

If clouding vapour then above appease
and raindrops drip her hair as red as wine
her pageant dousing, even humbles trees!
For Winter's peers outdone by her own shine.

Partake above and let all plush combine!
And still would splendor short - to lady mine.
Jamie L Cantore Nov 2014
Yea, ye shalt ne'er be discarded

such as is aged linen lace,

rather ye shalt e'er be safeguarded

insofar as is my place.

Thou shalt see auroral fire

and eavesdrop on the surf,

and embody thy soul

with another soul

so as to blaze

with

e'en brighter

worth.
Luciré para Tilia, en la tragedia
mis estrofas en ópimos racimos;
sangrará cada fruta melodiosa,
como un sol funeral, lúgubres vinos,
Tilia tendrá la cruz
que en la hora final será de luz!
Prenderé para Tilia, en la tragedia,
la gota de fragor que hay en mis labios;
y el labio al encresparse para el beso,
se partirá en cien pétalos sagrados.
Tilia tendrá el puñal,
el puñal floricida y auroral!
Ya en la sombra, heroína, intacta y mártir,
tendrás bajo tus plantas a la Vida;
mientras veles, rezando mis estrofas,
mi testa, como una hostia en sangre tinta!
Y en un lirio, voraz,
mi sangre, como un virus, beberás!
Blissful Nobody Jan 2016
Fear shakes me as I look at this creature,
Staring at me through the darkness,
A grey smoke blurs my sight,
I mumble prayers like a preacher.

I shut my eyes, as does a pigeon,
It scrapes its claws, on the bare ground.
I peek through the slits of my eyelids,
Still there - now theres a legion!

I turn my back and run,
I can hear them chasing me,
Rustling through the dead of silence,
I stop, only to come undone!

Am I dead? I see a light.
I turn, I face them now.
The light lingers and I hold on,
Closer I walk, with all my might.

I see them. They see me.
My failures, my rage, my darkness.
The distance, the pessimism, the void.
Fears in their multitude existence.

Closer , closer, closer I get,
I fear the fears no more,
For they exist, as does the light,
Shining like an auroral net.

Catch them, bind them,
Then I set it free.
Now I bind me, within me.
And fill my heart with divine glee.

I see a monster now and then,
I see it for what it is,
I know it can be tamed to my will,
For there exists a light within.

My light shines brighter,
as the darkness grows.
The two exist coherently -
For what is, is!
Clearing the mess in your head to see the light. Facing your fears and knowing that they exist!
Why can't we
dream forever?
no one will
hold back
our light,
our hearts
will glow
a love
greater
than tears,
forget who
you were
yesterday,
or what
Is beyond,
let us live
In each
other's
eyes for
now,
what the
world
shapes
of you
Is unreal,
only I
know
of the
reverie
bright
In your
eyes
when
your
heart
speaks
of what
the lips
cannot
create,
for some
moments
In life there
are no words,
only beauty,
where you
will find
truth,
In the
clarity of
this auroral
hour,
I see how
the existence
of you is
my gift,
In wander
within the
city, we find a
quiet place
to call
our own,
a small,
hidden
coffee
shop,
we are
deep in
conversation,
gently
opening
ourselves
when
we had
hidden
within
our souls
before,
to guard
them
from hurt,
we leave
the cafe
to venture
beyond,
finding
a place
where the
clouds are
hovering
over the
the city,
where the
heavens
mirror upon
your skin,
meeting
mine as you
hold me
closer,
we are
alone within
each other's worlds,
once disintegrated,
we are one again,
a supercluster
of a multitude  
In galaxies, coming
together as
tides crashing
endlessly,
within each
wave,
I am with
you,
and my
heart
soars,
tearful
and
dreamy,
as the
ending of a
symphony,
the ephemeral
moment of
wonder,
only when,  
our hands
touch,  
the painting
of the scene
becomes
eternal,
time ceases
to exist
as the
film softly
plays,
I write
notes of
your words
engraved
In this heart
of mine,  
the gentle
vulnerability
only you see,
as we lie
here together,
under the
dream of
your arms
I want to
sleep
under,
only you
and I,
wishbound
In the night,
where I will
remember
a warm cup
of coffee,
a smile
from you,
a gentle
dance of
stars,
these small
moments
I will treasure,
for they will
not fade
In the
slow,
beautiful
dance of
life,
where
we are
shining as
moonflowers,
forevermore
Travis Green Jun 2021
I wandered
Through the forest
Of his auroral dreams
Streaming in his
Unending imagination
Moonlit kissed nights
Where the wishes
Of the vast wind
Fulfilled my being
I was eternally whole
In his flow of bliss
His scrumptious lips
Luring me into uncharted territories
I relished his stimulating fragrance
How his manliness
Moved through my soul
Gave me ample power
Gave me everything
I could desire
Lorelei Adams Nov 2011
Who is running through your mind right now/ While we look at each other on the reflection-concrete/ The sky, blinking for us/ Illustrating our broken thoughts
Who is lingering in your eyes/ when you stare in your face/on the ground/looking for a fragment of information leading to yourself/ a way to tell me/ a way to save me
//
//
//
//
My toes are wrinkled/ My socks ooze you/ Layer by layer, I strip my skin off/ And examine my naked body in the foggy windowpane
I have an un-popped-pimple/ And you are there again/ Locked into the creases of my eyes/ Sewn by an auroral dream
The light sends silver up my leg/ And near my belly-button/ Circling my chest/ Lighting up the hairs that stand up in attention/ Did you succeed?
I am so far from you now/ A whole year far/ So much has changed/but/ The weather is foggy and gray/ the ground still reflects the same boy I knew so long ago.
Bee Jun 2018
isn't it funny
how i write more poetry when i’m around you?

i never understood
why poets held such eminence in words
until my heart was awakened by the breath of your presence

words, inherently, don’t carry much meaning
mere symbols inked onto a page
their fables derived from ingrained aphorisms

but the heart doesn’t follow these rules
she sees color differently
vivid and auroral

and she does not simply view words with guileless eyes
she lives them


x.
you helped me understand the eminence of words
Samantha Sep 2018
Forbidden fruit
Let me dine from your tree
Nourish my soul
With the words you speak
Walk with me
Help me explore beyond the concealed gate
Where the path is magical!
The roads are paved with the dreams of everyday
The birds are chirping in the auroral celestial sphere
I can feel the genial breeze kiss my tendered skin.

Come, let's discover the nameless ocean
The depth of limitless possibilities
The waters are black and impenetrable
But my vision has never been so pellucid
Open your heart to this unknown
Release that burden into the great void
Breathe in this air but don't close your eyes
Just let go
Let your body flow with these lenient waters
Leave it all behind that gate we closed.


sa
30.8.18
Mark Dec 2018
The cyclic seasons give a cause in soul
to view the mortal realm in seasons gone
for winter was our start and is our end
yet ice will always melt with Spring to dawn.

So sweet the Lillie's scent when sun rays win
buds fissure out and eyes of Spring to see
that if undone, the birds of love would sin
as oaks with none a leaf, could call a tree.

Auroral orb sustains and mirrors youth
so raised with graceful red and set to dark
that autumn wings atone and age with truth
so brought by winds to ice and left their mark.

We are mere tourists; in a season's change
so forge and live this well, for none exchange.
Lora Lee Nov 2015
And so,
we're going to
take the world by storm
set fire in the realm
Each one of us
in his own corner
Yes!
We shall
leave a trail
of white hot flame
burning up
smoldering
right in the face of pain
Here comes the blast!
Of a kind of stardust
tiny particles
celebrating victory
They burst forth
through the
interstellar air
radiant, incandescent
sometimes quite
contradictory

Enough hiding
within a tiny room
without a view, I say
Open up the portholes
Let in the cold night air
It wakes up my senses
as I send up
and out
a brand new round
of auroral flares

The space traveler
is done
with the dark side
of the moon
Just watch
as she unfurls
and cosmic flowers
start to bloom
Basically
I want to I encourage you,
my friend
As I know you encourage me
That's it,
We're at the new stage
And I'm so thankful to be free!
Like the first lily that pushes out of the ground
You raised your arms and rose to heaven
Revived and restored like a turtle dove in flight    
You opened your heart and He raised you up,  
on this "Blessed Easter Morning"
As the larks deliver their song in flight
we celebrate you,   "Lord, Savior, King"
This heavenly reward is our countenance of light  
bestowed on us today brighter than sunlight;
You, first tulip of Spring rejoice in our hearts  
as we awaken to a new world full of promise
You auroral dawning (alibi) rose of Sharon  
bring us tidings of love and renewal
Amor, ya no vuelves a mis ojos muertos;
y cuál mi idealista corazón te llora.
Mis cálices todos aguardan abiertos
tus hostias de otoño y vinos de aurora.
Amor, cruz divina, riega mis desiertos
con tu sangre de astros que sueña y que llora.
Amor, ya no vuelves a mis ojos muertos
que temen y ansían tu llanto de auroral
Amor, no te quíero cuando estás distante
rifado en afeites de alegre bacante,
o en frágil y chata facción de mujer.
Amor, ven sin carne, de un Icor que asombre;
y que yo, a manera de Dios, sea el hombre
que ama y engendra sin sensual placer!
Heyaless May 2020
Auroral side of the moon could not last without the half wrapped in shadow. 
It intimate you to have endurance of all the heart aches .
Seize the lights in your soul ,
Sail to stay alive beyond simple existence
You must be more stubborn than the weaves . I am a glad I'm lost at sea!
Glory to the wind who guides me
For I can not see
Yet have shown me the sailor I am to be!
You are alone in this world , you have to survive no matter how much pain you feel , you have to stay alive and survive the best version of yourself
Is it that light?
fantastic auroral – which I
believed in one fleeting moment
-within a second or
half an hour.
You were my signal
of other things which
my heart desired.
You were the author
of great aspirations.
You guided my melancholy love,
as you dashed along the paths.
The heaths were strewn
with colourful blossoms
of life – they were
the greatest thing I had known
- as I didn’t touch
a single one because of you.
You are the most supreme
of all there is –
everything else is great
because of you.
27/10/2018
Rueda la media luna, feliz, sobre el Congreso,
todo su blanco mármol aparece espectral,
y yo estoy sonrosado y tibio por tu beso.
Nocturno, resplandezco, por su influjo, auroral.

Es noche veraniega en la mitad de mayo,
la humedad en la piedra su arroyuelo deslíe.
No existe la mentira, ni la vejez, ni el rayo...
Entreabre tu ventana. Un poco más. Sonríe.
Mark Dec 2018
Dearest mother
if time entwined and did reverse
I would visit you and no other
for golden landmarks I' traverse
to behold you again with my brother.

Take me in time and stall
to son again in your embrace,
of plumage wings - my Great Wall
and that seraph auroral grace;
a thousand daisies in the fall.

Simper again your lullaby tune
when restless fought a pillow
and silvery specks of moon
caromed each - off a willow
cavorting clefs of boon.

My love is more than the birds
when upward gazing them by
sensing your essence that girds
in each dove whimpered sigh
amorously warbling your words.

In this poem - I write true
the psalms of your inner way;
'as sure that your eyes are blue,
my child reared by the bay,
even in death - I love for you'.
Mark Dec 2018
I chase numerical dreams for vocation
ever grasping for untouchable horizons,
counting sand granules
piling leaves in size order
according to shades of ochre.

Then release
to hobby with words
build castles of sentimentality,
sparkle yonder meadows with dew
wetted by inner calligraphy.

Poetry to feather my dust -
echo pain-stained syllables
resounding morosely bound verses,
liberating caved bats
flapping to rhythms
pen strokes.

Launching boulders
onto unvarnished whiteness
once rolling to and fro
on my emotive wolds,
grasslands may grow again.

Pasting tokens of lost love
shrouding texts with torment
stamping lingering wraiths,
least they not prance
for a-while.

Worlds drip-dry here
under auroral poetry
a chance to breathe;
fresh crisp air -
of expressiveness,
I arrived - stayed.

— The End —