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song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life
oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all of our fathers
really little children
move swiftly
into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head
in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
morning's hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber
plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heaven's belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
embrace strands of ice
with a lover or two
on the side
Fah Aug 2015
Forensics couldn't figure out what happened to our bodies because they never looked closely enough into their own eyes.

When we walked out across those wild flower grass plains,
moving
our bare feet meandering , twirling, toes earthy, past the goddess river, bowing our eyes and laying sweet blessings of hopeful poetry at her edges with the mountains ahead of us going on and on and on.

Our heartbeats sinking into the smell of summers afternoons.
We
two beings
stand and watch as the water shows us the way across
her gentle back cool and singing.

We keep on laughing to the forests edge and settle by the Elder Trees to pray for the way ahead and the way already gone, we pray to the sentinel trees for their gracious beauty and we leave a small offering of a song.  

We
two beings

I'm all over Hummingbird
She's all over Dragonfly

Listen to the forest for the sign we can move on,

We
two beings

listen with our eyes and our hearts, ears and noses.
We wait, long moments sensing,
attuning ourselves to the rich forest song.
Later, we see the flash of Owl sister and know it is time to move along

in silence, we listen as we walk and let the sounds we hear guide us.

She's all over Wolf Teacher
I'm all over Lynx Secret Keeper

We're both keeping time alive with our actions.

Way in deep, where the floor is soft decomposition-in-motion and the sky is hardly seen, little tickling breezes stir us, we walk along in silence, side by side, always listening

until our feet meet the edge of a clearing and we whisper our offering:
the story of who we are, why we are here, how beautiful this place is and how it came to be that,

I'm all over Calendula
She's all over Nettle.

Here the sun lays upon us once more and we sit , facing each other

We breathe ourselves into mediation.
We breathe ourselves into silence.
We look at each other
past our skins and through to the light emanating from our DNA

and we start to hum.

We hum our spirit song and begin to unravel so slowly the ways of this world,

we begin to unravel so gently the bags we carry under our eyes
over our knees

we begin to unravel so softly the song of our hearts.

Flowing through us a motion so suspending we seem to no longer be singing, but the sounds somehow pour out of us
our bodies start to sway, no judgment, our bodies start to relax, no suffering

perhaps her toe taps and my ear wiggles
perhaps it's her nose jiggling
perhaps it's my elbow nodding.

We two beings
pray to each other sweet words of beauty
sweet words of honesty

we let those bodies dance
up on our feet
twirling and leaping around the green grass, wildflower clearing
until we feel a twang of connection,

like curious little deer we follow that cord in our chests , pulling us towards each other.

She's on the other side of the clearing and as we make small steps , I feel the boundaries of her person. Her energetic walls , I feel her enter into mine. And we stop, acknowledge the space we are entering and ask for permission to move on. We move on

layer by layer, always stopping to acknowledge, stopping to ask permission until we stand 4 inches between us, breathing.

By now we are no longer thinking, we only sense.
She moves her hand close to my wrist,  I meet her the rest of the way.

All collapses in on itself and opens back up again at our meeting.
She rides her hand up my arm to hold my face so gently.

I bring my other hand to her wrist and she meets me half way. I ride my hand up her arm to hold her face so gently.

I bring my hand to her waist and she leans in softly, she leans in softly.

She brings her hand to my waist and I lean in softly, I lean in slowly.

We move like this, unwrapping each other of clothes, breathing ourselves in meditation, going as slowly, gently as we possibly can.

When we are in our natural way, we wait a moment to take in the beauty, we **** our heads and as our words no longer matter we both know we hear a sounding stream.

We beings
perplexed and amused, find ourselves next to a small rocky stream, somewhere else in the forest. Dappled light finds it's way onto us , the trees and the water. Everything is orange and brown, mossy green with occasional pinks and purples.

She smiles and I smile , we make a motion of gratitude to our Great Water Mother and ask to wash.
When a small fish appears and jumps glistening
we move to scoop up running water in hands, pouring it over each others crowns. Again and again we scoop and we pour, we wash our walking sweat and clear ourselves.

Soon, the stream starts to fade and we are now on flat topped knoll, looking out over shallow banks of a wide flowing river.

The knoll is about the size of a large bed , wintergreen rustles beneath our feet.

We sit together and she brings her face close to mine, I bring my face close to hers and we look into each others eyes until we see.

I bring my lips close to her cheek, she brings her cheek close to my lips. And so we find ourselves tasting each other.
Slowly,
gently,
softly her lips come to my ears and her tongue moves on my lobe. My mouth to her nape and my breath is coming slow. We take as much time as we possibly can.

The Sun has not moved from the afternoon position. We are no longer in a place where time is quite the same.

Soon, I lay on the ground and she comes down beside me. Our dancing hands and tongues never in a rush, at a pace like the tide with movements, repetitive definitive and measured. Washing over our earthen valleys and hills, dipping low to our canyons, serenading our ravines. But never quite touching those extra sacred pleasure places.
She lays on her back and I sit beside her.

I kiss her chest and give thanks to her skin, her blood to milk trees and the crystal caves that lay within. I kiss her belly button and thank her mother for carrying her all this way. Her father for holding her. I move down to her womb and she makes a space for me between her legs, I lay there with my head on her belly listening.

I hear the beating blood and gurgling belly, breath staying slow, I hold her hips. and kiss her womb from the outside. I kiss her womb from the outside. I find I am at the edge of a small curly forest, I pray gently with a song at the borderline and kiss her there too. She tenses just a little and a pause, look to her eyes and see she does not want me further.

I slip out from her legs and lay down by her side.
The wide river is moving and the wintergreen is serenading us with her smell as our bodies movements bruise the small leaves. The sun has moved a little further across the sky, shadows are pulling longer now.

She puts her head to my chest and listens to the heart just below skin , bone and muscle.
She hears my breath and is riding up and down with my diaphragm movements. She slows me down until we are both inside the space between heartbeats. Encompassed in those melodies. We breathe again and see each others eyes. She kisses my heart from the outside and caresses my chest. I open my legs offering her space between them. She moves, lingering, one hand first on my face then on my heart, then on my solar plexus. Then her body is softly laying on mine, her head on my stomach. Listening. She laughs a little because the spaces inside of her don't exist inside of me, she says my secret caves are up in my heart, she heard them. She smiles and sighs a little, resting at the edges of my forest.
We beings
lay here, like this for a long time. Until the Sun is way low.
But we don't move. We just keep right on laying. Our eyes closing.

The wintergreen gives way to a bed of Jasmine vines way up in a tree. When we awake we look at each other and recognize our spirits.
She climbs onto the limb of a tree and sees  way across the forest, to more forest and more forest, to mountains and more mountains.
She begins to transform, her body rippling, scales made of light, emerging from her back, her eyes glistening, her dreams swirling around her, fruits ripe for the picking, some still maturing , her legs start to dance as they form one long tail, four legs with claws follow not long after. She is glowing a vibrant green touched with sparks of grey. A Naga flies out from the trees and is off. Into the night to do what she does.

I lay on the Jasmine, inhale sweet sweet scents and dream my own dreams where I'm an Owl , all my feathers pale pink and deep navy blue. I leap up through the canopy and sweep down into the forest to do what I do.  

Our spirits meet sometime before the Great Grandpa Sun is born again, to greet him with a song, to keep on exploring these earth bodies, to keep on singing to the forests, to keep on smelling and eating and drinking and washing, finding others to play with, to keep on thanking and laughing and moving time along with our movements.

The forensics sent into the forest to look for us didn't find diddlysquat because they hadn't looked deep enough into their own eyes.
releasing this now, letting it become some ingredient someplace else, whatever I was holding out or on to,.
It's been a while since I wrote a story.
Neither beings in this poem are anyone in particular, but it is powered by these past months And doors closing.
Arcassin B Apr 2019
By Arcassin Burnham


Done burned spit ends deep in my mind ,
I did it all for you,
I can't believe any word you say even if its true,
Can't sacrifice for love , what ever is above
will forgive me,
Just know if it goes down, every ex that ever hated are memories,
It might be you..

I can't love you , I can't love you, its like
being tortured way down in hell,
And oh my ******* gawd! Your lies will
throw me in jail,
I bring peace and love in this hated world , I hope
You could see,
Just know if it goes down, every ex that ever hated are memories,
It might be you,

You hate me , I can't love no more,
When we started you said you were for sure,
Go tell lies to your friends some more,
Can't love no more, can't love no more,
When we started you said you were for sure,
Go tell lies to your friends some more.



Sip sip,
The trees don't look as good as they used to,
They used to,
The sparkling bliss that is your eyes , when they arrive ,
Its like a dream just pulling me in,
breathing life into my lungs like no other herb,
I will leave my feelings at the door with one word,
And thats clear, and then if this clear enough,
Make your bed and lay in it when you see that could give two *****,
Good riddens,
Relaxation got me feeling high like off the ground to other realms,
I feel like , my body is being detoxed as well speak like,
So wavy I feel like going to sleep like,
It had me right.
©abpoetry2019

https://arcassin.blogspot.com/p/indie-part-e.html
MRQUIPTY Apr 2016
trashed hormones and so I go
deeper red . no skin.

just me spaced on your lips.
parted slightly. pink tip
catching against hard mouth

too far to hear.
to near to deny.

look.

i'm feeling marigold.
zesty , Sun like
and

hoping you eat flowers
zelda rangel Jul 2019
the worms start to crawl on my belly. my innocent desire is only to express my moonlit thoughts without being scrutinized by desperate mouths, eating cockroaches instead of vomiting snake skins. p r e t t y little thing, they say. no one sees the facade. but to me, the prettiest thing comes from the abandoned houses, yelling in shame, intimidated by the oppressors.

but do oppressors really matter? i think not.


(ACT I. THE DEATH AT THE SINNER PARTY)

do witches fall in love at witching hour?

song: human - christina perri
Saint John the Apostle says: “Hellenika and Tsambika, they will be the lily, the saffron, the rose and the violet, but also new, like the calendula and the chamomile, making of all a crown headband, to ad put the world of the Duoverse in everything its radius, for the star that illuminates par excellence as a white planet without thorns, which is the perfect one among the perfect ones, anti herbicide of language and incarnation, as in the Empyrean medieval zeal and in the highest of heavens. It is also the site of the physical presence of God, where the angels and the souls welcomed in Paradise reside, between Thistles and Roses towards the nourishing plane of the conventual voice and the tonic of the Milky Way; galactogens, ******* third grade milk to curdle in children who have not been a Messiah yet. Paths of thorns will guide the visitors of this gallery of flowers and plants, through the Panagia Monacal, for the holy homily with the Lilies and their lower valleys, where no more Lilies can evade their chains of the Liliorum genome and in their valleys of galactogenic virtue. As Mother Rosa and son Lirio, being the mother of all and of that one, behold ... your son, "I myself in the path of the three Marias. Over there in the desolate andurrial, an aquiline carries me imprisoned on my heels, as a bond of a son who makes my footsteps, the columbine sole of my saving feet.

At 320 meters of altitude, the Still Life appeared, concealed behind the Vas Auric, here everyone approached the auric circle of Morality that made them authors of the proximity of the Universe falling on Greece and Herbalism that fell with all its historical structure in the forest where many more species such as Caltrop, Laurel, Olive, Linen, Granada appeared, in a simple and flat devotional with nuances with pro delegating status; the same Hexagonal Birthright, to make the cinnabar fistulas, which was elemented by the different colors associated with the Grail tutorials, which were seen indigos on top of some Rhododendrons. If it is eschatological, it is in mystical nets of the Empyrean, further away in a form that is said to be called a form of gonism, between Cardinals and their dead Lilies. As the first among the last, the bulbous and clayey Tulip orb and basilica symbolism, peacemaker and philosophical Eritrean, for spiritual searches, which eager effusions of the Empyrean, reached the Messiah on his Pollino on the way to Bethany.

Around the Monastery, they could all be seen arriving to the beat of the cymbals and aulos, among the lyres that prowled, tickling the inquiry to rest their fingers, or perhaps by some augur Trojan villain in those of "Daedalus".  The latter being, here a tulip, with flames of a true seeker trying to sacrifice subsistence daring over the risk of the flame of saving death.

Daedalus says: “After the incident with Perdix, I Daedalus was expelled from Athens. I then went to Crete, and in the kingdom of Minos I was placed in the service of the monarch. One of his tasks was the creation of Talos, an animated bronze giant who defended the island from invasions. By order of Minos, I built the labyrinth to enclose the monster. The labyrinth was a building with countless corridors and winding streets opening one to another, which seemed to have no beginning or end. Minos locked me up with my son Icarus, whose mother was Naucrate, a slave from Minos, in the same building. The reason for the confinement was the collaboration of Daedalus in the escape of Theseus from the labyrinth. I have to lament for the rapture of Perdix, now turned into Partridge, who now carries in his clutches the creation of the Universe-Duoverse, turned into his own, and me in envy, harassing me with the endings of my endings and not initiating nor ending. That is why I appear here coming from Crete, to wrap myself around the garden and its mystery, closing all the madrigals and trees, like a world that has created me. In its splendor, seeing the humility, fragrant of violets grafted into lavenders, with my soul now, of a somewhat  syncretism Hebrew-Hellenic and Mythological-sub Mythological, like a nobleman who walks free and without chains ..., passing through the Parthenon to put garlands, in dresses that are adorned with linen, but of evangelical lineage here in Kímolo. From here in the humility of heaven I will go with Kanti and Etrestles to unite on the prominent hills of the Hexagonal Birthright.
Daedalus
vladimir tres May 2013
Phlox Linum,
            Phlox Linum,
            
           som satin south alyssum,
           vivace kiss
          
           weave violin wind ******,
           caress calendula
          
           bloom bow bagatelle
           bloom allegro
           linen Primrose!
        
            Phlox Linum,
            Phlox Linum,
topaz oreilly Mar 2013
August is never  lost to Summer,
she shares in her sphere of circularity
Calendula's a by-word  for prolonging,
dead-heading vies with the flush.
Lunaria's prized seed pods' legacy's boon.
In redolent contemplation.
Autumn bulbs eagerly  secured.
Amongst them Colichicums a wondrous  shrub
for late September's  appearance.

Like a Stallion,  August's canter masquerades
the truest of challenges ,
for the final  hurdle.
By means of subtle suggestiveness
Russet subsumes the Red.
Blue musters a tired
muddying  Purple.
Yellow bleaches
as though touched
by the exertion of congruity
Miss Honey Apr 2016
I only like nasturtiums
only bachelor’s buttons
calendula

I think you only like me this way
only soft and silent
when apparently you love her any way

I am soft and loud
I am the rose, the thorn, and the petal
The rapids
and Her love
the poor man's saffron        
as livestock feed and food dye
calendula plants
surface attractions are magnetic insurrections
******/ecstatic fornication is aqueous neurotic
loquats departing markets feverishly
his emergence is magic
her carpets were made to be rolled upon
in naked ecstasy
hungry like diners at a restaurant
humid and loose like comets
seeking markets to sell goods and services to
humid like germany in the heat of summer
drums breaking the silence like it was a sheet of paper
staples faking their commitments
bound to paper like razor blades to tape
jump up and scream your health is a miracle
sting like a needle the record player skips a beat
i am shown musical images yet perhaps we are meant to sleep
his dream is real and thirty feelers adorn her skin
her hungry hands caress his legs
forever peeling away the cucumber’s skin
respect is resolving to love despite the fire that shoots up your spine
go and wash the mind in a pool of liquid nectar
amrit is her sweater the sweaty and the sweet serum
salty houses of gingerbread demand repair

fair thee well 2016
your edges are rusted, frustrated and melancholy
i seek the middle where white lilies lie
waiting for someone to hold them
speak “know” more and refrain from talking
her arms hold the world in waking defiance
science is borrowed from metaphysics
statistics weaken the faith of our future
shoot the researchers and drown them in tubes of acid
like they torture cats and vivisect their own families
stab them and then steep them in water but add no honey

song shadows
soul and mirrors
will we ever see clearer
sweet life oh the fragrance
the righteous mind
un-sees the danger
so many soldiers
so many women
are all our fathers really children
move swiftly into the windy recesses
the mind regresses
all the time
damp and wet
the owl cries
so long tomorrow
farewell goodbye
dunk your head in liquid splendor
i am tender as the snow
pouring down from heaven’s fiefdom
mornings hunger is dissipated
by moonlight kisses and salty lovers
salves of calendula upon our skin
swim in juicy wonder
listen and dance with thunder
the fireflies swim through burning skies
making arcs and triumphant cries
what a silly blunder
all the noise and all the cover
hiding your heart in violet garments
streams of satin in your slumber
stroke the liberated arrow
weave the gardenia’s shadow
streams of consciousness and beauty
looking into eyes of human strategy
human shadows
start to suffocate us
instruct the timber plundered
strumming humid arias
looms of butter start to melt
svelte and spelt
slews of wealth
heavens belt is loosely tied
striated like the mind
grinding hind legs
selves neglect entry fees
sleeves of grass
strands of ice
jump in the lake for a quick refreshment
stand back you are lucky to undertake the treatment
come here and steer clear of fear’s inner critic
sinister sisters jump at guys
in gyms baring turbans in tournaments of blindness
sentenced to life behind stars
score cards grieve their own boxes
scratch the lottery cards
show them your hearts
small and beautiful
throughout the luminescent sky
i sulk waiting for the humpback whales to fly
street lights brighter than souls
do what you can and lift up the whole
returning to our goals and values
salutations bless the next expectation
the desperation of the departed
his investigation
feet fade into feathers
streets are named after leather
longing for loops of string
rings dream in desert timing
first rhymes decency gone blind
so we must find our light inside
held in bed against its will
vintage bells dressed in music
goose feathers use it for pillows
the west winds find his lips
respect turns to trust and kisses your bones
in bird language i speak tones of glowing stones
roses freeze the afterglow of darkness
dressed in moans and loaning their hands to anyone that passes
the dancers resume amusing stances
chances are France is falling faster than a comet
soaring like moorings in Spain
hours invested in self selection
hesitation to understand beauty
like mushroom filaments stints of style in tiny islands
steeped in courage still considering this weapon
resend the message festering in a fast vesicle
i feasibly neglect my spectacles
guess who came to dinner and wished you a happy new year
we live in order for our features to disappear
in Diaspora spores of ecstasy, mutiny and insurrection
rebel against tyranny and become the tyrant’s offering
sacrifice is ritual both real and useful
humid as the dawn in swampy storms of vision
precision is clueless less the virtuous resolve it
resourceful yes but nonetheless tired of twirling in groovy dramas
sand storms and bottomless pits
groping for history, mystery and freedom

you are a dumpling dressed in the afterglow of sunlight
with melancholy nectar dripping from your elbows
fray narte Jul 2020
i wanna dive head first
into a map of the night skies
trapped inside our four-walled room;
maybe this is where black holes go to die
and they can all stare back at me —
swallowing a chaos of sobs
and a chaos of all your favorite songs;
regardless, i’ll dive into the night skies,
or what it used to be
and name these stars – the ones that remain anyway,
after you.
after me.
after us;
at least they take a long time to die –
long enough for flowers to droop and fall apart
on weeds and lonely epitaphs.

and dear, i hope heaven is holding you closer than i could ever had;
tell me, did you, like sylvia
write suicide notes and call them poetry?

and god do i hope that heaven is holding you so close,
you forget all of the world’s sadness
you once took for your own.

out here, the calendula falls and
my eyes mourn over petal-covered graves
poems cannot hope to beautify.
and i still wish this is something i can wake up from
six pm Apr 2021




for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.



for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.



we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.



space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.



Charles, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.



how i adore you so.



proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

****** his woefully mortal heart.



roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.



you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.



i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.



there is no going back.



on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.



dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.



we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.



the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul. -six pm
A poem about reuniting with my husband.
alaric7 Jan 2018
Yellow wears slippery shoes, an unhappy god.  

Will Watson be eaten by the painted

shark?  Expose juniper’s indifferent root.

Loft enigma.  Foofaraw say of Plautus’

devising, glad plumy benefice scattered

without combustion glowers, marigold all along.

February ignition, mucilaginous haecceity’s feldspar,

Longinus’ styptic calendula ha ha

ha frequently obtrudes following moody feints.

Though mountain disagree, hushed

siempre blunts impediment.  Obvious martyred

snowdrift kitsch stipples precious

lumpen.  Grinning centurion reached

what rebus released, old ******’s witty toenails.

We have arrived slain twee nightingale.
six pm Dec 2020


for fifty days i fasted,

knowing no-thing,

save the retching of my own flesh,

save the pit of my own stomach.


for your arrival safely we sold

our cattle, fashioned a festival

our first kiss –a first sip of wine

on the day break of Pentecost,

at last my fast was over.


we fashioned circles of precious metals

and strung them around each other’s

vena amori, declared forever in a vacuum

proclaimed endurance upon the coming

event horizon of time itself.


space swells with the ancient ruins

of men and women who shed tears

tracing the constellation trails

from one end of an ocean to another

filling the void of voiceless oceans

with metaphoric rapture and appetite

for adventure.


*darling, the smell of desert sand swims

firmly between your pores,

your body warm as the land

cut like mountains

between your biceps

where my head lays

basking in the moments

you are here.


how i adore you so!


proclaim eternity

enter matrimony – eyes wide open

place his heart upon a pedestal

let no slanderous word nor malicious canticle

****** his woefully mortal heart.


roots and petals of calendula

poultice to quell the spasms

you take me in my blood

and i take you in my arms

when the nightmares hurt

worse than the back pain.


you remind me that even in the winter

the carmine-colored cardinal coos

and whistles, awakens the trees and fills

the cold world with sweet song.


i’m unraveled in your high collar,

blue and burned in a freak fire,

raptured by the desert

nothing is forever, we know,

yet everything is possible.


there is no going back.


on this river of time

except maybe we’ll escape

the event horizon burn

as radiation about

the black hole’s radio halo.


dying light is a subjective notion

when you limit every poetic persuasion

to the limits of the human eye.


we weave honey, orange citrus, & marmalade

into spacetime tapestry,

devote each second

as the present is our own reward

the art of being in love,

the pleasure of being alive.


the future is a metaphor –

as in calling the ocean endless

naming riptides undertow

we: new and other molecules

blur into water, two bodies

one brackish soul. -six pm
My first share on Hello Poetry. It's a poem I wrote inspired by my husband.
Commuter Poet May 2020
Two tiny caterpillars
A meeting of ants
Wood pigeons roosting
Bees buzzing by

Soft green grass
Cool dry earth
Blue sky floating clouds
Calendula plants sway

Roses of pink
Peek through broken fence slats
Rusting barbecue of black
Beside a flat tyre bicycle

Lush green leaves bounce
Silk strands float
Breezes of spring dance invisibly
As I sit in my garden
9th May 2020

— The End —