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Amelie May 2012
She's walking barefoot on the beach
Leaving behind her footsteps in the sand
Her skin's the colour of a peach
A red flower in her hand.

The sun is goldening her hair,
Her eyes remind me of the sea
Her sweet perfume floats in the air
Eveybody's staring.

Her floral dress softly beats on her leg
The jealous wind tried to undress her,
Singing "Love me oh, love me I beg"
The sun hides behind a whisper.
Nigel Morgan Feb 2013
Love’s Lexicon
 
I must make a new vocabulary.
My dear, the words I’ve used in those
Over and over descriptions, signifying all you are,
Are well and past their sell-by-date, should
End their shelf-life here and now. No longer can I
Form their letters truly without knowing well
I test love’s patience . . . and your own.
 
So in desperation’s way
I adopt a different lexicon
Offer you, my love,
a fresh taxonomy.
 
concave the slapp
pressure inbuilt
evenly glassed
held held holdingnow
but ambulatory
moons at full stretch
figuration tempering
notonce twicemore
pressure wieghedupon
beyond breath’s exhale
membraneous goldening
frecklation the hands’ fastness
eyerich sightedkeen here
gone awaygone away
bodystretched senticle
smoooth

  
A Proper Poem
 
Poised to conjure music
from the nothing air, and
with only some frivolous
verse to guide me,
I rest momentarily
to watch the screen of my mind
show your dear self to me:
the sweet flow of your body
uncovered in the shower;
that dance of choosing clothes
and dressing. I have sometimes
watched and wondered,
wondered that you could be
quite as you are.
So precious in my sight,
so very precious.

Water’s Kiss**
 
I shall only write you
very short poems of love
so you can taste them
in one gulp as you might
from a Highland stream
unpolluted, soft,
peat -filtered, cold,
and bubbled with air
from falling across stones
into your cupped hand.
My love, bring now
this water’s kiss
to your waiting lips.
I am more broken than I seem to be. Because there is nothing to this goldening mask just lines of glass cutting through the ice of this soul. And it sits on my face to hide the pain. No eyes, not even my can bare to see. The mess that was once so clean. Angels Will never help my forgoten glow, it was lost in the sea cold. Now to I, death will never be old. Shall I be more broken than I seem.
By me
Ursula Wolf Apr 2020
Humid breeze fell
Hard upon
Us

From there I heard
How descended
She.

Sonorous footprints
rushing towards
Me

From there I knew,
That for her came
They,

Mass-hurtled inquirers.
Before long said
I:

'Cannot be taken
Her!'

Over crown-blasted blaze
rushed
I

To the moist
street;

Taking
The eyes of
Mine,

Flickered
The world against
Me.

Reached they for
In my arms laying
Wings.

Thereupon I felt,
the groundbreaking
Hiss,

Which,
From envying
Eyes,

Hurled out
Itself in
Disguise.

From there I knew
That hasten must
I

Behind circumference,
Under immensity,
Before evocation.

And then revealed
She

The wings for the
Stars.

Flashing eyes reborned
Life,
Plumes hurtled the
Ground,
Skin-flares illumed the
Sky,
Goldening-hair had
Confound.

And then ran
I
Just against
Me!
Onoma Jan 16
iridescent pen shells,

wash up--three strands

shy of goldening sand.

— The End —