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Robin Lemmen Jul 2018
There is art
In your heart
Painting pictures
When I lay
My head down on your chest

There are songs in your eyes
Singing lullabies
When you hover
Pin me down
With your stare

There is a poem
On the tip
Of your tongue
I taste it
When I kiss you

You are tortured
Stereotyped
My jaded lover
I hear it
When you won't talk
Jesse stillwater Sep 2018
The belated summer sky is alive
with a  D r a g o n f l y ballet

Beneath,.. the rain parched sod
lay sullied, cracked open
by an unsated thirstiness
awaiting the painted autumn days
and the cleansing rain's renewal

A lace-winged hatch rises skyward
— meandering  airborne —
drifting upwards like a burst of dust
dissipating in an invisible cloud
of eventide's silent breath

Darting shadows hover
above a seeker's curiosity
    just this side the  
softening sunset backdrop

A synthesis of fluid motion
  – darting kinesis –
    swift agile fliers
steal away over the thirsty pond;
their mesmerizing beauty enchants
as the dimming dusk falls silent —-
embellishing the unrelenting ending
   another summer's
 imminent curtain call;

reminding how inexorable-time
is only a contrived human notion,
a recurring extrapolation
  of passing  seasons

Heightening awareness:
how we too are only
passing through these
unholdable moments
   coming to know
    we cannot stop
   how life unfolds

The raindrops will quench
the pond's aching thirst
again one fall someday...

  — hereafter —
there will be another
beauty of dragonflies
some other eyes will see
preying on another burgeoning
gossamer-winged hatch

          and
another beckoning autumn
when the dragonflies hover
below the gazing totems
     in the treetops


Jesse Stillwater ... September 2018                                                 .
Notes: Dragonflies can fly at 100 body-lengths per second, and three lengths per second backwards.[20] Wiki   Fossils of very large dragonfly ancestors in the Protodonata are found from 325 million years ago (Mya) in Upper Carboniferous rocks; these had wingspans up to about 750 mm (30 in). There are about 3000 extant species.

Unholdable moments touched out here adrift —

Thanks for reading !
Butch Decatoria Dec 2015
In the hush of your eyes

my heart speaks loudest

feeling our lips hover

our conversations

not a word

rhythmic drums

rapacious lungs /

repeating

the beatitude

getting

after you

inhaling

exhaling

in all “caps”

“YES!”
a rewrite
ryn Feb 2015
Arms outstretched like the branches of a tree
Aspiring to be amidst with those borne of sky.
Gnarly bark, imploring the eyes of another
Weathered and worn... Skin and grain but parched dry.

Twig-like fingers that would bear no leaves.
With open barren palms that hover in the wind.
Longing and thirsty for the tears of rain
Pining for the heavens to wash away all they have sinned.

Spreading disjointed roots dig in,
In touch with the unseen core buried deep.
A tainted trove of lifelong poisons...
They greedily drink and keep.

Lone little trunk... That shoots up strong from ground.
Sturdy and hale, at least to the naked eye.
When in fact it's core is rotting within,
Eaten away by the worm of a single unassuming lie.

Sad fruitless tree...
Standing amidst the green thriving brush.
It dies with the hours baked in sun...
One day it'll fall, consumed by the secrets trapped in a silent little hush...
Natalie Aug 2018
My limbs pinned and flayed.
A curious crowd of men hover overhead,

Floating faces bobbing closely
Like great bearded balloons.

In a flash of white and sharply gleaming silver,
They swiftly strip my leather skin

And, upon prying the cage, are astounded to have found
Only a cavity in the place a heart should be.

Throughout my warren of vein sits the last true proof
That anything once flowed there—

A thickly pickled ichor to make sickened
Wives’ stomachs turn at their evening roast.
Kara Jean Jun 2016
His heart a setting desire
A holy man on fire
The ashes from his clothes hover overhead
Tarnished dry rain attached to eyelids
Blinding the ones admiring
He could've been loved
His demons were not friends
A lighter was no different
He screams in tortured relief
His body empty caressing the ground
A entity formed through headaches and torn garments
His need for her was never finished
flowing rivers simulate the virtual reality of love
warriors topple over forgotten
like cartons of used milk
silk worms speak sovereign messages and warn us of our fate
are we ill or are we healthy
stealthily imprisoned by our visions
finish the sentences and sever your attachments
respecting tradition leads to detachment
a semblance of serenity
the giver of the dawn used shards of standard force
hover in the mind’s sky
houses pass you by
in finite allegories
gardens blossom
governing movies and seating our jobless
go outside now
remove the shades from your eyes
breathe in soma and drink from the sky
sightless sorrow forges on towards tomorrow
art is a balancing act
she came out of her shell in order to tell you a story
of garlands of silver and gold
woven finely into ribbons
greased with oil from a rare toad
mjad May 12
I have spoken more words of hate and exclaimed more disgust,
than words fueled by respectful admiration and trust.
You think that I will open up to you the more you hover,
but my life is kept from you, completely undercover.
I hope one day I can speak all of my exciting truths
because you have been uninvited to share in my youth.
I do not need you, but to follow what every child should say,
Happy Mother's Day.
we do not have a good relationship
part two to my other poem "Mother"
Shofi Ahmed Oct 2018
A sprinkle of blue sparkle
off the lapis lazuli sky.
A throw of stars
from the full moon night.
We will take in abundance
while rowing the waves
once in the River Nile.

Hear! The crave of oars
breaching the shore.
Reaching out and close
to the pyramid foundation.
That’s scientia is pure rigid
yet so open loose.
One dozen milky ways
can hover in rhythm
over this stony knot!

That doesn’t mean
the Mintaka stars will give
up their shares at all
They will sit on the top.
Without the pyramid moving
a step from the true north.

Between this relative sublunary
and over the moon mural
if and when one spaces up.
The silent Moon takes a pause
humming the prehistoric lullabies.
With a patch of the blue sky
and a starry sprinkle from the night.  
Maybe then we will take a break in
behind the closed doors of the great pyramid!
A poem from my upcoming book Qun: Love is Above Reason
jane taylor May 2016
running
deliquescing into nature
i am engulfed in stillness

i encounter a deer as i round a corner
its chestnut eyes intensely sense
something wild within me
transfixed
we meld palpably
whispering our essence

myopic views warp into acute focus
golden flowers stretch and arch
and yawning into the sun
swell with bursts of luster
whilst violets polka dot the path
with lilac luminescence

dead tree trunks
mutating into masterpieces
yearn for new life
drawing in the squirrels

yellow-bellied birds
hover
sensing my motions
whilst woodland winds undulate
pine scented waves of sea salt oceans

my ears enchantingly enhanced
by bristling leaves caressing trees
as scintillating amber butterflies
dance in synch
with the clock tower’s
ancient chiming

a gust of wind
catches a patch of sand
and sends it quivering
fusing high in summer air
then falling soft as feathers

hidden fairies prance about
answering unheard questions
problems dissolve in emerald meadows
without a hint of striving

essays write themselves
upon my mind
poetry flows through me
wings of meadowlarks
trace my face with nuances
interlaced with connotations

rushing home
i write it down
then bowing i take credit
for what was etched upon my soul
by a sunbeam in the forest

©2016janetaylor
Outside Words Oct 2018
Strolling through the park
With humans, dogs, and birds,
Pink leaves make their mark
As they hover down in thirds.

Drifting along lazy airwaves,
An amplified guitar echoes
As a band soulfully misbehaves
For all nearby bedfellows.

Apartments loom over trees,
From a place of urban gray
As blue air works to appease
Spaces between dusk and day.

Sturdy street lights rusted and old
Accompanying a worn path ignite,
One by one flashing dark to gold
On a normal Wednesday night.
Listen to this while you read:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KIJhiimooeg&list=RDP7K3pzoAwcs&index=2

© Outside Words
Ashley Chapman Nov 2017
High on the O2:
Red Rossopomodoro, Wagamama,
and on the bus shelter, Marc Jacobs,
and again higher,
Habitat,
then Metroline moves past.
It's the 113
to Oxford Circus,
and the 13 to Victoria:
Thrilla Lives On,
the slogan shouts,
while National Express has
All Set For Take-Off.

They're gone...
It calms
empties,
nothing much
just the red lidless eyes
of cars
two, three, four dozen pairs
hover
over the asphalt road.

Where...
where am I?
Ahhh, yeah,
in the Oriental Star,
the road seen from a table and stool,
waiting
for food.
Where have I hailed from?
My lover's womb.  
No, no
NOT THAT!
The North Star, yes:
A pub on the Finchley Road,
Where Tottenham beat Liverpool 4-1
A pyrrhic victory!
Over a couple of beers.

Warm years, and tears.
A sense of place,
a home, a nest,
Receding in the traffic
Of a busy road,
Waiting on noodles.
Tammy M Darby Sep 2016
Staggering explosions of venom-laden light
In a world of darkness constructed by man
Debauched genius and greed tainted sight
In second blinding rays of silver filled the skies

Trillions of once living humans lay dead
Empty warm footprints were life once led
Gray piles of ash on radiation kissed the ground
The species ended
Beating hearts unbound

It was not the first bombed dropped
Nor the cause of their fall
Or the second
That followed
When Azrael began to call
The third
The Destroyer
slowly seeping life
The fourth
Spreading it fiendish tentacles
Created from evil and lies
The fifth
Came in waves of poison rippled sound
The sixth
Was death cold sister come to hover round

But came the seventh
In clap of thunder
None now left to worship
In awe and wonder
The seal had been opened
The convent broken between God and man  
The punishment foretold
Revealed in the blood of the lamb

@Tammy M. Darby September 3, 2016. All poems are stored in author base
veritas Aug 2018
red stains, fading, cracked, scented

     if i kissed your prints, would they kiss me back?

sighs, thoughts, spaces between prints

     spaces between words, between parted lips and floating thoughts the world! is so crowded with space but yours is the one i want to fill .

     but where are the lines? lines of loss, lines of lawns, lines of ink and rips and more stains and letters, in the hands and on the pavement

where are the lines?

why won't you go there?

why do you hover in these foul, indomitable spaces? why do you seek that which you should not?

     if the shadow of lines slinks in your quiet expression, then why are you still here?

     if the echo of your soft face lingers in my hands, if the whisper of your breath and the heat of your skin still singes my own, then why do you disappear?

lovely wraith, lovely memory of a thing that once was, why do you sit so alone?

because i am coming to your space, and if you can see me, of shadow and fog, then i will meet you there,

     on a line of our own.

>because it's a death premeditated and i can see it unfolding,

     sharp wounding painful

and the discourse in the sky is telling me so, yet why do i keep walking west?
lots of questions (this isn't a poem of answers. don't look for one).
Passius Ashe Jun 2015
i see you.
you puff up your words and arrange them cleverly
but I can still see you.

it's sorta like visiting-day at the jail,
each separated from the other by a piece of glass.

afloat on the binary sea of switches flipping on and off, ones and zeros, flipping so incredibly fast,
you hover there and
appear before me and
i see you.

if you see me too, let me know.
©  Passius Ashe  2015
Tom Spencer Aug 2018
black bee
head first in a

hibiscus flower
waxy pollen beads

dabbled down
its gleaming back

foraging done
it shimmies out

to spy the next
allurement

darting and hovering
as it chooses its mark

close enough
to feel its pulsing whir

breeze the hair
on my arm

I hover too
allured

and unfurled
before turning to dart

through this
shimmering world


Tom Spencer © 2018
Will Oct 2015
You flip, you writhe;
the outline of your body dripping onto me.
And how could I,
spectator and obsessed child,
stop salivating at the sight of your shapeless body?

The lights die into your hips,
your cheek melting in dim slate blue.
Your lips hover above mine.
Your eyes whisper "******" ;
please **** me,
so that I may never see another light again.

And your formless dancing,
a quill that drips in colorless ink.

If I cut you open,
you would bleed oceans into me;
the blood of a god,
water as clear as my love for you.

Your movements hiss,
your shadow tangles.

Please.
Let me touch you.

But your lips curve
and you
prance away from me.
What hides behind your teeth?
What secrets nestle under your tongue?

I've never seen a creature as wild as you.

Your eyes whisper
"******".

**** me,
so that I may never
love
again.
Michael Briefs Nov 2017
This floral world
surrounds
her blackened wings.
Thorns hover, blood-stained,
above ashen lips...
they taste the sting.
The flight of myriad starlights
shows the way
for the final plunge
to the lonely tomb.
The creature is revealed...
it has arrived.
She has found us.
She has come home.
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