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M Eastman Aug 2015
Cup your palms around
that candle dear lazy
Spells to cast to the wombs
keep our ghosts outside
peering into tent *****
yellowing irises and
stamens strangely swaying
but nonsense
Butte no
out there
they stalk you dear lazy
Elizabeth Zenk Jul 2018
A tightness in my lungs pulls me under in a spell of forced muteness.
I slide my view up out of the rattling car.
The starry sky lighting up my irises and dazzling my brain.
Meanwhile the glops of tears forming in my eye drag the streetlights across my visible world.
Light torn away from its source
for only me.
Me, a crying passenger.
Dlusionl13 Sep 2018
It’s a bond formed with thousands and thousands of hours
It’s a friendship adorned like a bouquet of flowers

A cluster of yellow roses
For the companionship that bloomed
Or a bunch of chrysanthemums
For the wholehearted support during the adversities that loomed

A few irises
An unsaid message of dedication
With some violets
  A proof of everlasting devotion

And pink carnations
A promise to never forget each other
Plus some hydrangea
A gratitude for being understood in spite of our soul bearing different colors

Some blue tulips
For the genuine loyalty
A vow to never leave
And of course ivy
A promise of continuity of the wonderful friendship
That we will definitely achieve
Dedicated to my best friend
For in her eyes
lie solemn cries
Irises of icey blue

With in her mind
You will find
Voices playing tunes

First, they sing
Last, they sting
Screaming, screaming
Hear them ring

They tell her lies and sprinkle truth
They lure her soul into the blue

Can you see her eyes
How they truly cry
Irises of icey white

Can you find
With in her mind
The answers of the night
It might need work
Beauteous Beast Dec 2015
If a sunset's too beautiful somewhere, it means that place is polluted.

You see, whenever I look at you, you're the most beautiful sunset the world could offer. How the light shining from your irises reflect the way a sunset blends its hues. How your smile captures the light of the sun, slowly fading, but will never die. Then how awe dumbstrucks me in the most amazing way. You're magical, in the most realistic, possible way.

But I guess you're polluted.

From the hurt, the lies, your past, the demons stuck inside that head of yours, the anxiety, everything. You conjured every possible demon inside of you and turned them into the most beautiful hues of the most beautiful sunset of the most polluted place on earth. You were made of broken pieces and shards of pain but it still looks like you were made to be a god.

You really are ******* magical. You're the beautiful ending of the most tragic beginning.
wow this is me when im bored.
Boi Nov 2018
You, my garden of Anemone;
of periwinkle, plum, and mauve.

A fragrance of Lilacs; for my springs and summers.
A snow's aroma of a rare, rich branch of Daphne  

Fenced by shrouds of Lavender and Sage.
Adorned with Irises and virulent Vervain.

The Verbena that consumes me
As I yield to it's amethyst.
Anemone for her complexions, Lilacs and Daphne for her grace, Lavender and Sage for her appeal, Irises for her beauty, and Vervain for her poison.

Written with a pleasure of knowing someone for 24 hours.



To Krista & Alexa: A Special Thank You
Jai Rho Aug 2016
She had moonpie eyes
and a wildcat smile,
draped by slow
smooth sip of whiskey
hair, the color of corn
in the wispy July air

And she wore purple
and white Irises speckled
with yellow as her dress,
flowing in the tall grass
beneath a willow sky

Her feet embraced
the earth between her toes,
as she twirled a whirl
of moonlight, shadowing
the daytime's blazing sun

And like a cradle rocking,
held me
like I was newborn
Nat Lipstadt Jun 2014
the irises have passed,
their existence, entirety,
a three week, 21 day, gun salute,
to which I was witness to but four

the Kabbalist among us says Kaddish,
and a-Buddhist so-be-it,
celebrating the brevity cycle
of natural things,
and that death makes room for more

**** yelloe'd and black now,
these irises are now
misfits on a breezy, dancing summer lawn

today, shriveled and misshapen,
they compare and contrast
on a normative, glorious,
June Sunday that
picturesque presents
the living and the deceased,
side by side

all comrades,
all summer sundries
on a dancing grass blanket
half-graveyard battlefield, half-heaven

oft I have writ of the beach detritus,
the shells, the sun burnt *****,
a recycled funeral rectory where
no one utters prayers for the
no longer alive historical artifacts

what has this to do
with that human construct,
artifice of memory,
a string on the finger
of the mind,
a pausation, a man-made creation
to momentarily recall another of nature's cycle -
yours

Have children
Am a father
Had a father in my youthful days

this is a boy scout qualification medal,
marker of me as Expert,
permitting me  to commentary
with gravitas
having becoming a grandfather,
I enjoy superstar freedom
to opine inanely on such matters

of my father have I writ,
of my sons, those remain unseen,

likely neither will mark these day
with a telephone call
or an all-I-got-was-this-lousy-t shirt
gift of gall

I say that's ok for what else is there,
certainly not an unthinking, dismissive
whatever

it saddens me some for sure,
but it makes judge myself as human being
on a gradation of one to none

but more than this internal reflection,
I ponder this hallmark'd day,
as life cycle point notarized,
in verse and rhyme,
for that is what I do best

for before,
many father's day in the priory passed,
most unrecallable,
just another ceremonial checkmark,
habitually acquitted,
but somewhere in a drawer of shirts,
in a home I store stuff in,
I do believe, there are some cards
from decades past, that prove nothing,
other than life goes on,
and we best capture
what we can, as best we can...
with small, objet d'art of sorts

Perhaps one will call after all...
in any event,
to honor the dead,
to mark the existing,
the bannered ship's bell rung,
its sonorous sound,
notable and onerous,
fades as well

but man and animal,
plant and tree,
a living fraternal sorority,
who all look over my shoulder
as I compose on
that chair you see

they know,
for whom the bell tolls this day,
and why as well,
as we all pause and contemplate
where we are on this day,
on our own overlapping cycles
ren Apr 2014
Her hips were poetry 
When she walked,
Leaving the room hushed
And breathless;
Gazing in awe

Her lips were poetry 
When she sang;
Clearer than the birds
And prettier than the stars
And bolder than the moon
And softer than the night 

Her eyes were poetry
When her brows crinkled
In delight
And her lids fluttered
In fatigue
And her irises sparkled
In passion

And the way she spoke
And the way she did
And the way she was,
It was all poetry to me.
For my best friend.
Esther May 2018
Nouns verbalized
Like how nature composed wind
So we could feel something
The words rolled off our tongues tied
Did they make you feel something?

1st boy
His golden irises reflected
A sinful abyss
I fell in too deep
The magnetic field got too strong
I could swear on a Bible that it was
Love that i felt
But only the universe would know.

2nd boy
His hand found mine
In miserable wreckage
Rebound
I hit the ground hard
I promised myself
"No feelings"
But only the universe would know.
Feelings are too complex to be put into words.
Spring is the season of new beginnings .
Surrounded with beauty that energizes you.
Green meadows , cool breezes and the Purple Moors ,
Lush blooms that take away the winter glooms.
Enticing you in an array of colours !

Narcissus ,Hyacinths ,lilacs ,Irises and Freesia , present a string of floral amnesia .
Like a pollywog when you are scampering through ,
Oh !  dear spring you are a welcome view.

Wear your gadoshes , head to where the valleys and the skies meet , Robin's and swallow's tweet ,
The bright rays of the sun spread the warmth and rainbows present a colourful  greet .

Bid  goodbye's to winter blue's ,
Welcome the "VERNAL EQUINOX" hues .

©Mrunalini.D.Nimbalkar
Course of spring #brightness #Love for spring season summoned in poetic format...
20 02.2019
Arke Jun 2018
gold pours from your lips
tracing the edges of my hips
I count every star on your chest
diamonds dance along your sides
your broken french, silk
wrapping me to you, tied
us both together, tighter

lapis irises look at me
clear as the sunset sea
your body whispers
together we could form
obsidium and hauyne
our core is fire
we'll be together again

we had forgotten this feeling
primal and both healing
thunderstorms begin within me
our meeting surely kismet
certain as the rise of our moon
a volcano becomes active
I yearn to be with you soon
the sea grabbed bodies, theirs and mine flaming foaming tendrils
ahold of the drifting timber trying to keep gripping, hang
hold high salt stripped throat shouting Unhand Me, Body-
You'll not have us tonight, but the sea made  belly sounds,
bleeding even the pilot, head slipping to the murk my blood
the envy, finally fell out inside and I sank to the floor with the timber and rope-the final moments of vision the setting horison the eye and perhaps an illusion; not-blak sails drifting steady my head vapor shroud eating the sun I fell into the lap of my love, my Mathilda- royalty to seakelp and fog looking on both irises jupiter and mars and thanking the stars furyos vixens above and she stood and she smiled not-blak sails- I admired her silver linen train but a din like desperate men shouting loosed me from my vision; they had seen the sails and all surrounding the lot tantalus's envy the pilot's hands raving Not today! Not today! They feared hotel raft a permanent lodging, jumping, frightened, killing themselves their poor salt-seasoned hearts drifting again more than them no signal observing the sails flurrying trumpets it might see us-it might, it might!
Neroxes Zephyrus Nov 2018
Behind a soldier’s mask,
They hide their pain and push away the memories,
Despite the efforts they made,
I could still see it in their eyes clear as day.
Every exhausted frown masked by laughter was seen in the dulled colors of their irises,
Every painful memory and injury pushed away by smiles,
Overly happy gestures was seen in the broken, beat down look their eyes held.
They were battle-trained warriors,
They were strong and loyal heroes who continued to push on even when everything screamed at them to give up.

They were soldiers and pawns in a ruler's game,
Fighting a war ****** upon them without a choice,
Without a chance to get their feet beneath them,
Before the burden was placed on their shoulders.
Yet, in their smiles, they were children.
They were teenagers who'd been forced to mature way too soon,
Who didn't get a chance at a normal childhood

They were the sons and daughters of poor families,
Who were given a life they hadn't asked for yet were forced to accept it.
They were the young men who fought because they'd be killed otherwise.
They were children dressed in battle armour and sent to war,
Before they got the chance to grow up.
They were teenagers who formed facades of false smiles.
And forced laughs because they couldn't change who they were and what that meant.
They were those who played a ruler’s game
Because the fate of their lives was decided centuries before they were brought into the world.

I watched as they smiled and laughed and enjoyed the peace while it lasted.
I watched as they teased each other and told stories and enjoyed the normalcy of it all.
But I knew deep down,
They just want to rest,
To live a life without war,
To be weak and cry out their worries for once,
To not be a solider and enjoy what life should be,
To not hide behind a soldier’s mask
Don Bouchard Aug 2018
Cicadas whine metallically
In trees along the sweltered streets;
Wasps and hornets arc angrily
Enough to cause me fear.
Late summer’s not my favorite time of year.

Flowers nearly done;
The tulips, irises, and poppies
Long since seeded out;
They’ve had their fun.
Bedraggled day lilies remain,
This is the beginning of the mums.
Bees seek latent nectars
Or tap into their golden stores
To supplement their bumbling runs.

Lawns foist a burnt but stubborn edge
While only thistles still refuse
To bow to August's incessant heat;
Their spikes sprout poisonous defiance.
The dog’s left yellowed pools of dying grass;
I admit the neighbors’ lawns surpass.  
I suppose the time to gather
Drying excrement’s returned, alas....

Keeping up appearances is hard at summer's end.
Ennui of season full and just past ripe  
Leaves tired old men like me
A chiding cause to gripe.
Morning thoughts August 17, 2018
maureen Mar 7
the weather confuses me

as so do you.
the way it's clear one moment
then clouded the next;
how uncertainty is thicker
than that of the brume.

constant rays of sunshine show up
from the irises of your eyes—
still, i stand my ground,
as slight drizzle falls
scattering down
from the fogged up skies.

hesitating to pour everything out.
TD Apr 8
And so it begins.
Hunter greens with shades of brown
weaved in just so
sweet relief is nearing.
Yawning fields, mouths open wide
their cheeks slightly wet with tears.
mourn the spring’s shivering sigh.
Nature’s renewal rocks the cradle
with serendipitous lullabies.

Then starts the heated exchange
where fading eyes seek
to warm their dying stems
and rest their lashes on
soiled sleeves.
Enraptured by a lulling dream
drowsy with promises.

The bitter char of crackling leaves startles
at their nestled irises.
Raucous taunts and warring emotions
on the outskirts of consciousness.  
It’s better to dream against
the frightening noise
the encroaching chill.
And sleep they do.

Aww but when spring abounds
a jaunty nod and cheeky grin
are what remain.
Naked kelly orbs wink with joy
grounded in maturity.
Their strong backs to the sun tell a story
of purpose and poise.

And I’m hard put to deny
the deep-seated brilliance realized
in life’s renewal
once again.
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