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Traveler May 2015
As you search twice
For meanings
Cleverly stood
Hid in abstract
Paradoxical format
Ingeniously pushed

Between lines  
Of landscape analogies
Fictitiously portrayed
In anonymous
contagious ideologies

I'm sorry
For your losses
Of time and duress
Yet my incomplete thoughts
Can riddle even the best

Into a landscape
Of wild weeds and laughter
I waste away
In time torn pasture

Where timeless turns
To dusty grey
I push save poem
And slip away...
RE to 05-19
Traveler Tim
TD May 22
The moon dripped from her lips,
a liquid glow,
a hypnotic swell,
flowing over the vast  
valleys of life.

She kissed the contouring shadows
with vows that dimmed
with every breaking
light.  

Her darkness
in stark contrast
to the smiles in her eyes.  

Some say the soul is in the eyes,
but aww the lips
are tactile pleasures defined.
M Solav Jul 14
We live on the ripples of a beating heart
Sailing wide across a great black sea
Each pulses like falling raindrops
As we drift on the surface of destiny

We know the struggles and the storms to come
Foundations the turmoils of passing winds
Are scattering on our way towards the sun
Were raised by none but the breathe of our will

We become landscapes the further we are drawn
Cold mountains, dense forests, oceans and such,
On our carved existence all promise to be found
As we roam from mood to mood, from thought to thought

We understand at last what the touch reconciles
When we start to realize what we had always known
That the world was always ours, and it dawns on our mind
That the rainfall had stopped while we’ve landed home
Written in June 2019 - for an exhibition in Peking.
David Hutton Nov 2018
Raw landscapes shape the far distance
Brutal terrain tests our endurance
A greeting with coldness
A sheet of fog invites us
Raw landscapes welcome us with silence.
zebra Jul 2018
it was a dark dance
of an immovable body
as she was taken by the throat,
death, causing stupendous distortions
and entrancements of lunar landscapes
she reeled pirouettes between smothering
and seeing through a miraculous inner eye
deepening her sense of nothingness
as if pickled in a jar,  suspended in
formaldehyde
held buoyant
where there is no reason for anything
moveless in a veiled corridor
inhabiting innerness, a raven fog
her ******* wet with the scent of fear and ***
she fell through the earth
into the infernal arms of
Hades

his tremulous kisses
a thousand glittering eyes
she could see through
Nylee Apr 23
My life started on it
I have run over a million times
my little legs to huge feet
got enough space to walk on.

the beauty in water and landscapes
I have thought a million times over
accepting all kinds of sizes and shapes
The tree spread over gives me the shade

The oxygen and life spreaded all over
The bounty of love given to us
A sleep in between the blue and green cover
home to lives of the minutest

The one sided love has stressed the earth
It's aging twice to thrice extra every second
Our toxic nature has done enough hurt
A day of remembrance is just not enough
.
Nico Julleza Jul 2017
Touch as the fervent feeling seek to know the ambiguity of it,
Feel as the ****** of a sparrow wing crept upon my dreams,
Fathom as the grief of rocks shrieked on deserted mountains,

And the Sky was blue
Touched by a Crescent Moon
Unraveling the hidden truth
How life was promised to me and you

Awe as landscapes vanished from distant perplexing shores,
Sigh as Long ships sailed on white ashes coasting inherently,
Fright as the voluptuous sights, faking wonders in my night,

And the Sky was blue
mellifluously My Heart as to see
a magnificent feeling to be free
the beauty relentless, endlessly weave

Pray as the growing wind whisper, a phrase to forever keep,
Kneel as crowds offered Him, a gratitude of rejoicing praise,
Trust as dandelions glides, the strength of His binding faith,

And the Sky was blue
for God is forever faithful & true
to broken lives, he one's renew
Keeping his promise to come again soon

Awake as the daybreak reveal, memories of our love revisit,
Sing as angels on white veil’s, bring you to heaven's place,
Gone is the world I once knew, eyes closing as my soul flew,

Amen...
HAVE A BLESSED SUNDAY..
PSALMS 23
#God #Heaven #Sky #Nature #Creation #Peace #Rest

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
You hid pieces of yourself,
In places you would never look.
Hidden within those inner landscapes;
Unable to remember their names.
Cress Rosario May 2014
I think I finally found
An extraordinary feeling
Like a melody softly beating
A smile on a Sunday morning

It's lovely, sweet, and glad
Like a scent of orange trees
Landscapes of blue and green
Aroma of a sugary treat

This feeling I will cherish forever
A shining love like no other
A love I found only in your heart
A love says you and me will never be apart
Sam Hawkins Sep 2018
I've known heights, aimed like a bullet
to the top of the head.

Forbidden songs, jagging
placid landscapes.

Waterblood waterbone --
my body's cried out to me.

How long the abuse, how long!

In the barreled pit of my sober life
up from common sense--snapping into it,
my soul came alive.
Alive I say!

By grace I breached.
Free in the wind!

Kingdoms of water, alive kingdoms --
hear now the words of my tears.

Mea Culpa! Mea Culpa!

I slam on the brakes, tear off the roofs
of steel compartments.

I see sky and feel in daylight every hidden star.
I declare -- the emperor of death
has no clothing.

I scatter forgiveness
across all the fattened streets.

Oceans of me are singing.
A spinning angels' symphony.

Over the graves of ancestors,  I vow:

Water, I shall love you.
I shall speak up, protect you.

I shall fight for you and die
if I must.

Ten times ten give my very life
-- that you live.
this is how water (which is so under attack from all sides on our planet) spoke through me 9.23.18, around the time of fall equinox.
The rains pour a beautiful story
Dark grey to white and clear
Fills rivers streams and oceans blue
Landscapes brown and valley deep
My heart tunes in to the songs of green
Dew drop pink to pristine white
Many colours and mist on the window
Raindrops dripping down the eaves and leaves
Dark grey to white and clear
A beautiful story comes to an end
Giving rise to golden sunshine again
https://wynk.in/music/song/chhoti-si-kahani-se/sa_INH109537950
Sally A Bayan May 19
East...and west, are we?
north, and south?.....maybe...
we were nurtured with love,
our eyes and our minds opened
to different isms that helped shape our
values...we were brought up, bearing our
folks' customs, traditions and principles...
we have different faiths...some practice...some
don't...some, don't even subscribe, yet, survive.

we have dry and monsoon season...in
other parts, pleasant weather, cold winds,
and in some parts, snow.....turning to ice

we are  a mix of white skin, seeking for a tan,
and brown-skin, hiding from the sun;
one's night, is the other's day,
there are surfers among us, playing with the waves,
there at the cusp...gambling...daring fate...
there are those who hide from silent freezing winters,
finding warmth and comfort in long hot summers...

countless points of comparison,  
yet, we've something beautiful in common,
a connection of feelings, of words......our poetry,
flowing like blood,through our veins.....endlessly
feeding, fueling our hearts and minds, with classy,
themes....sometimes bold, mushy, or....sassy...
no set skeds......we do it even through adversity...

we write......

we tell about our escape from life's banalities,
mindscapes and landscapes immersed in frivolities

yet, we await the marvels of each  morning we wake,
remembering gratitude, in every breath we take...

years have passed us by,
still, plays this soft music that mollifies
and inspires......heard only by you and i
prodding us,through the hours, of day or night

while you exist in your part of the world,
and i, in my hot, humid cosmos, longing for cold
::::::::::::::::::::::::::


Sally


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
    May, 19, 2019
(a love poem, edited...for all Hello Poetry writers)
She walks at night likes passion's grace
Through nebulous fields of dream landscapes
Wild Morpheus her footsteps guides

She’s lust’s impassioned wile incarnate
Her will like swirling ocean currents
Endows the night with wanton purpose

Sent from heaven's pearly gates
To make men ponder mortal fortune
Tempting spirits will to sate

Demanding accolades of prowess
To satisfy her primal needs
Traverse her treacherous terrain

Her visage of immortal love
Like honey dripping from the comb
Inspires reckless heart's abandon

Dawn comes like coitus interruptus  
Narcotic wisps of contention fade
A thrall with no earthly recourse
Infatuated with the feminine mystique in general can leave you unrequited.
Cristina Dean Jun 2018
sometimes
the feeling catches up with me
quiet in a cafe, early morning
the dust rises
from the pavement with the bustling feet outside
the birds are chirping again
after a very long time of silence.
i sit and think of my new life, my plans,
the life unknown
i think of strange landscapes and snow leopards in caves
the apple trees which will soon blossom,
african skies,
the planet neptune
the sun or the ocean's mist on my naked skin
and crowns made of flowers
chandeliers in old libraries
and the steel of your eyes
the sharpness of your eyes
the cold eyes
your eyes empty
the green of your eyes
your eyes staring at me
i see your face
the softness of your eyes
i see your face
the green eyes sad and staring
achy green eyes hoping
i'm flooded with your scent
and the oppression of your memory
rising in me
like the street dust rising outside
and a force
pulls something from my throat
like a plea
like a begging
i say your name
the criminal element is lost
have you fought with your boss
each day is fraught with challenges
but that's what makes you stronger
all along the water's edge
the waves break and connect
like threads of poetry
lines of beauty
curving at the moon
luminous intrusions
before we are fallen
dreams seethe
with colorful landscapes
and i am a blade of grass

threads of astral fire
aspire for the sun
my magic is beyond recognition
it ignites the silence
and burns bright as day
words are living
breathing entities
families of sounds
consonants and vowels
are relatively harmless
unless you dare
to speak them out loud
control your tone
and let aspiration resonate
this assonance is rather transient
so lets embrace our scansion
mansions of impermanence
lands of intransigent transients
its tragic really
how the lead of vehemence
can spread so rapidly

sentient powers stake their claim
in soil that remains dutiful
despite your shame
have we gone insane
its quite likely
or are we still the same
that remains to be questioned
better to drop this game
and keep up your crazy vision quest
Leigh Apr 2015
For Idil Ibrahim
In memory of Tim Hetherington - 1970 - 2011

I cannot stay and speak my truth while the front line has no voice.
The carpet doesn't share substance with the blood-clumped
dust of Liberia; Red wine doesn't stain nations and it hasn't
changed the world.

I cannot stay and walk these steps while the fragile youth stand.
Our Sunday morning route doesn't cover landscapes of wounds
and bodies; Central Park has never felt a thousand welted
feet march for death.

I cannot stay and see your face while molten plastic scars her world.
Your delicate eyes have never seen the darkness of a child's grief;
Our democracy cannot fathom the searing, slow drip after a family
massacred.

I cannot stay and feel worthy of your love while injustice goes unseen.
My lens has immortalised what we held dear, but is yet to capture
the human condition; I spoke to you like I spoke to them;
Through decades of mortar fire I spoke to them.
.

Inspired by the life of Tim Hetherington, a frontline war photographer and journalist. His story is well told in 'Which way is the front line from here?' A truly remarkable person.

.
I’ve been watching the seasons change
from this lonely little bus stop shelter.
Waiting in limbo,
as the leaves turn from an animated green,
to the frost bitten crunch
of once was.
The landscapes danced dynamically before.
Trees swayed blissfully
over the vibrantly brushstroked canvas;
yet now they stand still.
Motionless.
Paralysed, like a Polaroid picture.
But in this time of waiting;
my momentary detention of movement;
a suspension of my heart’s desires.
I’ve observed as the scenery
turns to the deceased.
The dead.
The diminished.
And returns back
to the living
as it always does
and always will
eventually.
Just as seasons change, so will how we feel.
Umi Apr 2018
The desert,
A sea of sand, drought and dry air under a scorching, blazing Sun,
The wind may feel alike a cut, which burns through your senses,
Relentless, the heat takes over by day, yet by night it is cold enough to freeze you if you come unprepared. Such would be a foolish idea,
A dessert of thoughts, driving into my brain, leaving ideas uncovered
Leaving productivity hidden, under the sand of hatred and self doubt
Such places, landscapes, covered by firy silicate or ice are truly lethal,
Such state of mind, covered by uncertainty is truly lethal, for ones wonderful creativity, for art of all kind, conveyed or material, if you might wander through such a land without any guide to help out,
Worry not, for after every drought comes rain, blissful rain to fertilise the soil of thoughts which will blossom in wonderous ways, to shine,
After all, motion without movement cannot be possible so try to move
A wise friend once tought me, that if you give it enough time, even a nigh impossibility becomes a certainty, even a desert could be a forest
But until then, be patient my dear, even the most deserted place, carries some beauty in it, no ?

~ Umi
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