Lissom kiss
that plunge
just makes
it more
a tea
leaf when
a cry
for a
thread where
together is
much better
than life
lone that
in vain
evil valiantly
succumb blue
riff today.

It was the murky stench of forgotten water
hidden somewhere
in the depths of an ivy-winding garden
and the autumn leaves which crunch into the mixing bowl

The rotting flesh of their midrib and veins
binding themselves a new life with the arms
of trees
which had fallen into the reapers puddle
- this is where they come to die.

Their graves, painting the garden Fallow and Umber
lay buried underneath a distant grey sky
the gloom of an English October is at their wake
and the feet of people
trample on their caskets
no remorse
no pause for thought
for nature's feeble skeleton
slipping out of breath

Shall I return to poems scribed of old?
That once with each a turn and covered page,
bereft a seeping fume that laden bold
and from that glyphic smudge - her cursive stage.

For still upon the tips of ink parades
the lissom bride beheld with gentled hand,
and prose's vigil neath the dust pervades;
that either I immerse within, or strand.

Though lyric embers flare her ardent kiss,
embedded texts peruse a lover's loss,
then should the torment forge my own abyss
the depths shall shadow me amongst the moss.

At least in chasms; beloved reels inside
so dwell shall I - where love has not yet died.

He Whom The Light Loves
by Sara L. Russell aka Pinky Andrexa


Where is he today, he whom the light loves,
his face all kissed by sunlight, caressed by shadow,
he who moves through the world like a sleek caracal,
lissom and lithe as a dancer spellbound by a song?


I thought I saw him in a waking dream,
all haloed in rays of a sunrise; hot amber and gold;
drawing admirers around him with burning allure,
luring us into the warming embrace of his arms.


Where is he who shines with an inner light,
with shades of magenta-rose on his petalled lips?
does he wander through distant daydreams of far away
unaware of all observers who wish to be loves?


Where is he today, he whom the light loves,
all vibrant energy of highlight and shade?
I'm blowing wistful kisses to air again
wishing him love and the happiness I've still to find.


---------------------------------------------------------­------
(Dedicated to my favourite actor, talking about the way he lights up the screen).

Reflective lining bears the passing years
of crinkles carved and worn to that of age
and from the mirrored galls a hearse appears
with thought to carry; when shall death upstage?

This day? When larks resound of warbling birds
as garden's glaze, the vernal blossom glows
amongst are playful kin of callow words
and yonder meadow green, my love in pose.  

Caressed by cherry blossoms, from a time
when youth we swayed beneath that ruby tree,
her amber curls would kiss verdure in prime
with lissom twirls that blessed my eyes to see.

When I shall drift away from worldly plush
and leave I shall, let not; in springtime lush.

You get out and play with your paper dolls
their lissom limbs float and shake
you love the way they look at you
you think it's love but it's lustrous and fake

You cut a new doll every day
and carefully rip all their pieces away
you string them together and colour them in
and all of your dolls are flimsy and thin

Go ahead and play with your paper dolls
their paper hearts will soon unfurl
their whitened hearts will burn at will
their fleeting parchment creases and curls

And here I am with my wooden heart
rigid and rotting and swelling from the start
and growing like trees inside my carcass
while you burn your paper dolls with hands so heartless

In wild, wild moments there’s the rush of wind
Upon my face, streaming out strands of hair
As I run down hills of mind on lissom legs,
Twigs snapping under my feet while I remain
Childlike and playful, blissful and unaware.
But all this in my mind because
I cannot do this barefoot running anymore.
Can’t run at all.  Those days of mad abandon gone.
But I can still walk slowly on the nice neat paths
Among the bluebells and my heart can still
Skip, dance and jump for joy and sing its song

Near the wavey waltz of beach
above are Gulls flocking by,
downward rays her beauty's peach
to carom and meet my eye.

Golden strands outshines the sands
and gazing pupils allure;
to deeply swim the ocean's hands
that cleanse lover's demure.

Winds ripple her amber dress
to homage summer's fashion
so lissom that I profess
her mine! Ashore of passion.

The hushing brine, splashes sighs
as to how her shimmer gleams
and none so ever arise
that'll match my lover's beams.

Let this diamond, kissed by sun
flow gently my love's decree
that she'll be mine, soon as one;
this rose's beauty will be.

With smile's high, and dripping eye
she exalts through salty air
"with love so vast, outdone the sky
of course! Now an eternal pair!"

In echo then, the seashells!
whom plush of Cupid's spree
foretells of ocean love spells
of her, me by lover's sea.

By crimson candlelight
she's awoken
lissom and lithe
and softly spoken
the smallest shadow of a girl
cracked inside the cavities of the world

I left her sleeping in willows and reeds
but she's still dancing in my dreams
all tangled hair and braided spine
I'd tether the stars to call her mine

My flowers wilted and my summers cold
she'll stay like spring when the months grow old
I wish for her hands to be close to mine
and I wouldn't let her leave this time

I could never see her go
she stays in spring, before the snow
I watch her dance while I'm alone
in a light
far brighter than I'd ever known

Willow hair
sky reflected
Narcissus introspected
floats lissom in the pool

There’s a river in the woods
I bathe in it at night
I walk barefoot on the earth
I’m seduced by the moonlight
This is what a derelict does
We dance in rivers and let it push us to its rhythm
Someday I’ll reach the waterfall
And I’ll fall lissom

Circumsance newly provides us
With a lissom visage of hope -
A sturdy twig to hold onto when
The hurricane begins its howl.
     ljm

It is almost impossible to try to think

And way to hot, for an interesting drink

And to contemplate the writing, of something in verse

My brain needs attending, by a poetry nurse



She could fan my ego, with love and sympathy

And supply me with cups, of Earl Grey tea

And massage my soul, and feed me some food

And things i won't mention, it'd be a bit rude



But in return, for these comforts, and desire

I'd do the same, and relight her fire

And feed her, and tea her, a fan her, and yet

As i believe in giving, as good as i get



In the meantime, i shall lie here, and simply melt

And pretend i am graceful, lissom, and svelte

Soon to depart my boudoir, for another lair

As it's time to rise, from my lazy derriere!

by Jemia