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h a r Nov 2017

in the quiet of stillness
I can hear a snowflake
gently land
upon my cheek
a flurry of gossamer
frozen lace lilts ~
peacefully
transforming
the ennui
of chilling silence
into a wilderness symphony



thank you to all
for stopping by to read
"The sound of a snowflake"

written by:  h.a. rivers ... 11/13/2017
September Roses Jul 2018
Sit back and relax
Feel the waves wash over your back
In the melting sun
Looking at the clouds reflecting all the pinks and blues
Over the blooming hill, echoing white noise of chirps and crickets

Listen to the trickling of the slow water over the smooth rocks
Feel a warm wind brush your face
With your eyes closed
Enjoying the radiating warmth
And the soothing crackling of a log fire

Or sit and admire the shimmering spray
Of a waterfall smoothly crashing into the water of a sky kissed lake
Sunlight dancing through the vapor
Rainbows jumping through every droplet

Listen to the pitter patter of the rain, against a tin roof
Inside a warm cabin
Drifting to sleep
Soon to wake to the song birds chorus
And the blissful sun

Bask in it
And relax
hope you're listening right now
can barely hold my tongue
for the **** we do
could warm the sun
at night
twisted in a melting fall and
sleeping with the scratching claws
your words
let me know you're feeling me
and seeing all the things I see
Jaxey Oct 2018
It was nothing more
Than the ways your eyes lit up
When you saw the snow falling
That made me realize
How much I wanted it to be cold enough
To freeze time
Let's freeze time for a moment
Abimael Kercado Oct 2015
I want to feel your skin creating friction within me.
By skin to skin, creating light from fire in our hearts.
Melting lust and creating hopes.
Lets us ignite on fire to make our frightful day... Brighter...
Retouched, old me was drunk. Now Im not.
CA Guilfoyle Jul 2012
You were born of oceans,
glacial upheavals melting
a temperate forest of raining seas
I climbed your stair step moss
to see night stars mingle with fir trees
I watched through the night
only sleeping when stars did,
when birds came echoing
through your woods,
at first light, in mists of fog
verily I slept  
in forest song
James R Clobum Jun 2018
America, the melting ***.
More like a cauldron of bitter slop.
Beyond the point of boiling over.
Take u.s. off the burner.
Lest we fully carbonize.
Turn down the heat.
Believe me.
I’ve seen this before.
My name is Jesus,
I wash the dishes around here.
Yuki Feb 17
In the coldest of days
through the sighs
of the wind
I still was aflame
for I heard your voice
calling my name.
writerReader Feb 2015
i am watching life and
it's running so fast and

it goes up toward the
pure white stars and
the brown dirt

the blue sky

the black night

but i'm melting
burning
freezing

my mind is too tired to sleep
but it's too drunk to run.
Bella Mar 22
My head is hitting the ceiling
My spine is bent and my neck is pushing up the tiles on the ceiling as I walk
My body is too tall for me

I, inside my body, sink forward
In agony
In smallness

But my body keeps growing up
And now, I am hungover
My head and my feet both touch the floor like a bent tree

My face is melting onto the ground
Where as my legs are crushing the ceiling
I fold in half at the thighs

And then the knees and then the calves and then the ankles
And now I’m lying face down on the floor
Seeping into the tile.
Juhlhaus Feb 5
Even though I walked for an hour
In the snow melt mist
Threading my boots
Through the brown salt muck and flotsam
Winter's junk food wrappers
The city just stared vacantly
At its own face in the lake ice
Seemingly as uninspired as me
Not every day can be poetic, right?
He melted
That stone
With her kindness

She melted
That stone
With his kindness

It was
Nothing
Other than the love
The hardness was
Nothing
Other than their hearts
Genre: Observational
Theme: Show me the one who can survive without love. Then I can tell you why that one is dead.
Deidre Lockyer Jul 2018
There is something in the air today
Something fragile and undecided
It speaks to me of moody memories
Velvety scents and
Lazy summer desires
Your hands are everywhere and I’m blossoming
Addicted to you, the feel of you,
The way your eyes covet what your fingers touch
Tracing curves and angles
Claiming territory...

There is something in the sky today
Something sensual and languid
It draws me close into your inner world
Unspoken fantasies
And unmet needs
Funny how the day weaves sensuality around us,
Gathers us up in honeyed arms, musky scents
Tangles our limbs, mingles sighs and glances,
Half whispered obscenities
So sweetly urgent...

Brewing up a tempest...
So much to explore in an afternoon...
Synchronised swimming, melting in the heat
Of me and you
Antino Art Feb 2018
South Florida
if you were a body part,
you’d be an armpit.

You’d be a bulged vein
on the side of a forehead
forever locked in a scowl
behind sunglasses.

You speak the language of horns
middle name, finger
blood type, combustible

You're a melting ***
that's boiled over the lid
sweating salt water at the brows
eyes red as the brake lights
in the maddening brightness,
you’re torrential daylight
heating nerves like greenhouse gasses
waiting for a reason to explode.

You’re a tropical motilov cocktail
no one can afford
2 parts anger, 1 part stupidity
melting in place, thirsty for attention
full of yourself in a souvenir glass with a toothpick umbrella
You're all image

You’re the curse words breaking out the mouths
of the angry line mob at Starbucks in the morning
You’re the indifferent silence
in the arena at the Heat games leaving early,
showing up late
due to the distance
from Brickell to Hialeah,
West Palm to Pompano
the gap between the entitled and the under-paid
a skyline of condos in a third world country
You’ve always been foreign to me.

You’re winterless, no chill
you attract only hurricanes
and tourists,
shoving anything that isn’t profitable
out of the way like the Irma storm debris
into the backyards of the Liberty City projects,
onto Mount Trash Can off the side of the Turnpike
hidden beneath Bermuda grass, lined with palm trees
you’re cold blooded
crawling with iguanas
blood-******* mosquitos
parking lot ducks and people not afraid to get run over
you get yours, Soflo
and you'll go as low
as the flat roofs of your duplexes
and the incomes that can barely pay the rent to get it
latitude as attitude
temper as temperature
if you were a body part
I swear you’re an *******

south of the brain, one hour
in all directions,
I’d find you.
You’d impose your way
onto my flight to the Philippines,
to Seattle, to Raleigh
You’d follow me like excess baggage,
like gravity,
bringing me back when asked where I'm from:

That area north of Miami, I’d say
(the suburbs, but whatever, we are hard in our own way)
I'd show you off on their map
as if some badge of grit,
certificate of aggression
I know how to break a sweat
walk briskly thru Walmart parking lots, drive evasive
ride storms in my sleep
I know you, I’d say,
“He’s a friend of mine.”
and I’d watch them light up
and recount
the postcards you've sent them
of the sunrise
welcoming brown immigrants
onto white sand beaches
You were foreign to us
yet raised us as your own
in the furnace of your summers
edges sharpened, iron on iron
the forger striking softness into swords
built for survival
I'm made of you

my South Floridian anger cools down
in your ocean breeze

if you were a body part,
you'd be a part of me
a socked foot in an And1 sandal
pressed to the gas pedal
as my drive takes me north
of your borders, far from home
You in the rear view mirror
tail-gating
like a sports car on the exit ramp
the color of the sun
Anastasia Feb 2018
Let's play hide and seek.
I’ll pretend as if I am not
Into that kind of ****,
As if I am really not
Into relationships,
As if I am as hard as stone,
As if I am far to reach.
Please seek me though.
I’m not as tough as I seem.

It’s actually so toilsome
Pretending I'm a real stone,
I am so much more like ice.
I seem extremely cold
And hard to break.
But really you can smash me
Without trying much,
And you'll feel me melting,
At very slightest touch.

But I’ll pretend I'm not about it,
Stones don't have feelings.
I am here to protect myself
From melting down completely,
I've got to keep pretending
To be a real hard stone,
I don’t belong to people.
Stones don't.
But really all I am thinking:

"Please, seek me, though!"
Love
zebra Jul 2018
come to me
like nocturnes creeping
and wake me with sweet kisses
like a tongue of sapphire ash
and sharp teeth to drink
from hollowed throat willing
and we shall love,
and love,
and love
like melting candles blessed
Traveler Jun 2013
I hear the weeping of a motherless child
My conscience is clear, my awareness defiled
Global warming, melting icecaps, disappearing bees
All these different threats of our accelerating entropy
By the recklessness of our desires our species is driven
We ignore matter of fact, and scientific proof given

Green behind the shadow, peace behind the fist
Greed behind the reason for the evidence we dismiss
So allow yourselves to experience this uneasiness of mind,
The dread that holds us fast, cause it's our species on the line...
Traveler Tim
06-2019
The bees are coming back so perhaps we've nothing to dread over.
patty m May 2014
Turn out the lights

and let me drown

in passion's darkness.

Play blind

and read my body's braille;

find me in pieces

letting fingers

paint designs.

Crawl beneath my skin and

fill my hunger.

Mold me, make me

malleable and melting

as you permeate my senses.  

. . . And l will trace you too,

traveling across your uncharted map.


Darling you are my ocean

my new country, each inch of you

touched and tasted as new routes

are discovered and pinnacles climbed.

Close your eyes

and feel the tickling of my unseen hand

through the darkness

of this forever night.
Shofi Ahmed Mar 2017
I
A flower that smells of pure bliss keeps an ear to the ground
It's a serene one sitting beneath the stars down on earth
The moon, far, far, seven seas away, loves to drop into her lap.

The Bay of Bengal billows, music has gotten beneath the skin.
The leaves furl out off the deep wood with the birds
singing out to the top of the trees, rhyming with the leafy dance.
Heavensent, that was in one sanguine day in the spring.
The Mother’s Language Movement in 1952 sprouted like this
on the eighth of native Falgun month—oh magic did it unleash!

On that day our beloved brothers were shot dead
They could swallow the bullets with smiles but won’t give up
demanding the official status for the Bangla mother tongue.
Angels wrapped round the martyrs amid lamenting mothers
Laid them on Falgun’s perfumed ground bleeding corpses
Seas of roses bloomed and blew them out red, red kisses!

They are gone not the stone wall of consciousness they raised
Ah, at the sprout of the spring what were they echoing?
Ingrained deep in the soil the pre-designing voice in the planning?
Who can tell? The world gels on February 21 in celebrating!

The angels then snapped up our martyrs’ souls off the land,
placed them on a piece of Heaven where they can hear the jingle.
Down on earth, a nation springs up, has gotten its wake up call!
Stepping on the sweetening arc of the mother tongue melody
the stone turns a flower, all in a butterfly moment soaring to victory.
Thanks to the movement - Bangladesh itself later comes to be!

II
The sun comes down to the rose painting on the land
In the heavenly Falgun hues it nibbles some wild summer dreams.
“Serene songs of earth stirring the water,” like it comes into play,
rowing the cloud bubbles singing in southern breeze.
Ah, a walk on the sun-kissed kaleidoscope land is a pure bliss.  
Every blossom spray of the wind is soothing sweet
Hop on and play straight to the ruby heart, as if it's a flute.

Mother tongue means speak free, fearless, in full streaming.
Speak the heart to the world without the fear of losing the cloud
that will listen, bouncing back on the brink of the sky river.
Then what did one say, hear, or was awed by in the blooming Falgun?
Could it have been the spring humming in her native lingua
or King David singing in mother tongue by babbling brooks
what in any other language, even with a silver tongue, isn’t possible?

Allah has listened to our martyrs’ crying mothers and fathers
The martyrs’ souls whisk through the galaxies and starry fair.

Soar high over the clouds, take the rainbow's *** of gold away,
Like a hue turns 360-degree in the colourwheel bask into the colour.
Still, dip the toes in Bangla mother’s soil salted with perfumed art
Like Himalayan water swirling down melting deeper deep down
This magicland is polished for everyone be it you, a fairy, a star
or off the ploughed-out barrow a walked out wonder!

A pristine voice duo’s voiceprint gleans to the spring in muse,
Pops in a beauteous scurry and speaks in the mother tongue!
Hidden within the earthy depth, only emerges with time,
only dances in tangent, that day slipped out with the butterflies.
And finally the blue nymphs take the plunge drop down the sky  
That day the mother’s voice triumphed, whose is the most original!
This is a poem from my book Zero and One available on Amazon.
Christian Ek Aug 2014
Tender touching on creamy silky skin.
Hearts pounding like jackhammers.
Sweat dripping, warm rain.
Sheets melting.
70,80,90,100 degrees celsius!!!
Pulses rising,voices rising, music rising.
White rose moving down your spine tingling your sensitive senses.
Oh how you sing my name, I hope this song never ends.
Loss of air, loss of sense of self, two bodies in one.
Rose pedals broken under two lovers forms.
Waking up in a rose garden to the sound of your voice.
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