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SøułSurvivør Sep 2015
---

i

blue grey clouds
of crushed
velvet

sunlight
tears
the
seams


ii

embers of
delicate peach
ignite flames
of fuchsia

the orb of
sun burns colors
away to ashes

blown into floes
of white
mare's
tails


iii

tiny bird
settles restless
on the
highest
branch

flits
away


iv

wind
through
the weathered stones
cries then whispers

luring
the children
who lie within our ribs
to break free
and sing
songs
of
play


v

mamalaria
cactus
wears her
wreath
of
pale
lavender
flowers

sings to
her babes
clustered
below

saguaro
listens



soulsurvivor
(C) 9/13/2015
beautiful day rises up
out of the ashes
of a flaming
sunrise

---

To a special friend...
... thank you!
We're forced, each man, to walk a trialed path—
resisted trek, uphill through blinding daze
that shrouds with crucible's perplexing haze
till fog-white skies yield quick to black clouds' wrath.
Affliction brims a thorny pack to bear
whilst dewy darkness drenches in the night,
but where is calming lamp to lend us sight?
And who will come to give us saving care?
Here through veil is heard a whisper certain,
then o'er the mountain creeps the dawning day
and with clear eyes we see the brume give way
as *** retracts His theatre's curtain,
unsheathing velvet waves whose morning sheen
beyond grey mist splays vast and wondrous green.
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
Summer morning -
pink jets of clouds
splash out
from the golden well of the east
falling just short
of an ebbing moon.

Streams of swallows
flutter and glide
over the garden -
they are all flying
in the same direction
as if erupting

from the sun’s waking pulse.
Just for a moment
one of the birds hangs
perfectly still -
like the top-most drop of water
from a fountain before it turns

to face the glittering pool.
Beneath them all
the hummingbird
makes her rounds
and a dove scratches the earth
below the feeder

keeping an wary eye
on the scribbling intruder.
So many summer mornings -
too many summer mornings
I have wasted
worrying about the world

and my place in it –
absent from my own body
and breath
the cage of my ribs
rising, falling, and pausing
without me. Meanwhile,

another swallow
stills her wings.
Buoyed by an unseen breeze
she is both feathered sail
and cresting wave as she slices
over my shoulder bearing west.


Tom Spencer © 2015
Ozioma Ogbaji Apr 2015
In the morning, old becomes new
Birds sing as black slowly turns blue
In the morning, my fears are taken
My faith is stronger, I am not shaken

My fears are taken by morning's rebirth
Fresh as the dew clinging to my feet
In the morning, there is a new me to meet
Whom the blinding night has deemed fit to birth

In the morning, my flaws are still the same
Like the yellow sun, everyday like flame
In the morning, I remember yesterday's mistakes
And I know better what is at stake

In the morning, I let go of the night
I let go of the dark, I embrace the light
In the morning, my eyes are brighter
My dance is better, my laugh is lighter

My smile is warmer, my kiss is softer
My hug is tighter, my speech has no stutter
In the morning, I am all I want to be
Awake, refreshed, hopeful, free
jane taylor May 2016
raindrops faintly laughing as they prance
                                                along the leaves
watercress dancing gently twirling slowly
                                                          in the creek
a deer’s neck softly brushing like a whisper
                                                           against a tree
the sun is rising in the forest with hushed tones
                                                             of red on green
a brusk barista whose soul is wounded wants to cry
                                                               but bravely greets
the first blush of sweet dawn's morning ignites resplendent
                                                     ­                             things unseen
                                 

©2016janetaylor
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