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“I’m writing this somewhere secret, and green, and  beautiful..

Sparkling water and intoxicating seclusion
That I should be drinking in with relief.

But all I can think of is how badly I wish you were here with me to share in this solitude.

We could wander for hours amongst blossoming weeds, and forget what happened that left us bereft”
I have a beautiful and magical secret pond that I’ve found in my suburban neighborhood full of rules and watching eyes. For the first time since I moved here, I have somewhere I can sit and breathe.
It makes me miss my loved one, but pain can become beautiful.
East Wind Aug 17
I thought I wanted this
but most birds don't fly
without their flocks.
I am taking off.
I'm journeying to mountain tops.
I say my dears, I'll be back
When I find the shell
that hides my prize,
only to wonder why I am lost
caging myself from  
from passing life.
Inverted Soul Nov 16
With all the whisper
all the screams
and the mumbles in between
some give me comfort
some are just obscene
the pain inside my head
just waiting to pass
secluded in discomfort
seems forever that it last
disturbing speculation
always to unfold
mood alteration
of feelings being sold
chaos and disorder
begin to take flight
why can't you see??
this ever raging fight
that lives inside of me....
Carina Oct 2016
Standing on a secluded cliff,
Turning my eyes to the sea.
I try to net with the smallest sniff
What freedom and oblivion may be.

The waves crashing onto the rocky shore,
Each one inevitably fading away;
no longer being part of the bore,
but instead washing over the bay.

I wonder how it feels giving up to the stream;
My lungs filled with endless devotion.
For I realize the waves crashing to be redeemed
Don´t matter as long as they're part of the ocean.
We are defeating social norms
We have begun speaking only to us
A length we on speak on television
They don’t live with us

I don’t know where secluded lives
I have no sight of them
Only the victim reports
But there is no register

Legislations we speak
But there is no care
All breaking norms

Cameras do not capture internal
The victim drinks anxiety
His smiley surrender on

Spectators have nothing to do with the victim
New social norms

Dr Baljit Singh
Friday 8 November 2019
KiraLili Aug 2016
At the mouth of Big Fork
We dealt with your fear of water
My farm girl doesn't swim like her river man
A two person kayak on a summers day
Quiet was the lake at the mouth of the river
Slow were our strokes as we went
You white knuckled your paddle so tight
As the day went your grip loosened
Your hair always up you let down
The calm water moved into you
Your life on the prairie had none of this
It was all dust and noise and dirt
The career you forged in the city was even louder
In one day I saw waters magic take hold
A stop along a secluded beach to baptize you with a swim
Your face finally without make up softened and smiled
Years of tension flowed down the river
Floating you took in that Montana big sky
Not much was spoken that day
You said it best looking up at the sky
" A girl can breathe out here....."
Big Fork Montana
DivineDao Mar 2016
Somebody has to invent
a secluded discovery of self
bonfire pyre the onomatopoetic
first initiatives regarding

lust love liberated arts
put the non pun material into stranger feelings
artistic   liberty    loves     last

rascal rear view open window rewined front replicability dashing windbathed laughing heads roaring roads to . . . . . .

Tea at five and toast happiness
           is Highly

recommended    na
recovery from a stunning poetry overboard
plummenting fascinations
overwhelming meaning motions u ndulation*s
carminayasmin Sep 2018
tonight when I fled from my cage,
I was secluded from my own head because
all it called upon was you. echoing and echoing.

like a mother aches for her lost child
I was
gnawing the skin on my fingertips
rustling the ends of my hair into knots
biting numbingly into my tongue
all so nonchalantly
like a fool.

who is so simply chasing his own tail
in circles and circles and circles and just such endless cycles

until they send themselves to sleep
there was just this endless river of words that had just been so congested inside of me and I don't know why last night it all came spewing out
Kara Jean May 2016
Tightly forcing her body against the clay
Scraping her tarnished skin, on its unforgiving stones
Unhinged, narrow thought became disturbed
Intention, soaking the soils energy
Becoming one with nature
Persuit, rapid decaying
No trail of life
Evidence faded
Secluded mountain peak
30 miles in, her only goal accomplished
Her pocket knife she holds over head
Pretending to cut the fluffy clouds in half
One fast Stab
She lays in her vanishing grave
DarkSkyesRising Oct 2018
Why am I the outcast
Who was I to know
That everybody tires
Of the ones who love them most
Why am I being punished
What did I do wrong
Why do you have to push me away
When I've tried so hard for so long
Why can't I give up on you
When your already so far gone
I've secluded myself, I have no one
And you said you want me to move on
Why am I the one
With the broken heart
Why is your life
Being ruined
Why won't family talk to me
Why am i turned away
No one in this world wants love from me
No one has ever stayed
Why have I been outcasted
Why have I been pushed away
Why can't somebody love me
Why can they not stay
Is everyone a liar?
Is everyone like you?
Or is it me that's the tragedy
Why do they hate me more than you
Robert G Page Dec 2011

in this late hour on a mid-august night
the day's torturous heat now just a trace.
with heaven's dark sky splattered star light bright
and with the moon's help, how they now illuminate.

naked to the night on a blanket she waits
from a crystal flute she sips her wine.
its acrid taste makes her body brace,
and her silky skin to shine.

our lady awaits anticipates the night of love to be,
she's made her nest in secluded style
away from prying eyes, alone in the night
she patiently waits for her lover to arrive.

her warm body bathes in the evening breeze
eyes closed she lets her fingers roam,
her half-***** ******* she'll gently squeeze
'til engorged with blood they flush fully grown.

laying a hand to her most sensitive spot
the cradle of life's onset if you will,
her first finger eases itself into place,
and deftly a second does follow.

slowly and softly in clockwise rotation
wishing it were her lover's trace;
the effect was good with her hip's gentle motion
her soul now wrapped in silk and lace.

with quiet stealth on an old forest path
her mate breaks out of the tall trees cover,
spotting his sensual prey's silhouette
naked and silent he slips toward his lover.

feeling his presents her eyes slightly open
towering above her as tall as the trees,
she sees her muscular handsome young swain
in time to see him drop to his knees.

leaning in he gives her soft kiss'
his hand tracks her ******* with a gentle lover's mirth,
slowly and gently he brings her along, with a
touch as soft as a feather's fall to earth.

reaching forth and touching his face
and gently pulling him down to her lips,
they lightly touch then drift apart
as he makes his way to her ******* and hips.

the time is not urgent there's no wasted efforts,
every inch of her skin he greets with a kiss,
as a hungry lion studies his prey
not a single sound made, nor morsel missed.

seductively firm he leads her to ******,
she honors his every wish and whim.
knowing his every move leads to pleasure
from pleasure to rapture time and again.

as the moon crosses over making way for the day,
and the star's disappear in the sun's early light.
our lady awakens alone where she lay
her mysterious lover is gone with the night…
Sally A Bayan Aug 2018

Save from the hidden nests of birds,
it was the only one there...isolated,
like an isle...crested on the leveled
top of a gorge...its way down or up
was through a hand-carved series of
steps on its ***** its front was a
curved would think,
it was trying to cross over

the cottage was small, weather-beaten,
desolate......its wooden walls seemed to
have shrunk...its faded colors proclaimed
its age...its having survived past storms....
from its window, the stream was seen,
and heard, flowing on and on between
these two precipitous valleys.

light came from the sun...and moon,
music was provided by the murmurs of
the forceful wind, the continuous flow of
water on the stream, the stirring of the leaves,
the crackling of branches and twigs, the birds'
singing in the spring...the pounding of heavy
rains on its roof...and countless other hymns
of nature......the dweller had heard them all...

beneath a lonely moon glow,
when nights were cold,
there hovered low 'pon its aged roof,
rounds of layered a series of a stairway to the sky...
fog slyly crept, and wilfully shrouded
the vanished from view,
the two gorges and the stream, hushed,
in the dark loneliness of that secluded
spot......their vulnerabilities, trapped
inside....misshapen silhouettes...

in light and in dark,
the whistles of nearing and departing
boats....were wailing, haunting calls,
piercing the peaceful calm of the valleys, or,
maybe, the stilled complacence of the cottage,
or...of the one living in that lonely cottage,
...lost, or gone astray, now weary and worn,
willing to be found...longing to be reunited
.......with the light and warmth of love...

the cottage, the gorges, and the stream
would be loneliest,
without the cottage dweller...


© Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
August 27th, 2018
" man is an island..."
pluto Dec 2018
Secluded behind the walls of glass structures,
Bleeds time within its ruptures,
For diamonds vanish as its sands continuously fall,
As trapped souls rapidly add dents to it's fractured wall.
"They ran out of time"
In the halo of a secluded summer's stone,
A hush,
A stillness under the shade of slumbering trees,

This was life, living and breathing,
Singing too,
Now, only the weeping silence,

A name etched upon a fading headstone,
Fingerprints and memories withered away,
Upon the summer's light it still glimmers,

Nature's tender embrace soothes broken stone,
Curling and wiping away the past,
Death shall never darken the songs of life.
lori parr Sep 5
how oft I’ve wondered of your thoughts
secluded there and underneath
and I could swear I caught them once
or twice above the swirling din
how oft I’ve thought I heard you call
across the wasteland of this place
between the sin and through the fate
I felt my name upon your lips
how oft I’ve never come to you
how oft I’ve ever wanted to
When you think about Tom Brokaw comment about assimilation?
He didn't address the assimilation they need to face.
In your secluded community, many yet to face the truth of a changing world.

In other words, yet to catch up.
Most one race segment was created by those not assimilating.

Little Italy, little Cuba, many black communities came about because of one group.
And here a fame reporter talking about others need to assimilate into society.

Who created Jim Crow?
Who segregated Asian American during the second war.
What group tried to eliminate a mass Jewish population?

Presently, still using fear tactics about others because they know this group fears others.
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