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Jesse stillwater Dec 2018
Healing leaves are now disrobed branches
on the edge of this wilderness.
Many tall Douglas Fir stand sentinel
over 100 foot tall amazing grace — the fleeting leaves
expose the beauty of the moss clad scaffolds
adorned with a lime-grey lichen lace
Nature is my refuge — solid ground to stand
in this harmony and peacefulness.


Jesse Stillwater — December 2018
Left as a comment yesterday, mused by "Healing Leaves" by Reena Sharma:
https://hellopoetry.com/poem/2843497/healing-leaves/
KiraLili Nov 2015
Small birds
In leafless trees
Branch hopping
On frosty shoots
Wind rustles
Fallen foliage
One leaf clings
Stalwart it hangs
It twists and curls
One sentinel maple
The last leaf
Of November
K Balachandran Jul 2015
The soliloquy of the night,
what we think as
falling stars and meteors,
make time and space immaterial
in the transmission of pain across light years.

Sitting here alone, a sentinel
to pain's interplanetary travel,
and witness of it transforming
in  to other forms, eloquent,
I hear them when my eyes,
acquire a sense, primordial
receive the dark waves
of pain in my veins
a volcano palpitating to blow up
in to  fireworks of emotions.

Everywhere eyes could travel, is filled
by night, thick, gooey, agglutinated;
then the meditative darkness,
dreams up a beam of  gentle light,
out of its deep transcending yearning,
to speak to itself,to get  an alchemy work on that pain
then, the pain itself becomes a haunting journey with words
this ,is how  my love, my songs
in the midnight of my lonely soul, are born.
Yenson Oct 2018
Oh Mr Sentinel *****, you *** with the bullwhip and echo tongue
For four hundred years they had your fathers and mothers
toiling the sugar and cotton fields no better than oxen and horses
They were all beasts together without rights or gain
All you knew was what Babylonians put in your heads
Your perceptions are nothing but that of a slave
As bright as those of the oxen and *****
That were your mates

Now you sit here thinking you're Bob Marley without stringed guitar
you may have a pen in hand but nothing much has changed
what you call a brain is just a dusty mirror from ***** in the Plantation mansion
you are just the *** overseer who gives your *** to ***** at night
payment for echoing his words and ******* a **** on Saturday
Who are you really but a mindless carcass with no class
Your momentum comes from ***** and is *****
it's 21st century and you are still a Sentinel on the cotton fields

You come cracking your bullwhip talking trash
your ****** *** still has a ten dollar price tag hanging off it
the mixed blood of your ancestors fight for dominance in vain
four hundred years of slavery and you're still in chains mind asleep
there's freedom in the sun whether in tropics or in snow town
freedom is a mind unchained to *****'s bulls and stunted ****
Show me the freedom of a ******* Sentinel the mottafucker chicken
Go find your ******* radicals and do your worst, how did your  pimping go in Liverpool.
or where you too busy spinning your **** in Birmingham Alabama.
Andrew Nov 2017
Your rapid fire
Heart's desire
Is a high octane
Bullet train
Bouncing between destinations
At widely varying elevations
Stopping at mysterious stations
Where I experience deflation
In between these stops is a track
Where everything is black
And you attack
Until the merciful sun finally shines
You then say you'll always be mine

There are quick flashes of light
But also sick gasps of fright
And it's a big task of might
So the trick is to grasp right
When the speed of your movement
You claim to be an improvement
Creates fire extinguishing wind
So the flame you lit you rescind

Your ride was aridly adrenalized
Which is why I was penalized
In a poison prison incentivized
By your many mental lies
Eluding my sentinel kind
No love I find
Only tire marks
In entire dark
That lead to nowhere
While I scream no fair

You were an explosion of pleasure
Whose interest I tried to measure
Instead of being happy
I saw your train lapping
Familiar phantom spots
When emotions ran hot
Through my heart you shot
At a velocity I once thought
To be completely impossible
Proven wrong by bullet holes
And only lonely bullets know
What's inside my heart
They take those contents
To make me repent
Your speedy intent

That was fast
Smoking past
Things that last
Into broken glass
Until we were cut
By our rushing rut
I couldn't take anymore
So I sped to the door
Andrew Oct 2017
Things blow up
People throw up
And then walk on
A land mine
When they talk on
A landline

I try to enjoy myself
But enjoyment has stealth
And eludes
Which secludes
Happiness hides
Behind sentinel shrapnel
That makes us abide
The rules of this flat Hell

There are frequent explosions in my mind
They are sequenced implosions through time
I have poor explanations
For my inflammations
My hands fumble
My brain crumbles
Progress is lost
That's the cost

Frustration cooks
From holy books
And constitutions
That can't be changed
Or rearranged
So we're gridlocked in an explosion
In Hell's fruitless fire we are frozen

Explosions dot the planet like acne
Humanity has no choice except to get older
Sharing information is our main asset yet we grow colder
We must evolve together
We're doomed to be tethered
So we must gel
To avoid Hell
There are monsters in our midst
In our mind is where they sit
We must expel them together
Or we'll be exploding forever
Tom Spencer Jul 2015
The trail rose up
through the sand
and sage covered hills
following the sinews of a land
scoured by fire and flood.
Even the most severe carving
here was nothing
compared to the city below-
its concrete grid
glaring over my shoulder-
sprawled out,
******* on its dingy
comforter of smog-
******* up
the dust of the desert
around it.

The trail led me up.
Up past twisted
juniper bones,
past pale green yuccas
curling
fine white filagree
from their dagger blades,
past sandstone boulders
swirled like confections,
past ancient cooking pits
nested with ash,
and ghost-like hands
outlined on stone-
to a white cliff face
up-******
beneath the cloudless sky.


From a lone stump
a pinyon jay squawked
drawing my eyes down.
A sentinel
to its comrades-
who rose up
from the draw to my left
and sailed in twos and threes
sinking down into
the draw on my right.
Right before me,
around me, behind me,
first two- then six,
then tens of metallic blue
wings beating heavily against
the unfamiliar desert air.

They had come down.
Down from the scrubby
forests of pine.
Down from snow
covered slopes.
Hungry,
they searched the green
fingers of the washes-
the winter forcing them
down across the trail
that was drawing me up.
They passed close by,
wing beats feathered my ears,
first up, then down-
the sentinel
keeping an eye .


Listening, suddenly hearing
my breath beat
against the wind-
I stood motionless, perched
beyond starting
and destination-
blue wings lifting
the hunger within.


Tom Spencer © 2017
She sits with him in beautiful glory
that woman of sweet justice
oh wonder why he sits with her
giving her the time of the wolf

Black lace adored her frame
that was the last image he did see
hunters had made trade on him
and he was dying

She saved him from the hunters
many winters ago
and since then he walks with her
with love in his eyes for her

No greater a love is kindness
so till the end of his life
he will be her sentinel
her devoted protector

At night he sits outside her wood cabin
guarding her with passion
his love is only for her
and his devotion his vow

  
By Christos Andreas Kourtis aka NeonSolaris
Canis Latrans Mar 14
Sentinel of dust.
Guard your resolutions quietly.
Calamity comes but to no avail.
The card signifies strength in opposition. If attacked he will meet the onslaught boldly.
Dreams
Are euphony
Of thought,
Of heart,
Of body,
Of the splendid,
Of the soul,

(Unbinding our once
Spectral Fates
          That spiraled down
The Keys of Life
Tainted by
The Greatest of Dissonance)

My Redolent Reverie,
Sweetened by
Mellifluous Nectar Tides
Of cherished moments
Steeped for eons
In our
Carnal yearnings
Are made anew
By the Cosmogonist’s Hands
Of Eternity

(O, for I
Doth doven the skies,
That the Incendiary Wings
Of the Auburn Pheonix
Imbue me
With the Souls Acquisition
Of Golden Pinions
                      Of the Thew of Vitality).

Captive visions,
Slumber in
My Azure Dreamer’s Chest
Engraved with
The Insignia of Archaic Fates
Upon it’s
Starry Epidermis
Till skies fall
To the Terrene
And
The Luminaries
Shall rest
Betwixt
The palms of my hands

(O, for then
This Juggernaut of a Man
That I am
Shall Effloresce
Ceasing to be
     That Loveless Sentinel,
The Guardian over
The Bastion Heart
He fathoms
Impregnable)

.Ensorcelled Butterflies
Radiate
Lovelit Lavender Light
Upon that
Astral Parcel,
Lulling my weary eyes
By the
Sovereignty of Monarchial Wings
Vanquishing the doubts
Once blurring
My Kaleidoscopic Dreams
(Life’s Iridescent Seal
Branded upon
My forehead
And etherealizing
My exhalations
                    Till crystalline)

My sullied heart
Pulses shadowed winds
(The Sweeping Gales of Solemnity)
Without the
Blissful Kiss of Cadence
Resonating an
Ebony surge
Deeper,
Than first octave tonality
Of abyssal timbre.

I beseech you,
Unfurl those forested eyes
My Desiderata Materialista,
That I may
Drinketh of your
Emerald Streams,
Ineffably Pristine.

(For then
I shall be
Spirited away
      To Eden,
My existence
     Shall become
Nirvanic Transcendence)

To pine is a pang,
To envisage
Is to breath.

Perhaps that
Is the only solace
My feeble soul
Can bear,
Without you.

By your alabaster skin
Vein my eyes
With luminescence.

With your tender caress
Saunter my
Voracious skin.

Weave my Chrysalis,
By your
Susurrant voice.

Cocoon me
In your
Flawless serenade,
That I metamorphose
Bearing the
Sacrosanct Wings of Phantasmagoria
And
The Melisma of Your Piety.

Pearlescent blood
Floweth within me,
Like baptismal rain,
As I muse
When you alight
Once more
In my Cosmos.

I am yours,
Floral Fallal.

~Our fears are the burdens
    Of the Vestige of the Past,
      A hollow cry
       That fights to exist
         In a zeitgeist
           That flowers
              Quicker than
                Our hearts know how to beat.
                          
                     Unfurl your Gates
                           To the Arbiter of Fates,
                              Unearth the Hallowed Crystals
                                 Of your Garnetiferous Passion
                                    That takes shape
                                        Because you…

                               O, Stalwart Knight,
                                    You were cosmic
                                         Like myriad raindrops,
                                           Mystic echoes
                                              Emancipating­ your spirit
                                                 From the trepidation
                                                     ­    Of the mortal kind.

                                                   Evolve,                                            
                                Evanesce,                       ­   
                                                  For to be Ephemeral                      
                                 ­                Means to conquer                                  
That Magisterial Oblivion.
                                                       ­     Se’lah.~
Hey guys! I've been doing a great deal of experimenting with my writing as of late. This piece is an embodiment of all the introspection, musings, tribulations, and heartbreaks I have experienced as of late. I hope you all can appreciate this piece despite the quasi-obscurant references that I present bereft of explicit detail.

The core of this piece lies in the fundamental nature of our dreams, yearnings, and aspirations (as well as the shadows born of the loveless blight). It effloresced it something much greater as I continued to refine it. Hope you guys like! God bless!
Waynepatrick May 2018
I said I'd never lose hope,
At  least that's what I thought until now.
I'm sullen with discomfort that all this I allow,

And I try to stem this tide without success,
A strange blend of heightened consciousness and dramatic
Unconsciousness.
I can never plumb it's depth fully,
The steady drumrolls of stress I discount,hoping it goes away .
But I'm sure of one thing,
My hope is just but a lonely sentinel,
Keeping watch over the vast stretch of sterile land that it once
CLAIMED.
Thus I've found myself here,
I wouldn't wish for anyone to be there.
Dave Gledhill Aug 2018
The eagle searches, circling, senses strum like spider silk.
Sorrow’s scent slides up on a sea breeze.
A solitary slave spits sullenly into the spray.
Silently, suddenly, the sentinel streaks down.

Beak breaks skin, breaches bone, crimson blots the ocean’s foam.
Defenceless, relentless, the bird blurs in a barrage of blood.
Banished, betrayed, the ravaged titan sways -  
between the rocks that form his cage.

His foe retreats; a closing caw as crooked claws cleave meat.
Head bowed in defeat, our hero strains as chains bind
hands and feet.
Enduring bonds cut deep and bleed him bittersweet.

Cast against the crags,
this castaway’s castigated cries call out
to no-one.
Chastised, he squints with hollow eyes
towards a lifetime of the bird’s reprise.
  
Furious. Fists flex,
thrashing against his fortress.
Face furrowed into a frown he flings forward
and for once finds his foot…
unfettered.  

Bindings broken, his bonds bite terra firma,  
as first a foot and then a hand finds favour.
Boundless, he bellows at the sky
as the flotsam of his freedom floats on by.

Reprieved. Aggrieved. He is restless in release.
An errant righteous line repeats.  
Relentless in its beat, it rings out like raw steel on teeth.
A ricochet that disturbs his sleep

“Is this victory, or defeat?”

Racked by reminiscence,
his reality and responsibility remain.
Warped roots rammed down
with rock-filled boots.
Resistance seems obtuse against such reoccuring fruit.

Reluctant, resigned, he rattles out a sigh -  
the last gasp of this transitory high.
Reaching for the rope and tack he re-binds the knots
that hold him back.  
With one last glance towards the past
he hoists his soul upon the mast.

Ceaselessly.
Senselessly.
The
sentinel
streaks
down.
L B Apr 2018
Down the ******--
Adventures of Feral Children

If there has to be a gate, I suppose I have always had my own theory that “The ******” was one of those places through which God pulled Paradise inside out.  I was always wandering there, pretending-- playing sometimes or searching for something-- the exact moment that spring begins, or the place of my secret dwelling where I was in charge, where I was queen.  Always hoping for the constant surprise of beauty, a lady slipper-- stunning last year's leaves, a meadow of white violets-- May snow on green?  Or was the startle of of seeing my first scarlet tanager in the saplings-- still too cold for leaves?

To the uninitiated The ****** was nothing more than the meaning of its name, a bending tube of woods with a brook tracing along it-- like snake's spine.

Not a practical place for a housing development, it had an ether of history as some “Valentine Park” and playground, and I guess that was true, judging from the ruins of bridges, stone half-penny steps, and the overgrown lima-bean shaped pool.  Huge, stone block stairs had faced each other, lining the entrance of a spring-- a fountain once, covered now with moss.  It loomed at dusk like an ancient temple.  Even the course of the brook had been maintained by giant, redstone slabs-- long-since tumbled in the wake of hurricanes whose names I've forgotten....

...Like a snake's spine... always there for a thousand years, wearing its steep banks ever-deeper into the guts of city till oaks, hemlocks and white pines became sentinel giants, far taller and older than their genes had ever intended.  In the war for sunlight, they through up an unwitting wall against all-- but the most daring encroachments...

...Like say-- like say half-grown people, cigarette butts, broken bottles, and underground “forts” with their smells of stale beer and musty clothes, old mattresses-- echos of giggling, the aura of explored forbiddens.  To us who knew her, The ****** could outlive remembrance but not rumor.  Like an old graveyard or an abandoned house, it was the place to go with our bags of candy, pea-shooters, and fire crackers!  We'd go there to fake-smoke punks-- we either were or wanted to be--
  
Somebody's parents always leaving their lights around....

We came there to delve into our made-up mysteries, like the one about that antique car that had rusted in “The Swamp” for centuries!  ...that someone's dead cousin drove off The ******'s cliff side one night... drunk as a skunk!  ...right where The Diamond Match's got this big pipe that spews all that gray **** into the brook! ...right where we used to swim and play on the hottest days since we couldn't use the city's Paddle Pond (folks were scared of polio in those days), so we played at “The Pipe” --making “Indian pottery” with the neighbors,  Gary, Davy, Shelley, and Sandy.  Red clay cups and ashtrays on red hot afternoons-- making wild polluted Indians of Jew and Irish kids alike.

Now I almost forgot.... I was telling you about that antique car-- the one some cousin of Ross was supposed to 'ave driven right off the cliff into the swamp and died... Well... His ghost still lurks there! ...and goes into 'iz cousin's body-- Ross, that is....  Let me tell ya!  Ross could sure mess up an afternoon's good time by his appearance!
                                          __­__

  
But The ****** wasn't just for spooks-- not if you were into spraying girls with rusted cans of rotten Reddi Whip, kicking skunk cabbage (same effect), or finding frogs eggs under lily pads,  Gary even discovered those curious old Italians picking water cress barefoot in The Frog Pond.  Intensely curious, he was not afraid of their funny speech and ways.  He had gallon cans and pickle jars for raising pollywogs-- so he was on a mission.  But best of all, Gary had a backyard that overhung The ******'s swamp!  We could even view The Pipe hurling runoff ten feet out into the basin!  Our aberrant Niagara after a good storm.

Then there was the time that Tarzan swing just appeared!-- Like one of those convenient vines in the jungle movies!  It hung from a pine on one of The ******'s sheer sides, and was capable-- when wrapped around the trunk and given a running start, of providing one helluva-swooping-good ride-- out over the brook, into the sunlight and back-- with a thousand terrifying variations.  Took me a while to work-up my nerve-- a little longer to be really fine!

Tommy Gireaux fell and broke his arm.  Our swing was nothing but a stump of rope next day.  Twenty feet up, dangling fun, cut off and left-- to remembrance of times so real Tarzan made personal appearances!

______
Of course, there's more to this.  Our feral band of explorers discovers the soggy Playboys and gets sidetracked from their mission to find  "The Pine Cathedral" and where The ****** actually ends.  Ross shows up.

Not a fiction...not a fiction.

I am totally frustrated by my efforts to use and delete italics and bold print.  Why can't this site just post them as they appear in the writing???   How hard can that be?
Just what does it feel like?
Is it all peachy moment after moment
Is it about muffins, rainbows and unicorns
Or a smile so constant that cheeks ache
Is it the buoyant presence of a presence
Of a lone sentinel to avert your fall
Is it the warmth of the arms
you surrender yourself to
Or a romantic ambience
Immeasurably delightful
Or is it the absolute vacancy
Of melancholy
Or maybe just the belief in yourself
Is it the period when you break free
from the heavy corroding chains that restrict

It is, in fact,
Something volatile
Something more tense than calming
Something more exasperating than pleasing
Menacingly merciless
Joltingly jeopardizing
*Execratingly endangering
To every person happiness has a different definition.
It is an emotion which justifies even the misdeeds. It is the bringer of sorrow.
Think about it, a thief will be 'happy' robbing your home successfully.
The wind
finds a tongue
in the hazel
below the
flaking air.

At seventeen
I was in
a Pontiac
at two in
the morning
& I saw it
moving
in a coat
of leaves,
awake
& sentinel.

It uses
elms
to sigh
east
& chimes
pinned to
the brick
by an old
plum nail
drip sprinkles
of its music
into the
amber eve.

With
mouthless
whisper,
it tells me
that spring
is here and
the long
acres
between us
are just
the wild
playing fields
of fireflies.
Robin Carretti Jun 2018
Moved by his computer frame
Love to love you he loved to move
her body frame he loved to love
That chrome never over to be undone
  Those delicate cake fingers
Those ABC key notes
  musically wired moved by the

Marionette elementary my dear
Watson in  a chrome jar mason
Hard mission with circuits
Radio days
She was so committed and clicked
All towered like the French Provincial

"All Metal" I phone rings to his
commercial I tunes conventional
So moved by her like the sentinel
Fingers frantic through the
yellow pages loving and soothing
But that wasn't so romantic
more silver linings

But Iced latte like fine slender metal
Soft and creamy cake in her love portal
So Sara just smile she was something
In her way was the General Lee
French stewardess Wee Wee
Her chrome metal Oh! Gee

What it did to him drove him
For hours to the address named
The hard drive
Mentally he was melted
he had to stay firm but pacing like the
buzzing beehive
The midday she moved into another
Red carpet Hollywood drive
She was out of her box racing too red
Too much of his chrome wheel heat
Metallic leather moves in her heels

Mighty sweet but some
anger management to beat
The crunch the bunch the
workout being spooked out
Those biceps couldn't take a bad rap
High life joy wife loves the cook-out
So outgoing gift of gab
Jekyll and Hyde lab

That metalworking grime
More networking like the
hard water crime
The marching wooden soldiers
Christmas time got the metal locket
He was ready for her lips
fired out rocket

In the dark the spark more alive into
A gunmetal lovely portal
Moved by the rebel her face had a
dark silvery veil Apple computer
Love mentor crazy love inventor
She was hard as a rock
At the muscle club

So hushed how she moved her
lips he is the
Chrome metal built up
Was her heart moved away
Her hands tightly closed cup
It got caught on the metal chair
Moved like a piece of furniture

Shine on the modern metal lamp
It was blown glass
Like the cartoon
"Lady and the *****"
Genie just appeared
Moved by him her
metal box could tear
The Mozilla stronger then

The silver back Gorilla
Chrome attire good fella
Yahoo singer Miss Diva
Venus-Stella,
Not a child's Crayola
She loved to drink
In his metal cup mountain dew

Moved up by Mothers Day

She needed to bloom
more (May I)
Way too polite
Heavy lifting rain April
fools season
  But he had the
stiff collar June he took
such a hard drive
Moved by her chrome metal you decide?

  Cosmos two in a half
metal, she was always in the
lab finding new age turn
of the page new turf
War veterans deserve the metals
Oh! Metal Heart take a chill pill
Becoming junkies  leaders and
Quack up Doctors

(Ripley’s believe
it or metal it)
So tickled chrome pink
To forget it her cell I- O-U metal
heart phone
  Here is a link to my song I did

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=r0p-HADoF1I&t=162s

The  ammunition of
the best silver
That was Terry Tech lee
his brother was Techie
Heavy metal rounds the
sea minerals
To top things off  the
"Metal Generals"

Moved by only chrome
The robot combat type metal
Not a belly wash to be pregnant
What a moving day convent
I need my own outlet

If I only had a brain
Were built like machines
anyway
The pacemakers nothing
feels real
The Brooklyn bridge
Deal or no deal
No grudge to hold onto
Wartime metal moved by
The honorable Veterans
Have a heart, not of cold stone
if I only had a brain
  All-metal wedding  

Taking the City train earthquake moving
Speaking traditionally white
Metal is the future of the website
Well! how much olive oil can
they serve the Tin man wizardly
He crushed my cheeks like
Rotten metal tomatoes

Mr. Clean robot cleaning
up the metal hearts
Someone will throw you off the
Brooklyn, let's play bridge
Should you get a metal bridge?
The Jewish dentist, he has plenty of bridges.
You could find him near the Trump Towers.
Greeting we all feel Metallic a bit ****** but something we need to bend and expand our metal horizons there is also a link I put on here for my song but I don't know if you will get it to work but we are hard as metal  all chrome  pick up you metal phone LOL
Pétra Hexter Nov 2018
A skeletal stag standing ten trees tall
Hanging moss adorning His wide antlers, patches of rocky lichen covering His driftwood bones
Large cloven hooves stepping carefully yet purposefully among the bleached remains littering the forest floor
He alone reigns here, in this place beneath ours
Even the pines fall silent as He passes
Even the stones
The air is old here
Thick with a power lost to time
Only He is left; a dimming flicker in a collective consciousness
Keeping a lonely vigil in an ancient forest a thousand miles deep and a hand's width beside us
No breath is drawn here
The soft rattling of His timber ribcage is the sole sound as He moves
Ceaselessly
Without rest
To a place always changing, never quite there
The ossuaries lay in a heavy silence
He assures the eternal slumber of all who rest here
The hollows in His skull seem to observe them, undisturbed
He moves on
His name has been forgotten for millennia
This sacred ground has become but a fleeting memory
Few old gods remain, lost to the quickening of time
He remembers, as He stands keeper of this place
Of an age before ours
When they would polish the skulls of the hunt with holy oils in His name
Dancing wildly and unburdened around towering flames
Primal sounds ripping raw from reverent lips
Now He is all but a wavering in the annals
He pauses in His endless march
Raises His great antlers to the thick canopy above
He listens
Feels the shift -- another one has faded
He will most likely be the last of His kind
A somber sentinel tasked with ensuring the dead wake not from their final sleep
Ensuring the silence is suffocating
A deep, weighted vibration
As if the place under ours was itself thrumming with power
Though none remain who once spoke His true name in fearful whispers
He will outlast
For all will eventually come to know
The one they now call death
JDL Nov 2018
Forest sentinel,
Bi-centennial
-Chop-
Feet of roots,
Fingers of shoots
-Chop-
Hands of stems,
Arms of limbs
-Chop-
Skin of bark,
Flesh of starch
-Chop-
Beard of moss,
Nothing of dross
-Chop-
Blood of sap,
Crack of snap
-Chop-
And that was that...
So many ancient trees are lost each year. May this poem serves as both a memorial and a dedication to what has been lost.
Robin Carretti Aug 2018
The riveting heart feels
the weight of trouble
The rebel is like a watchdog
sentinel
Whats in our Bible?
Things change to make the
difference

"Like a new invention but there is interference"

The Castle you hear
a rattle
wasn't a baby rattle
Minds settling or quietly dazing
No defeating over the rainbow
It's like running then you stop
You look at his watered fingers
Of the great lakes, he's admiring
your lady's fingers

Lips divine as one like us
The gold rush collection
Just a secret hush affection
A treaty concession
Picking out the candy
          Skittle
The pivoting flying shy like a sky
riddle
Him or Her piloting its time
Two sets of eyes world of exploring
Not to keen
on exploiting

Her dress movie flowing prayers to
be answered so vain
Heads Spin city flaunting
Defeats us haunting
Who loves us
Who will help us
       SOS
Like a delicacy one of a kind
She's the rebel let her guess
Such a rarity smile with
dignity dressed up doll
she is dainty
To many disguises to face the
mirror of vanity
Rebel Rebel David Bowie
He is a genius of music
Shines a world gigantic

Rebel world of cults and sanity
What was heavily Tis
To be blessed
Rebels of hearts of Madonna
Greyhound bus

Our scorched finger heats
Riding the *
Porshe Red firehouse
A beat something rare but overly sweet
Robin risque I  need more clues
Braveheart Riding hood in the woods
to be saved in her rebel shoe's

Queen heads up with the Dean
 Her embossed gold letters
Of a spell, forever mean
The heats on rebels defeat over
Modern time the "Dell"

Rebel wish from a deserving well

Computer and devil decipher
Compelled to love her
The Dark Shadows mansion
Angelique scarlet fever
Dark inside her label dress
What did he deliver?
"'Who lives by the standard rule messy is ****"
Rebel rebel look at your bloodshot pupils
taking things for granted

Freakish odd things posted
Are bizarre even her brassiere
Mean as a *Manchette

We are not as one
normal read the Gazette
More rivals and feather
pen of forgery
What a hard act to follow like surgery
Every molecule being
dissected to poke
A love primal no
common ground
This isn't a joke

Everyone tantalizing tribal
Creatures not in direct sunlight
Defeats us like rebels at night
Being inconsistent rebels
lead the way but far away
distant

We are not realizing what defeats us
Endorphin releasing our energy
Lifting our orphan spirits
Moon worshipper climbers
We are the simple people
Nothing too explicit
Or razor sharp to cut us

The Messiah
Solomon Torah of Isreal
Old Testament Jerusalem
Everything is way too ****** red
Like Salem
What defeats us
Voodoo or Christmas Hoo Hoo

Santas gift got stolen and snatched
Having a fight with a door latch
Magic somehow not in our favor to match
Tragic music rock or swing jazz of a glitch
But everything defeats us
Psychic third eye
She is so tragically hurt
So Manic not the
brave rebel flirt

Like the limited edition
So many of us are uninvited
Not the VIP pass
Ressurection new rebel convention
Unique kind of communication

The last time I saw you on vacation
Relic hunters the lightning
Hells Angel rider conjuring
What mouths to feed of thunder
Nazis all  our undivided
attention pictures
They snap having a field day
of paparazzi
Priestesses devil wears the
Prada dresses were out
of designers
I wonder why to travel heretics
Such treachery and butchery
Being grilled like steaks but
not a Dynasty
Too graffitied feeling fried
How loves are taken like the fools

The business arrangements
Foreign exchange groups
Rebelling their way
through college
Time is the essence of
being mutual
beneficial much
higher potential
More spiritual rituals
We need more Gods of top
rank **Generals

General Mills cereal at least
not the serial killer
What defeats us our spirit leads us to dark energy place it's up to
us the human race. We are rebels in a portal or are we not real all mortal
Jeweled.. map... talk
Wipe her... teardrops...
He summoned her
      Braveheart
"The Hipster" starry eye
Commando Chief
Trampled the hot item
       help!!
*     *     *    
 Rubies in the Paradox
Pep-talk thief Fox
     *     *     *    
Red Rhapsody
Hey, Buster, on the
Tip of the "Ice Queen"
"King Speech"
Her lips
Practice what your eyes
Preach whats inside his lips

Lip marooned force
Afterfight doomed

      "Divorce"

He tapped took a bite
  So vamp lit her lip
Apple stumbles
Mr. Cobbler
Lips got caught to be
crumbled

Clicks movie flicks
     *     *    
Physiological College of chicks

On her Demon laptop lovesick
Sisters of the Sentinel
Fingers clicking like quicksand
  Ancient lips  touch the shadow
Of his smile
Does anyone have a
soft spot for *Angels


The psychotic broken wing on the verge

The lip pledge Demon
Give him a shot lip
bullet glass
"Red Electricity" he smiled
Certain lip she deserved
The floppy disk
Sweet breath
His baking whisker's

Those baby boomers
Top of the lip rumors
the right kiss
"Emmy" Jet set trips
Their chattering lips
Niagara falls duty calls
"Lip Shoutbox"

Her lips touched on
A nerve
schemingly

He blew up like the
Cherry bomb we will
succumb dreamily
Could blow his
lips down
How she wore the
red velvet bustier
A+ lip magnet

He's the connoisseur

La Luna melancholy
"The World Is Dying"
No apology

The symphony in line
With the lip up
His chin down is lying
But when your smiling
A poem knows what your
lips are saying  
Are you in way too deep

Lips like cold cuts the
paparazzi mob sheep
The movie cut Deli line
Race her the Italian
Mazzaratti be mine
Demon jungle no plain
Jane's lips
Hurry up your highness

lost his taste for goodness
Do angels die her lips went_?
Angel confession another
revelation
One lie please "I am the Angel"
we never live to die
This is a fantasy story about Demons and Angels what kind of lips do you have are they divine do you over talk your stay does your lips love to play too much coffee and red demon talker in your words release it fly like hummingbirds birds are the word and lips will never be absurd they are Godly
Sharon Talbot Jan 19
Half a mile downstream from the crumbling bridge,
The river began to break up too,
Into washouts and rock-bound pools.

Aged promontories, sandy shores, from
Primeval rivers, compressed by time
From granite, stood sentinel over the rush.
Against these broke hurtling, grey-green waves,
Spitting high in defiance at the rocks’ impasse,
Slowing but briefly, swirling angrily
On their way back to the waiting sea.

Upon a high outcrop, I took up my post
Rod in hand, watching the helpless worm
On his way to death, by whatever claimed him first.
I had not put him there, being squeamish,
“Mindless flesh,” a poet friend had dubbed them.
Still, my companions rigged him on the hook,
In exchange for keeping their joints burning.
Not smoking, I thought, but taking puff after puff,
As my bait was laid on the rack for sacrifice.

We scattered after all our poles were baited,
Claiming ancient pools and all inside them as our own.
I stood highest, near the fiercest waters that shook the rock,
Braced in the March air against the icy spray.
I was there, I told myself, because two men
Needed to catch a fish and prove themselves.
Yet they faded like ghosts into the gloam of evenfall,
As absorption overtook me, and I began to care.
Cast after cast into the roiling waters
Just where the waterfall fumed and broke.

Soon, it was only my goal, and nothing else,
To wage an age-old war against a artful foe.
Each strike brought me hope and each loss determination
Not anger but resolve to outwit them at a game
Invented eons ago by humankind,
And learned by trout to save themselves.
What happened after was of no concern to me,
But let me catch them for the sake of having it be.
The contest alone was all to me, it seemed,
Yet winning the only outcome I could see.

I had pulled three young trout from the churning water,
Energized despite their mediocre size,
When there came a tug just beneath my perch that taunted,
Promising the battle I craved.
So I cast the remnants of my sacrificial bait
Upstream, where currents swept it beneath my feet,
And there he was! No doubt the oldest trout in the hills,
Lingering below me to tease my newfound lust.
I set the hook well, so I thought, and reeled him high,
Fifteen inches long and heavy as he twisted in mid-air.
He thrashed like a madman above the rock,
Just beyond my reach,
--Then was gone…

When all was over, I had three fingerlings, not much,
While my helpful companions had none for all their work.
I told them not to fret, that it was merely luck,
But I knew better. When they asked me what I did
To catch the few, wee fish who now sizzled in the pan,
I answered haltingly, already memories fading of my quest,
Finally telling my rivals that I knew not why
Capturing a fish meant so much on that day.
“I do,” said one with a laugh.” I asked “Why?”
“It’s easy to explain,” he said…”you were high!”

?
Sharon Talbot
Based on a true story from long ago.
Watching
Waiting
Anticipating
Night on the skin
Senses alert
Hairs tingling
Feel the air growing thick
Matter
layering
Grid prevailing
Current charging
Feeding
the
flow
Energy sparking
Lights
down low
Sentinel night show
Until day
let's
it
go
junamshra Nov 2018
Rain taps the landscape.
Its soft touch creates
A tender drift of mud.
In it is nature trapped.
She is her own jailor.

Alas the worms emerge
From the slow-moving slide.
The ensuing birds will purge
Yet through the air they glide.

A cloud engulfs the scene.
The spruce stands sentinel.
Mice begin to chatter between
Themselves; a peaceful hell.

For he who destroys
The scene so sculpted:
Rots among the angels
And demons who await
The devil himself.
An appreciation for those who destroy nature's gifts.
23/11/18
As silvered moonlight starts to fade
the slowly rising off-white sun
peers down on field and vale
where leafless, flowerless stalks and stems
stand sentinel in lingering snow
and early snowdrops raise their heads
in harmony with natures call.
Rewrote this - second version tomorrow.
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