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Peter Balkus Feb 26
Love isn't blind,
blind are those,
who never loved.
Cné Apr 2017
mσσnlíght ín thє mєαdσw
cαѕtѕ thє ѕhαdσw σf thє trєєѕ
í cαtch α glimpse of ѕílvєr
αѕ thє вrαnchєѕ cαtch thє вrєєzє
thєrє'ѕ juѕt α ѕσund σf ruѕtlíng lєαvєѕ
ín ѕσlítudє í ѕtrσll
thє wσσdѕ αrє mínє thíѕ єvєníng
αѕ í plαч thє wσmαn'ѕ rσlє
pαuѕíng вч thє rívєrвαnk
thє ѕчmphσnч вєgínѕ
thє ruѕhíng wαtєr'ѕ cσuntєrpσínt
tσ lívє σαk'ѕ crєαkíng límвѕ
thє gєntlє wínd, thє tєmpσ mαkєѕ
αnd í вєgín tσ hєαr
thє rhчthm σf thє pulѕє σf lífє
αn єαrth ѕσng ín mч єαr
hσw ѕwєєt thє єvєníng ѕєєm tσ mє
αríαѕ fíll thє níght
αnd thєn thєч mαkє α chσruѕ
αѕ thє mσσn rєѕumєѕ hєr flíght
hσmєwαrd вσund, í pαuѕє αnd líѕtєn
α mєlσdч ѕσ ѕwєєt
rєgrєtfullч, thє ѕpєll íѕ gσnє
nσw, juѕt thє trαffíc'ѕ вєαt
Happy Earth Day!
sophia Jul 2017
his voice left me breathless,
and his song brought me home.
Cné Aug 2017
Fragmented lives entangled
but asunder in our journey
as our paths cosmically connect
in a romance of the arts

And who's to say what's real
to touch or deeply feel
what will truly last
or simply where to start

So I’ll
paint you alla prima
as I feel you playing me
in warm colors of merging ardor
a wet blending of artistry
my brush strokes of your body
painted in my mind
of impressions blushed in passion
in hues I can’t describe

Suspended in the moment
floating on a breeze
I revel in this picture painted music
almost in disbelief, unthinking…
knowing every nuance of our love
found only in our dreams

Like children in parallel play
I’ll finger the keys
and slip the locks
of all your orchestrations
filling the walls
of my concerts halls
with deep
splattered tones
in pinks and blues
the hues
that forever
bind us

And we’ll not look back
nor forward
but hang here in the moment
to display our
Painted Song
in the eyes
of giggly children
both doing
our own thing
together
on a string
curated
A collaboration with Howard Hilde
https://hellopoetry.com/u693528/
Autumn Daze Jan 2016
That song you wrote
is still on replay mode
It used to make me special
to leave, you did cause you said shall.

I wish you didn't have to
though you said it is for me too
I never want you to leave
because to you I want to live.

The lines of that song,
oh what happened wrong
can't we just relive the lines
and grow together like vines.

I want to hear you sing that song you composed
as long as I live but why does everyone oppose?
© Cassandra Cereza
012516

follow Cassandra Cereza
Shofi Ahmed Apr 2017
At times I heard the songs of the giants
who opted to sing for a glass of wine!

Like Omar Khayyam would sing to the grove of vine,
while singing their lullabies they wouldn’t mind,
defying the bloomer stars in the moonlights
gladly treading on the black alleys of the night.
Didn't they budge, didn't they bend to pick up  
a potion of the sea, billowing in the dark?
But they opted out, just for a glass of wine!

To paint a glimpse of that gorgeous Saqi
till now they shun, lending the sun a paintbrush,
‘cause "if only it was colourful enough,” yet the sun
paints the enduring shades of the blue yonder.
But they turned around—just for a glass of wine!

The moon hanging low over the ocean took a pause.
The earth weighed down so deep is brimful!
Every sunrise paints new, loves to shine on once more
That delved-deep earth vintage taste, cooled in age-old,  
now close by the hands breathe in, full of warm south.
Yet they opted out—just for a glass of wine!

Even the time is speechless, ask me not but why.
Still keeps an ear bent on the wall of the leaning sky.  
Nor those who pop out with an inside scoop are ever drunk.
Nor they leak out, it’s a sea off the sea or Abe-Hayath.
It ain’t that small, it is the deathless spring of elixir!
8/22/17

I can't stop thinking about you. Since the first moment I met you you're a constant in my head. Why? What is it about you that leaves a lingering effect? I don't want this. I keep dreaming of you, it isn't always the same. You're the closest thing to me in some, in others you're the furthest thing I can see that's still in focus. Round and round and round and round you spin in my head. I don't even know what exactly I'm thinking of when I'm thinking of you. I spend my time thinking about not thinking about you and I'm caught in a loop of you. I hope you're ok, I hope you’re safe, I hope you've eaten today, I hope you sleep well, I hope you're healthy. When will these feelings and thoughts fade? How can I spend so much time thinking about someone to whom my existence is much too much to even acknowledge? I don't hate you for this, but it still hurts. All my 11:11's are spent on you. I wish clarity, I wish stability, I wish happiness, and I wish love for you with whomever or whatever it is...

-JCM-
CK Baker Jan 2017
In time you’ll recover and absolve
push those scorned impressions aside
hammer down the jaded edges
and sing
that delightful commoner song
the one you sang so well
in what seems a lifetime ago

You really had it you know
that fiery disposition and nimble cunning
those butter chords and derelict style
we could see it -- we could all see it
it was all it took to turn the evening tide
(and rile that buck fever)
heads bashing
tongues lambasting
middle fingers high
and raising Cain on those may fly statesmen

There were no rules
when it came to your survival
no textbook rally or common bond
no structured songbird or bravado stage
you either made it, or laid it
“life by the balls” Mr. Poppy would say
a kaleidoscope of dreams
with rich colored imagery
hardened artisan seams
in a carefully woven motif

But something got lost in the needle point
something sinister and distorted took hold
the quirks and street genius
that were your lifeline
gave way to grunts
and squeals
and chilling night crawlers
the colors faded quickly
to a cold confining grey

There was no grace in the new world
no retribution or switch back
no salvation or accorded finale
only edged platforms of blackened steel
that kept you cased
in a silent vanquished cell
shivering cold with fear
night without day
all in the shadow of death

But time heals all
and the polish sneakers
and open sores are long gone
(though the roman nose and shallow cleft remain)
indeed the falconer beat the widow maker
this go around
and I’m hopeful it won’t happen again
and if it does you’ll see me
standing hand on heart
with that old verse in hand:

he ain’t tainted
or silly,
and most certainly
not forgotten…
he ain’t loony
or fixed,
or a product of his self-doing…
he’s just a straight shootin’ guy,
who had the most of it
figured out
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