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Nico Julleza May 2017
∙∙∙◦◦•◎•◦◦∙∙∙
Blue kite soaring up high on cotton clouds
gently rolling by, and trees gazing up the sky,
A sound of singing lovers, a harmony so grand,
A song no one can sang.

The air steals a gentle bliss
from where their feet kissing the hazy mist,
A mint of scented moss, that sets the mood,
From gray rocks to pink balloons.

It was never a waste of time to be there too,
But those who only looks upon the moon,
In true heart’s desire, faith requires,
To see what true lovers often do.

Underneath the starry night
deaf ghosts sailing by, meant nothing to harm,
But just to bid goodbye, so tenderly they sigh,
For a moment in one summers night.
#kiss #love #stars #ghosts #summer #night #son #sky

This is my first ever poem Published in HP

(NCJ)POETRYProductions. ©2017
Summer is
far as I think,
it flickered when
I blink
dreaming of
nostalgic
no winter,no autumn.

Maybe,you're written
in a next page,
I am the half
of your gut,
in every torn paper
and scratches,
how many times
it took a relevance?
like i'm dreaming
of "if you are mine?"
Woody Jun 2018
I still dream of my father
crossing the pastures
on his one-eyed tractor
mowing acres of sorrow
heading east of a moon
that'll be gone tomorrow
turning one last time as
if to say: so long my son
there’s going to be days
of sunshine and plenty
more of rain as he went
along his way, and my
sadness waved back like
grain in fields of long past
summers and summers
before that, so long a time
ago I can remember only
on lonely nights of heat
lightning and the low
rumble of distant thunder.
A nice surprise on this Monday evening.  Thank you all very much for your reading and very nice comments. Please know that I appreciate all of you and your kind words. Thank you.

* To Ravinder Kumar Soni: Opinion entitled to and noted. Thanks for taking the time to read.
Ceida Uilyc Dec 2018
Lies like Cakes
Icing of blushes
Maiden flowers of margarine
Snap me in your beak
Clunk me like a teenage mistake

When you called me a *****
I smiled
It was your passion, not mine.
Two words I absolutely despise are- ******* and *****.
Hate this ******* for addressing me that.
It's a ventout.
Johnny walker Jan 28
Through child abuse at the hands of my mother always lacked confidence
so when I married Helen It was always she who took the lead
In everything Including our Intimate moments because of this and Helen Increasing Inability to walk I found It even harder to approach
her
But that all changed on a warm day In summer she often got very hot so she would sit In her underwear this was nothing
new
done this on many occasions before but this particular time she was sat she was cupping her hand under her
breast
Sort squeezing them together totally unaware of what she was doing but I was watching and as I look at her
I could hear myself saying this girl Is beautiful
why are you just sitting there tell her
so
I did and walked over to her never done this before but for some reason, I gently nibbled her ear lobes and she went crazy she said ***** me which I did while she Inturn striped
me
she sat back In her chair, the poor girl couldn't stand for long because of pain so laid across her slightly holding my weight of her body with my
hands
so I didn't hurt her but just enough for our bodies to touch and It was beautiful we managed
to make love It was nothing short of Heaven so well I remember that day so beautiful she was to
me
Remember beautiful seeing Heaven while making love to Helen
Qweyku Nov 2016
I speak of love
when I compare you to
sweet summers day
or a rose of its garden

I speak of passage in the sea of time
when I say forever or always
whichever tide comes first.

I speak of knowledge
when I say the body of
a young lady is heavenly
but a womans' decidedly divine

I speak of faith
when I say nothing good
ever became without an
inject of pain

I speak of fear
when I used to say
you'd be gone some day
but now I know,
love transcends the grave

© Qwey.ku
over the past weeks
a gentle autumn sun
has painted colored leaves
upon the ground
and thinned
the bright abundance
of the wooded ranges

most of the harvest
is securely stored by now
or sold at morning markets
by weathered men and women
in country garbs

vintners are busy with their lots
fermenting grapes
and entertaining those
who see their visit
as pleasant pastime and escape
from daily urban chores

hunters and lumbermen
are waking up
to shoot and mark

schools by this time
have settled into the new year
teachers are happy still to share
the knowledge of our world
with students still inclined
to listen

businessmen
remembering their vacations
on the Bahamas or in Saint Tropez
step sprightly into offices
womanned by secretaries dreaming secretly
of beautiful Mallorca summers
and of those never-ending nights
on the Algarve

I guess it is a human thing
to find a new beginning
and do best
when nature’s breath goes easy
to collect the strength
for yet another fruitful year

or were it better
that we also took a rest?

           * *
Purcy Flaherty Feb 2018
'Twas all so beautiful a sight,
A long summers night; The sacred stars were burning bright about our mother moon.

The wind filled the sails above the waves that sped us through the sailors tales and brought us to a deep lagoon.

We cast our nets out far and wide, then watched them sink below the tide, which rattled out a tune for me and you.

We hauled aboard the silver fish, to fill our bellies and our fists, then set off home like seagulls chirping tunes.

The wooden boat now tied about the key,
its tattered sail and rusty cleat,
tugs and tugs the rope upon the swell and gently whispers come to sea!
come to sea!
come to sea!
A little well used boat ried about a key
Bryce Oct 2018
Awake, the empty chamber of my mind
Calls out to paired and endless sky
The thought of you, a galloped course
The heels of your palm, struck with force
I cannot claim the earth as mine,
Just as she do flee the pick of eye
To wallow in sorrows of course divine
Calls out my heart, with verses hoarse.

I have but land to wander soon,
My passions held in heaven's sent
The ancient glass of sky full hue
The earth's embrace a lover's swoon
The soft edges of aluminium bent
These are the ways I'll remember you.
laura Oct 2017
three's up
i'm throwing my life away
throwing my three's up

three **** summers in a row
three nights in the slammer
three days getting drunk

been thinking about all my exes a lot
been thinking about you a lot
and how we'd spend the night doing homework

and then sleeping together
used to get me chicken nuggets afterwards
and now you know what goes on in my brain
***, programming and chicken nuggets
from mcdonalds
haha
Hope White Sep 2018
My youth was short and blurred.
I imagine it felt like the last few moments of Kurt Cobain’s life;
All light and no color.
Though I was born a winter baby,
Summers irrevocably held my heart.
They tasted like the sunscreen that dripped
onto my chlorine-damp lips
And smelled sweet like the honeysuckles
That strangled the Forget-Me-Nots,
Whose roots twisted between the cemeteries
Of our once-pets beneath.
Purcy Flaherty Oct 2018
We rode our horses cross-country,
Through the nations of the unknown,
We survived the snowy mountains,
And lived off the land and the trees,
Through hot summers and cold winters,
Through deserts storms; we circled the trails,
We learned from the birds and the bees,
We hunted the elk, the deer and the buffalo,
We fished to feed the travelling spirit,
We turned acorns into flour,
We set our senses free.

$
You brought Soldiers, missionaries,  smallpox, the common cold, scalping, reservations, whisky and the rush for gold.
Land grabbing oil barons, fencing, bricks, barbed wire and all the accouterments of your civilized culture!
You made this country your own; and forced it's 1st nation into a 3rd world nation.

Land and minerals reign supreme in a world without shame!
Without equality there is only slavery.!
Meat and potatoes!
Johnson Jul 2018
Freed from the blackness that fills my nights
Awoken from the nightmares plaguing my mind
For a short stretch only to receive a brief taste
Holding on for I know she must make haste

Like the foggy windows on a summers night
So have I felt the warmth of another
Never wanting to leave her comfort
Never wanting to see the light

Like roses at the peak of their bloom
Only to enjoy briefly till death ensues
Withered away and dying as they are
So am I breaking as we have to part

Joy is a bitter taste
For it never stays to long
You hold on until you are unable
Until it leaves you withdrawn

Am I but just another face
Another notch upon your bed
Scattered amongst the crowd
Overlooked and overdrawn

For if I know what is true
But I wish it were a lie
To face another second
As I feel my dreams die

On my own I must go
For you’ve taken to much
What I wish I would receive
I only gave to another
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
What's on your mind?
in facebook you constantly find
This quote always flashes
to remind you of life's rushes

But seriously, look within
and see what thrives inside
Look for thoughts sinking in
and bade them all to come alive

Make your words artful
as that drip of ink caresses the paper
Make them a phrase so wonderful
That people may be happier

Inspire people who has no idea
and save ones that are lost
Open the curiosity jar like Pandora
and let's HOPE we make the most

From dreams in paper
to songs of unending summers
From snowdrop love letters
to eulogies of sorrowful winters

From the heart through the mouth
leave a print of beauty behind
Be it raw, bare or shouting out
never be afraid to speak "What's on your Mind"
You, What's on your mind?
To Karishma :3 and other people too
alexa Oct 2018
it's true--
i don't love you anymore.

but sometimes i catch your eye between waves in the surf,
that same ocean blue i've always known

like summers by the beach, you are long forgotten like my childhood,
days and nights spent drinking the stars

i will never forget what they taste like
i will never forget what you taste like.

it's true--
i don't love you anymore.

i am with another,
he is more than you ever could have been for me but

why do i still crave your inadequacy?
he is my whole galaxy, his beauty is unmatched and

oh how he makes me feel but
why am i still dreaming about you?

i don't love you anymore-- i promise,
we moved on so long ago i forget what goodbye sounds like

i'm lying.
i could never forget the way you said that,

like it took the strength of a million tsunamis to just
keep it together but oh i don't love you anymore!

it's what i've been trying to say i'm sorry but sometimes
the emotion in my own words gets so caught in my throat

i forget how to breathe because
i still see your eyes between the waves.
-a.c.b
inspired by pablo neruda...
Jim Davis May 2017
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis
Kevan passed away over a year ago.  I just wrote the poem recently.
Breanna Smith May 2012
I lay awake in bed one late night
Letting memories wash over me
When a memory wondered into my brain
A memory of my childhood
Back to late nights
Just as this one
When I was cuddled up
With my soft big blue blanket
It was torn at the edges
One edge missing completly

It kept me worm in the winters
Made a great fort in the summers
Held me tight during nightmares
Wiped my tears when I cried
Let me rest in its vast softness
Made an elegant dress for dress up
The best padding for play fights
Made for the best tug-of-war
Between my brother and I
It made me feel at home on long trips
Kept me company
On the couch when I was sick

Now where is my
Cuddly childhood blanket?
In a box in the attic
Waiting for once again
When it can be held tight
In the arms of a child
Waynepatrick Aug 2018
My faith is a small boat,
With a structure so frail,
With winds that disregard it's sail,
I am afraid it won't stay afloat.

My faith is a plucked leaf,
Cut off from it's life source,
Soaring through a coarse course,
The leaf grieves.

My faith is a dried stream,
Scorched by the summers heat,
Overthrow from it's seat,
Forced out of it's regime.

My faith is on the verge of a cliff,
Holding on,struggling to survive,
It may slip and take a dive,
And finally plunder to it's death.
     All this is true,it is all true.
      Forgive me for healing in front of you.
Ruzica Matic Aug 2015
***
long desperate journeys
unfold in the mist
curving looping roads
tangle and untwist
searching for a lover
like lips never kissed

must we always hurt
for the things we missed
always adding hopes
to the bucket list

yearning for the times
that might never come
for summers of honey
for autumns of plum

hoping for rain
in deserted towns
picking through the ruins
and losing our crowns
Breathless
You leave me
On a fine day
In the hot summer
Craving
Yearning for
A cool breeze

You’re majestic
A flower petal
Beautiful and sweet
The nectar
The pollen
In the summers heat

In the yard
Sunbathing
Soaking in the sun
Lemonade
And ice
Dancing on my tongue

Birds chirping
Bees buzzing
Bright and green
And blue
Heat wave
On a Sunday afternoon
Inspired
Madisen Kuhn Sep 2018
i could be that girl
whose voice is low and melodic
and coats your mouth with
acacia honey
whose eyes are the color
and depth of
midnight
whose presence is thick like
new york summers
rosy like
los angeles in early spring
if i braid flowers into my hair
if i write enough poems
if i learn to show the skin of my essence
but remain an abyss—
i will stop making art
when i become it
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