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L B Jun 2017
Waiting for the storm
to lower its head and charge

In ozone incense of unstable air
Eons of ions ago
horned and heavy negatives
lock prey within vortical-eye
Angelic flutter of electrons struggling on--
in yellowish friction above...

“...Did I tell you?”

Love is lightning hotter than the sun!


resolving in the only way it can
a design that cannot save itself!

Clouds roar away--
For a minute-- I think that I will too
-- along with all these words and rain

*“...and did I tell you...

how thunderstorms remind me
...of love...the way it should be

and the worship after?”
Published in the April 2017 edition of SWITCH magazine
Obadiah Grey Jun 2013
I built me a yellowish
statue of you
out of last nights curry
and the cheese fondue.

Your *** was madras
your **** vindaloo
and stilton is what
yer built on.

Lougene F Feb 2019
Ice-cold Orange juice
with a teaspoon of
Brown sugar
sipped with my
Red-matte lips
under the
Yellowish-tuscan sun

Thinking of those
Little White lies
tossed with
a Grey stone
sunken deepdown
the Blue lagoon
lost in a

Purple thoughts
Pink-positive thinking
with a Green tea
on the side
Hoping for a slight chance
of Rainbow after
this storm
A quick thoughts
Obadiah Grey Dec 2013
Sphincter factor nine approaches
food for the fish n roaches
methinks its time for me perhaps
to open up the rearward *****.

AAChoo !!

Oh, liddle sister, Josephine,
you sure don't keep your
nose real clean.
got stalactites
o' pure pea green
my infectious sibling
snot machine.
I thought that I might shoot the breeze
with God or Mephistopheles
and ask them please to ease my wheeze
of my bad back and dodgy knees
Croak with the raven
bluff with the crow
the urchin
the field mouse
beneath the hedgerow
in a flurry they scurry
away away go.
Yelp with the *****
howl with the hound
and bay at the moon
till the sun comes around.
Gino's bar and grill.

Away, away afore Bacchus
doles out befuddlement
and Morpheus has his way,
lest I awake to find myself
in the company of
sodamistic bedfellows
with buggery in mind.
Harry Potter has grown a beard
he lives alone and turned out weird.
Dumbledore, Albus, no more
turned his toes and 'ad a snore,
Voldemort, who's *** is taut
has no nose with which to snort.

Ahem !!

Behind two Lilies- sits Rose,
then Daisies
for two and a bit rows.
with Poppy, and *****
Petunia, Primrose.
and Bryony - who gets up
- my nose.
God bless the Cows - for beef burgers.
God bless the Pig - for their bacon.
God bless the wife n her sharp knife
for the slice of their **** she's taken.

We can, no more fetter the sea to the shore
nor the clouds to the sky
or tether the glint
in a lovers eye,
As sure the shore loves the sea
so shall I love thee, together,
together for eternity,


It bends for thee
sweet chevin,
the cane thats cleaved
by three,
wilt thou now
sweet chevin
yield, my friend ,
for me.
There's Marmalade then Marmite
and Jams thats jammed between
the buttered bread of bard-dom
a poets sweet cuisine.
I took up campanology
and fired up my ****.
I rang that bell
to ******* hell
till the busies
came along.
so, I've been whittling away
at a buoyant ****-
fashioned something approximating
a poo canoe-
in it, I intend to
surf the **** tsunami of old age
to-- death;
I have named it Public - Service - Pension.


A surreptitious delightful tryst,
with my honey, my sebaceous cyst.
she's my pimple, my wart,
my gumboil consort.
she's the zip, in which
my *******, got caught.
Frayed at the bottoms
ripped at the knee.
baggy and saggy
big enough for three.
faded and jaded
and stained with ***
but I'm due for a new pair--


Ther­e's Cockerel in my ear
and he bills and coo's for you
whenever you are near
goes - **** a doodle doo !!!!!,,,,,,,,


Oh,­ for the snap shut skin
in the blue twang of youth
and to un-crack the spine
on the book of love.
now the gulping years
have flown away
we take sips of the night
and are spoon fed the day.


Zeus made the Moose to be somewhat obtuse,
a big deer- rather queer- I fear.
then God gave him the nod to look funny and odd
the spitting image of you - my dear !!!


Knobbly Nobby.

Nobby has a great big nose
a great big nose has he,
and nobby knows
that his big nose,
is big, as big can be,
nobby has two knobbly knees
two knobbly knees has he,
his knobbly knees,
are as knobely
as knobbly knees can be,
don’t pity dear old nobby
for soon it’s plain to see,
that nobby has a great big ****
as big, as big as three !
now nobbys **** is knobly,
as knobly as a **** can be,
so nose and knee and ****
make three,
and we - are ****- ely.


The Woman that wouldn't eat meat,
had reeaally, reeaally big feet,
her **** was as big as an hermaphrodite brig
and her **** were as hard as concrete….


Hearken the clarion call of the crows
afore the snow-
they caw,
hey, get your **** into gear lads-
we gotta feckin go !!!


Gods pad

I took a peek within
your house
wherein on pew, I spied
a mouse,
and in his hand,
a Bible clasped,
and out his mouth,
a parable rasped,


I'd say she had
a pigeon loft in
her eyes and
bluebells up
her nose.

But then again
I wear a flat cap

and stroll through meadows.


Would you care to buy our house?
It's minus Mouse n devoid o' Louse,!
Spiders, Roaches, Bugs or other,
have all been eaten by my brother,
snaffled up n swallowed down
then jus' crapped out a - yellowish brown.
so would you care to buy our house?
from an oddly pair -- devoid of nous


Though the Crows got her eyes
and the Worms got her gut.
comes as no surprise
death can't keep her mouth shut.


Bevelled slick edges
and reeaal eeaasy slopes.
Chilli dip wedges
with fresh artichokes.
Wanton loose wenches
and swivel hipped ******
Daft dawgs and dentures
and granddad - who snores.


Been whittling away at a buoyant ****
and fashioned something approximating a canoe,
in it, I intend to surf the **** tsunami of old age;
I named it, "Public service pension"


     I could wax on the wings of a butterfly
but, I ain't that kind o' guy.
rather kick the nuts off ******* squirrels
pluck the wings off - blue assed fly.
I'm the stuff that flops off dog chops
when he's up for it and high.
an infection in your sphincter,
a well
that's jus' run dry.


befeathered­ and bright scarlet
is my ladies bonnet,
jauntily askew and -
lilting on a paramours

"- Gladlaughffi -"

I'm reliably informed that dear ol' Muma
sported a goatee around his **** sphincter,
now, whilst this is merely educated speculation
from my esteemed friend his "groom of the stool" ! 
who was in fact required to wear a mask,
ear muffs and a blindfold whilst he went about his business,
He did possess reeaaally sensitive fingertips
somewhat akin to a blind man reading brail,,
and, swore blind that said "**** sphincter' spoke him in Arabic
and asked him for a quick trim, (short back and sides)
I myself being a practising proctologist of some repute
am inclined to believe my friend the "groom of the stool"
as I've come recognise -- Arsolian when I hear it !!!!!!!!

In a Belfast sink by the plughole
where hair and gum gunk meet
'erman the germ-man  and toe jam
bop the bacillus beat.


Doctor this I know as fact
that I have a blocked digestive tract,
I'm all bunged up and cannot go
my trump and pump is - somewhat slow.
I need unction jollop for junction wallop
some sorta lotion to give me motion.
If you could please just ease my wheeze
then I needn't grunt and push and squeeze.


They are breaking out the thwacking sticks
and sparking Godly clogs
pulling tongues through narrowed lips
at the infidel yankee dogs.


As a paid up member of the
lumpen bourgeoisie poetry appreciation society
I can confirm without fear of contradiction
that poetry is indeed baggy underwear
with ample ball room, voluminous in the extreme
and takes into account
the need for the free flow of flatulent gassiness
that is the want of a ****** up poet.


She's a rough hewn Trapezoidal gal
a gongoozler o' the ol' canal.
She's copper bottomed n fly boat Sal.

I'll have thee know that
that there hat
is a magic hat,
it renders me invisible
to the arty intelligentsia
and roots me firmly
in the lumpen proletariat .
Said the sneaky Scotsman, Jim Blaik.
if the pension, you wish to partake,
bend over my son, lets get this thing done
and cop for this thick trouser snake !!

I met my uncle Albert,
down at Asda, in aisle three;
he got there in a Mazda,
jus' a smidgen after me,
said he'd traversed Sainsburys,
Tesco Liddle n the Spar,
but not one o' them flogged Caviar
Truffles or Foie gras.

He sidled past the pork pies
streaky bacon turkey thighs
a headin for the french fries
n forsaken knock down buys,
shimmied 'round the ankle biters;
expectant mums to be,
popin pills for bloated ills
in the haberdashery.

Fandango'd o'er the cornflakes
and the spillage in isle four


I'm linier and analogue,
a ribbon microphone man
mired in the dust of the monochromatic,
the basement, the attic.


Simple simon met miss Tymon going to the fair,
said simple simon to miss Tymon - "pfhwarr what a luverly pair"
of silken thighs and big brown eyes and scrumptious wobbly bits,
Said simple Simon to miss Tymon---------- shame about you **** !!!

So sad sweet Shirl thought she'd give a whirl to clubbercise n pound

Squat, slightly,
tilt head 45°
and squint.
See the shimmering blurry
dot in the distance?
That, timorous ****,
is ME !
Fast twitching my
narrow white ****
to the pub.

There was a young lady named Sue.
whose ***** and **** was askew,
whilst taking a ****
she'd aim it and miss
and she lifted 'er hat when she blew.

Oh Mon Dieu !!

My art
is the way
I re-establish
the bonds that unite me
to the universe. -A.M.

Before she fell
They were
She, for her sudden rise
And he
in turn
for his shaggy, loping omnipotence
The sure-footed authority

She was the little Visionary
and he, the Blue Chip
So very messy
The Tall and The Small

If you were sitting at the bar
Somewhere around Mercer Street
And those two came in
Went off inside all the heads
in their line of sight
A palpable mental groan
As they hung up their coats
And waved at various tables
Making their way like penguins

Again, it will all end badly, we thought
Nursing our drinks.

Piling out of the last bar
brawling on slick cobblestones
under the yellowish streetlights
of Prince or West Broadway
Arguing about nothing and everything
“I will out run you Old Man!”
You could hear it bouncing off the sidewalk
Whispering around corners
“You will be surpassed!”
I too look to eternity,
he states full of drink and exasperation
I step and step again. I am walking there.
I am not a bird.
“You will be surpassed!”

Blood and more blood
A face planted with busted lips
Your body crushed into the earth
Over and over
Having fallen
Waiting for burial, entombed in flora
To be disappeared
But not just yet.

What had you unleashed Mija?
What did you already know?

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!

In editorial spreads
we saw flared American jeans in Rome
You said that they understood you there
And in Cuba
We understood you very well right here,
you know.
It’s not so hard.

The doorman said he heard someone cry out
And then a soft thud a moment later
From the deli’s rooftop next door

“ICARUS DOWN” read The Post

How easily we lost our envy
after those 34 floors
Strait shot

It was all foretold in the telling
Now folded into a history of sorts
That of a primordial Fertility
And not a thousand chalklines drawn around a singular corpse
Nor unforeseen ramifications of deals
made in feathers
puddles and mud
The reunion of force fields
Folding you back within my arms
Where you belong
What an excellent day for an exorcism.

I’ve got a devil inside of me! SHE GOT LOVE!
Kayal Feb 2019
With those lonely bare branches,
Goodbye kisses of the dropping leaves,
And lonely leaves gathered into heaps,
Street scenes with yellowish tint,
Like it was washed with calmness.
Somehow this sad season gives solace.
As I am exiting the Abandoned Castle to retrieve what Aziel asked me to get for him a thought comes to mind.. - I wonder what he is going reward me with- I follow a short trail that quickly leads me to the Forest of Whispers suddenly I hear Aziel's voice echo in my head. Aziel: "Frank follow the Trail of Tears Northwest about 12 miles from where you stand there you will find yourself in front of a small creek follow it to the end and to your left there will be a small cave and to your immediate right there will be a huge stone that's been there for thousands of years it's practically impenetrable. However, I will land you my power to pass thru it but first you must enter the small cave and retrieve a sacred relic from it. Good luck my Mortal friend." Frank: Aziel what if I get lost? What about this relic and what do you mean you'll lend me your power?" Aziel: "Don't worry I will explain everything in full detail once your at the site and don't worry about getting lost...A raven will follow you from now on and if you get lost just whistle as loud as you can it will fly ahead of you to show you what route to take" Frank: " Thank you Aziel I will keep all that in mind." As I press on deeper and deeper into the Forest I am fascinated with its Beautiful scenery.

It's 11pm and I class start to get weary so I sit down in the midst of the woods in the Forest. Suddenly I hear a weak gallop like some sort of horse coming closer and closer to where am I get up hesitant and finally I see a figure come out of the wilderness and to my surprise it's a creature half man half horse and I whisper to myself "Whoa it's a centaur...." The centaur gets closer to me and it speaks to me in a cold voice....
"What are you doing here in the middle of the Forest almost at midnight human...don't you know it's dangerous to be out here?" I look at the mighty centaur his lower part of the body is indeed a horse with furs at it's feet and the color of his full fur is golden yellowish. I examine his human half and he is covered by battle scars and he seems quite strong in his upper body. I also notice he has green eyes the color of emerald and what seems like 3 claw like scars in his face. I sit quietly for a moment then reply ... Frank: " I made a promise to retrieve something for someone and I am here to fulfill my task." He smiles at me and proceeds to talk. Centaur: " My name is Neur Blackthorn I am the Leader of the Golden Centaurs protectors of the Forest of Whispers. You see am looking for a sacred relic known as Ghruthemtox it's a breast plate made out of the skull of a Cyclop known as Mathalam who lived 3000 years ago here in this very forest and was the Creator and protector of this very place known now as The Forest Of Whispers. Legend tells that whoever finds all the pieces of the breast plate and wears it will be granted 1000 years added to his life span and tremendous magical power. I want this relic in my possession. I heard there are 5 pieces to the breastplate all scattered in this very Forest. If you are able to come across the relic itself it will guide you to all five remaining pieces so legend foretold. It's some sort of magical map the relic itself...but I heard it can only be touched by human hands because if it's touched by anything else the creature or being itself will perish immediately." -Neur looks at me attentively- Frank: - " So let me get this want me to get this relic for you? Am I right?" Neur: " That's return I shall grant you what you seek from the forest. So tell me what is it that you want to retrieve?" Frank: " I want a vial of her blood from the Goddess of the Forest...Nabyah." Neur: " I will talk to her in your behalf...but I cannot guarantee the blood itself." -I look at Neur with some disgust and disappointment- Neur: " Fine Mortal I will do my very best to retrieve this for you as long as you can find me the relic..." -All the sudden I hear Aziel telepathically communicates to me and he says "Frank what are you doing meddling with Centaurs you cannot trust them...It's a dangerous task he asks of you plus he might **** you after retrieving this relic I advice you play it safe and tell him you will do what he says but with your own mission." Frank: -I speak to Aziel telepathically and I can do this due to the fact he lands me his power to do order for both to speak to each other without no one else knowing...- "Right don't worry I am going to pretend to aid him then do my own thing..." Aziel: " Smart young lad ...don't worry he won't know nothing and by the way I advice you try to stay away from this Centaurs I think they might be linked to the Goddess herself...somewhat." Frank: " I will proceed..."

All the sudden Neur looks at me with curiosity...Neur: " You look like you where day dreaming for a while...fine I will leave you alone, but please find this I will reward you with what you seek I promise. Now get some rest I will come back to you at midnight" -He dashes towards the darkness of the Forest and disappears in the wilderness...-



Trail Of Tears the path where many knights from the Order have shed blood sweat and tears. Many of them have never made it out alive.  Golden Centaurs Protectors of the Forest of Whispers who settled in the Forest 1000's of years ago. Accursed by a Powerful Witch they where once human but no longer have retained their humanity. Now creatures of the forest some of them seek to lift up the curse.
Ghruthemtox An ancient relic worn by a Cyclop Shaman Creator/Protector of the Forest Of Whispers that gave him strong magical prowess.
Protectors Forest Of Whispers ...they where those should work something out. Thanks man.
Kate Copeland Oct 2019
[Freely translated after ''In de herfst'' - Vasalis]

Hollow, empty of desire
and while the yellowish amber trees,
the green stony trunks...
the light hovers silently over the leaves.

My heart far too open

too oftly captured by this light

floating thinly with the clouds...

and dreaming hurtfully, wretchedly
to get away from me

and while really so despairingly.
a mcvicar Jan 2019
yellow vases shan't hold Montmartre coffee nor goldilocks no more,
brilliant sunshine wrapped around thy hair, unmoving in this unending fall.
yellow paint and quivering ink-eating, masking something for sure:
just make this bread, add spicy Dijon must-dust for show.
eat it all up, absinthe's place in your heart and soul,
toxic waste in your yellowish carnation, oozing out lemon holes.
will he really swallow the missing piece of his own (...)?
was he really the type to ponder & slaughter the only thing that he truly owned?
mer Jan 2019
Dust off that old diary,
with scribbles and pictures
of dreamy days stuck inside,
its pages filled with unspoken words.

Open its frayed brown cover.
Pieces of paper with secrets inscribed on them
fall gracefully to the floor,
freed from their trap.

Pick up the yellowish notes and read them,
memories of forgotten times you remember.
Flip through the breaking pages of the book,
the one you once called your best friend.

Read through the past, relive it;
the golden, precious words fill your mind.
Cry silently and softy as you think of how far you've come,
how very different you are now.

Close the diary and watch the dust billow.
Set it down and smile,
the sunlight caressing your face,
its golden glow a reassurance of today.
Sun's flames
Burning with incandescence
Like Jupiter's
Of fluidic gases,
Valiance of the brightest blue
of a reasonable red
Carves cerulean into my
The pernicious
fissure releases
from my colorless possessions
Approaching the regal Sun
I am coruscating
As I concave
in the Solar nucleus
Nervously fused
Chemistry expedited ethereally

I am a celestial person
In the interstices of intergalactic expedition
Probably fluorescent green, yellowish-orange or a magenta color
Probably a supergiant in the existence
Of a dying solar
I feel my death bringing
Reality to a closure
Seems the closer
I get to coming closer
The nearer I find myself
Believing in
Suns touching horizons
In the open ocean
Of parallel universes
As a pin-point in space
Touching upon stars, every
Parallel thinker says
My metamorphosis was
I'm a black hole
That spaces out
Now I just say "Hello"
To the silence
A brilliant black hole
Mass of Jupiter exceeds all the planets. Near the asteroid belt seemingly colorful in a variety of patterns. It expresses fluid dynamics in frenetic variety in the keeping with the expanse of the universe. The quantum physics of science make us realize predictability in a parallel universe is just a matter questionable unpredictability. We can pretend that life is easy but when reborn, a set of rules forces us to work towards understanding each other. That makes us awkward as a new generation. Reborn to relive our mistakes. Extremely awkward isn't it. Struggling with our thoughts just to say "Hello" to our loved ones. Like black holes in a parallel universe vacillating between absorbing stars or learning from them. Parallel or not we all have matter and that makes life. In a parallel universes, we would expect the different axes to be in unscientific spatial arrangement. As a black hole, has a ton of mysteries leaving the singularity as an enigma and point horizon as a conclusion of all the arrangements of time. Past- the time that once was, Present- the time that stays, Future- time that has gone away with Destiny.
In similarity, I suppose that people can have awkward moments fitting in this world and expressing their desires and thoughts alike their needs and wants. But a black hole as a single purpose after a star dies it is to create space for the universe occupied by light and not-to-mention gases.
Graff1980 Nov 2018
It gets late
as I digest
what I just ate,
some greasy food
and horrible news.

Slumber sneaks in
and I barely feel
it taking me
against my will.

In my dream
I see a pudgy
pale faced
angry man,
skin glistening
with sweat
and thin streaks
of sick salivation
sliding down
the side of his
plush cheeks.

A rumbling voice
of desperate rage
vibrates congestedly
from his strangely
changing face.

Bulbous bulges
of tumorous flesh
in random places
and irregular

His eyeballs explode
from constricting sockets,
causing small jelly chunks
of red, black, and white
to fly at my wide eyes,
while his mouth expands
pulling back to expose
many new emerging rows
of sharp, small, decaying,
black, brown, and yellowish teeth.

His skin ruptures,
stretching jaggedly
in unpredictable places
as he bellows angrily.
Slick gore covered flesh
falls from his form
seeming to smoke
with the putrid smell
rotting roast beef.

Not fully free from
the last bits
of human flesh
the creature
lunges at me,
slipping slightly
on the newly greased ground,
but recovering just as quickly.
Then just as his mouth
is about to chomps down
on my left arm.
I awake
safe from harm.

My computer still blaring
is now sharing
terrible scenes
of the latest
war atrocity.

There are corpses of women,
men, and children
with shrapnel shredded skin,
even little baby bodies
scattered amongst them
in a crater from
some local bombing.
Crimson streaks
trail the frail
disfigured forms
that family members
struggle to carry away.
Strangers moan in pain
not physical,
but spiritual,
and emotional.

My stomach turns
as I yearn
to return
to sleep,
cause I’d rather face
a fake nightmare beast
then see the horrors
stretched out before me
on my computer screen.
It is a little wish
That I’ve got
That when you
Revisit this coil again
In your next
Incarnation and Adventure
That you return not
as an overripe spire of blooms
Swaying from the denimed
back pocket
a putanna vecchia in an unlikely form
Salacious, tempting
yet forever unyielding

But rather
as a small leaf of Iceberg lettuce
Too young and
Too immature
to reach the others alongside you
Your curl,
a little anemic and
so very very delicate.
No sensuous wave of a gladiolus blossom.
Just a bitter yellowish bud
Never to quite unfurl.

Perhaps you will be the rooty stalk
of the
The part that’s chopped away
And perfunctorily discarded
Slyly pretending to be a cabbage
In a cole slaw that no one wants

At the end of the day
The staff may try to hurl you into the dumpster behind the Greek Diner or Chinese
But you won’t make it

Out you slip from the ******* bags
And fall onto the gravel drive
Into the spitzing rain.
Growing more
The cement starting to show through you
Ghostly steps dodging passed
You’re inspected and pecked at
by rats and old hungry pigeons
And maybe a lost snail

Even the pigeons will saunter away bored.
A vague memory from some ancient place
will remind you that
This won’t be like Wembley at all.

As the sun rises the trash men come
While you‘re still stuck on your back
or twisted onto your side
appearing smaller than you really are
and as a result are overlooked
The bags are tossed into a
Disgruntled, fuming truck
All spit and impatience
yet you remain

Later that morning
The hose comes out to wash away the debris

That would be you

And reluctantly
a bit painfully
The water peels
most of you away as you float down
the sidewalk
with all the leaves
and cigarette butts
and orange peels
To the gutter
And then into the sewer
And then before you’re even aware
The River
Where a fish‘s mouth quickly opens
and scoops you in
and just as quickly
Spits you out again
(Your little bits)
To float away slowly
Since you’re so very light
Almost luminous for lettuce
Really ephemeral now!
Your very last traces.

You meander down to the bottom
To this other side of the clear blue sky
and dissolve gradually
Not gracefully
Nor provocatively
into a chilling primordial smear
of muck and sludge.

Here may you find Stillness.
Here may you find Rest.
Travis Green Dec 2018
When the dead dies and leaves
your side, the pain shall fade
away in mere time.  The raw
tears that you cry will sink inside
your veins until you shine in sight.  
Those were the words that my
mom told me as a child.  But as I
stand here by your grave breathing
in the dead taste, the awful sounds
of scorched hearts lingering in the
distance, painstaking drums rumbling
gray smoky songs, I can feel the hairs
on my flesh lifting in lonesome depths.
I never thought I’d see the day I’d bury
my mom into the ground and watch life
drift away into untimely mazes.  
I’m trying to be strong and solid
like you raised me, the days
you lectured to me about the role
of a man, how to be bold and brave,
a genuine creation full of power
and insight.  You were an astonishing
gem, a glittering ocean of iridescent
poetry, an inner rhyme harmonizing
inside my mind, a strong working
woman willing to make a house
a home.  You sacrificed everything
to see my dreams come true,
the day when I graduated from
college and made you proud, the hard
work and determination you instilled
inside me so that I’d grow into a
magnificent man.  Now as I stare
at your existence beyond the grave,
the yellowish trees stuck in sorrow,
revealing the deeply crushed diction
beneath earthly dwellings, I know
I must be brave and continue
moving forward in this world
of spinning waves.
Violets are grey
Berries are blue
Nettles are green
Cherries are red
Berries are purple

Roses are red
Violets are blue
Stems are yellowish
Seeds are green

Violets are grey
Blood is blood

Your blood is red
Mine might be blue,
or yellow, or orange, or pink

© Clarissa van Vreden
Andrew Oct 2019
Moon like dragon eye
A dull yellowish red
Moon half full above
The distant mountain
Moving ever so slightly
Pulling the soft roots of
My mind, those in between
Thoughts, down. Moon of
Midnight's horizon
In the middle of autumn
Moon that breathes not
Fire but frost, tugging
Off the leaves one by one
Keeping in tow
With the memory of
When everything was one.
Moon of want and moon
Of waiting, moon of fear
And moon of relief.
Reflection and folly
Restless yet calm.
Luna Jul 2018
Dear autumn,
I'm waiting for you to arrive.

Every morning I look through the window and wish to see beautiful mist hovering over the cold meadow.

Every day I look for yellowish crispy leaves and how they are falling off the trees.

Every night I look up in the sky and search for stars only, because I think moon is getting lonely.

I know you are getting closer, so I keep waiting. Someday I'll wake up to your embrace and I'll be smiling.

Yours truly, S.

— The End —