Virgin shrouds Mourning wombs Innocence cut short Parents' lap Empty broken Shoulders weary Eyes weighed Bullets strayed Nameless assail Hopes frail. When bombs fly And sirens cry Children cannot defy They wonder if they Will live to see Another dawn Play and run all day long And they wonder What the fighting is all about?
Danseuse
Waltzing through air, this vision with beguiling delicate grace
Like a danseuse figure, poised, carving delicate grace.
A breeze gently embraces this fragile creature
touching nimble limbs, a limber accentuating delicate grace.
Sunlight streams iridescent on her lissome stance
symmetrically lithe and supple, flaunting delicate grace.
Rhythmic movements pattern fawn colored sand creations
nudging grass beneath, with a soothing delicate grace.
The boundless energy of this dainty, flighty antelope
as she ambulates gracefully, epitomizing, delicate grace.
Elusive, mysterious, uninhibited, she basks in nature’s fold
within a cosmos, spangled with, pleasing, delicate grace.
Her vulnerability fills me with foreboding and much fear
of bloodthirsty predators, massacring delicate grace.
Finding The Rhyme
I send my words into the sky Watch them rhyme and then fly. I close my eyes and feel the air Forgotten words lost without care. I take the letters in my hand And put them on a poetic stand. I scribe the words on a starlit scroll Watch words take shape as night unfolds. My dreams drift from a soul that bleeds In the blue of ink, fractured lines freed. I run my hands over my words My fingers feel the emotions stirred. With tender ease, the poetry glides From my page to your eyes.
Moonchild
I am a child of the earth
Raised by the stars in the sky
Tended by the moon as I sleep
Scars of the world clothe me
Her wounds rich in history.
I am bathed by the tears of the clouds
When it rains, the wind howls-in my ears
Apocalyptic....
When I cry-the earth soaks up my tears
A piece of my soul
Turning to dust;
And like dust, I rise
A storm of stardust
On moonstruck madness..
The sky calls out my name at dawn
Sparking the sun on my breast..
I am a child of the earth
The darkness and the light
The truth, the lie
Sorrow and joy
It's all there in the
Pen that I wield.
#free verse
Idiolect
Somewhere
Between
The silence
And the pause
I try to find the words
I write a love letter to Cupid
My
Syllables
All
Wrong.
Poet And Muse
I write from my soul to yours I undress my heart to show you my scars. Crimson-tinged words need no pages Scattering into synapse spaces. The pain spills as blood blue ink Dipped in the inkwell of syllabic sync. Hold my words close to your heart They are my soul's oxygen chart. I am a poet who paints with her pen To frame my page with your name again and again.
Magnolia Reveries
Alphabets become jeweled figurines
Like studded stars drip-dropping
Sparkling confetti on a magnolia vignette…
I sit in quiet solitude breathing in the solace of sepia memories…crocheting a borealis in my solstice day
Syllables of Monet hues flame
A potpourri of poesies
Galaxy’s champagne
Serenades my rosette fire
Kaleidoscopic eloquence
Needling a mantle of chrome waltzes
A phonographic euphoria
Etching a musky interlude
Of shared tears
Radiating scarlet of an Amaryllis quill…
Magnolia Reveries
Alphabets become jeweled figurines
Like studded stars drip-dropping
Sparkling confetti on a magnolia vignette...
I sit in quiet solitude breathing in the solace of sepia memories...crocheting a borealis in my solstice day
Syllables of Monet hues flame
A potpourri of poesies
Galaxy's champagne
Serenades my rosette fire
Kaleidoscopic eloquence
Needling a mantle of chrome waltzes
A phonographic euphoria
Etching a musky interlude
Of shared tears
Radiating scarlet of an Amaryllis quill...
Along Came A Spider
Along came a spider An eight legged rider. In her web, I espied a fly Other insects came to say goodbye. The spider's sting operation Causing pain sensation. Spidey's silken seduction Makes no cause for affection. An intrepid with her labyrinth Her stealth is her fingerprint. She never trips in her net Her web is her bayonet. She walks and stalks a silky trail Rigging a web to catch the frail. Spiders are seen and never heard They wield a most unlikely sword.
Poetry: The perfect noun
If I had wings to fly I would go to the scarlet moon On the wings of a diamond night Trying to live again Because the poet in me cannot die I would go in search of my muse I would go in search of eternity.. Under an ancient sky That spills the sun in my hair Wildflowers in my eyes Poetry on my lips When the wind sings on my skin Broken heartstrings kindle a lilt Clouds weep into the blue My soul goes sleepless As the moon and sun wake together Feeding my soul with ink In a silence that goes ballistic A quill that needs to be tranquilized I idolize thoughts that spring From poetry.. My mind stops hurting I crash my hourglass..
Moonbeams dance
moonbeams dance on my pillow this unknown summer night venus blooms like cereus in an ebony sky a hushed wind carries My dreams to you I pick up my pen...
Twilight Lullabies
twilight sky
lullabies
stir the space
between dusk and night
Dear January
Dear January, you have been doing this every year. And you look great. The beginning always looks great. You have only come to make this year look better. the calendar in January's chill spring blossoms Dear January, speak poetry and embrace me with your eloquence. Make spring bloom luminescent ...make what is empty, dark....effervescent. let nectar flow from lips of flowers and let butterflies carry their fragrant dreams into mountains, hills, brooks ,streams, oceans and high seas spreading over earth.. Speak to me Oh January Tell the moon to twirl me silver, sun ignite my fire..let the stars wrap their light. .my eyes sparkle the constellations.. Wounded fingers quiver Broken whispers of fear Let the wind be a balm To heal the sighs Of disease frightened people.
Winter Ache
winter ache;
writing just for myself
I dress my page in blue
I write a poem on my heart
She Was Him, He Was Her
Poetry Partners # 29
She was him
He was her
They were one
They were free
She had eyes that knew
His heart’s glow
A smile that filled the space
When spring made its way to their eyes
In the zephyr’s abracadabra
All the places they were at a loss for words
They were cinder sparked by a flame that grew
Fed by warmth
Touch of a look
Running like blood in their veins
He had the wisdom of a young ink
Unstolen by time
Knowledge eternal
On eternity’s edge
Searching for a lost song
Their gently heaving breath finds the pulse of possibilities
A golden shovel poem by ben Alexander of ‘The Skeptic’s Kaddish’
(in blank verse)
Temperature past the versing point, they
melted into glowing lava and were
blown with force through revelation's cinder
cone, as thick, boiling comprehension sparked
in their luminous core. Only then, by
quirk of fate or set destiny, did a
zephyr flow from their lips, fanning the flame
stolen for mortals from Olympus that
birthed human knowledge and steadily grew
across the face of Earth, as people fed
it with aspirations unstolen by
time. As one, they filled the space with soft warmth,
spring smiles, and the teasing, caressing touch
of their eternal words, the lost song of
which they two composed together in a
volume of abracadabras, its look
fraying and worn, with lines of script running
across its pages; letters slanted like
sloping volcanos and inked with goat blood.
Freely, crafting word worlds and timelines in
sync with one another's pulses and their
truth, they felt eternity in their veins.
https://skepticskaddish.com/2022/01/02/she-was-him-or-he-was-her/
In Memory
i die a little everyday
every breath I take
i miss the people i have lost
Twenty Twenty-Two
inside the pages
of my calendar
a new year opens:
the same old news
Goodbye Notes
goodbye notes;
all the words
that were left unsaid
Arely goes herbs
Once there lived a man named Arely
Who grew himself a pot belly
He sowed wild oats in his stomach pot
Which thrived into a flowery Plot
His tummy became flora fauna friendly
They called him a tarzan heritage
The tourists came to see his advantage
Hé became a walking jungle
The herbivores came to mingle
Gobbled him up as herbage .
Autumnal
Green turns to amber
As marmalade sky cascades
A roseate blaze
Flaming, lambent Hunter’s moon:
The rise and fall of the tides.
#Tanka
Sunny ~ Side Up
Dappled grey
Night sky’s fading hues
Jasper flares
Warblers spin
Blooms quaver the morning trail
Life drifts… warm and still
My dawn song
Begins at first blush
When dew melts
On gauze wings
Golden warmth of dayspring fills
To liven my frame.
# shadorma
yaskhan 
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