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A Dust Of Fairy

Submitted by greeneyes on Thu, 2011-05-19 15:45

Tiny little fairy, fluttering in the sky,
So beautiful,and full of wonder,
It makes me want to cry.

Her wings are the color of life,
Like a rainbow after the rain,
Or how the sun, colors the drops,
Clinging on the window pane.

The song she sings,with the setting sun,
Is a sweet and peaceful tune,
Telling us the day has faded,
And the moon will be here soon.

She curls up in a rosebud,
There she will make her bed,
The petal will be her blanket,
The bud is where she will lay her head.

BERM

Submitted by Esker on Thu, 2011-05-19 12:29

position

we hold
and collusion crashs
the debris shinning
and jagged

while death dances

I held what I know
and gave what
was

and the grist
chewed up the edges
and seeped
deep
like a wound
that always cries
when memories
flame

and the blaze
never dies

a handful of Lakewood sand

Submitted by Kailashana2 on Thu, 2011-05-19 12:00

at the risk of red leaves unfurling
perennial wisdom just outside
my peripheral vision, their lace
reeling against the city potholes
sinking deeper into ich bin ein Clevelander
despair,
i confirm that it is spring
trumpeting its pageantry
as the pages turn,
just before the summer of past
regrets ferrets its pensive conclusion

a time forged in ash

Submitted by CCfire on Thu, 2011-05-19 11:52

"if not winter, when?"
they are not words i wrote
i have borrowed their beauty
from sadness the poetess gave them
entwined in my own
subtle twists to tales
an ebb and flow that
makes women sigh and
men raise arms to fight

a past season when
snow gave landscape depth
no horizon

an unclear path
hidden until spring

THE HORNBEAMS

Submitted by Nordic cloud on Thu, 2011-05-19 11:25

"THE HORNBEAMS"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 19th May 2011.

The hornbeams turn green
a grey green so slowly
where others they sprout in a rush with a shout
the oaks come out first
if the ash makes the dash for the post
then we're in for a thirst
and a splash

OLD FARTS CLUB

Submitted by scribbler on Thu, 2011-05-19 09:13

I remember childhood days
sitting in a country store
hearing tales told by the score
amid tobacco's acrid haze
around a wood stove's warming blaze

Old guys talking of their past
often laughing at the time
when a soft drink cost a dime
whether Kennedy would last
and how the years fled by so fast

And there sat this wide eyed child
grinning at being let within
this "club" of older wiser men
whose language was not always mild
but, really, didn't get too wild

Splatter of Holes

Submitted by themoonman on Thu, 2011-05-19 07:08

Open minds are hungry woodpeckers
knocking for sustenance;
I try to dull mine in Grey Goose and lime
only teasing the insatiable thirst,
staid in no reference to time
except the knocking aging minutes.

Age has no concern with gender or creed,
I suppose it's lucky to reach the time of
less than able.

Luck painfully tearing at tendons and joints,
tingling limbs and head rush sensations;
fucking blood,
finds holes it wants to now.

My reflection

Submitted by Samaira on Thu, 2011-05-19 07:08

The day was very special when
your arrival was announced.
The doctor came smiling to me
soon you would be around.
Oh my God! Was it really true?
Inside me somewhere- You.

You occupied my thoughts
I was often found daydreaming
I already had your face in mind
your tiny limbs and lovely eyes
And I started talking to you
trust me that’s no lie.

My Love is Like The Cereus

Submitted by The Rain Sprite on Wed, 2011-05-18 23:19

My love for you is like a night blooming Cereus -

Beautiful, rare and ephemeral.

It blooms once in a lifetime while bearing the meaning of farewell.

Though Cereus is a fleeting flower, once it blooms under the moonlight,

it glows towards heaven.

But if you cannot fathom the reason of its existence in my heart,

Warped

Submitted by Race_9togo on Wed, 2011-05-18 23:13

Love of God
became clenched fear
when a man
first humbled down
on knocking knees
to kiss the ground
The Almighty claimed to own.

Sacred Wisdom
turned to vileness
the first time someone
held hot irons
to another's feet
and called the
anguished agony
the Will Of God.

Sacrament
became new mortal sin
when a man first
called procreation wrong
and the pleasures of
a woman's body evil

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