Buck Moon ~ Part Two: Seeing Things

The moon is a slice of paranoia tonight;
of reflection of things that provoke the naked eye—
I am lost
but certain of silent footsteps that accompany me
as the hills darken.
It’s funny how the human mind works,
diligently
when faced with misgiving
and lethargic when lounging, when at ease—
love, I am aware of peeling away of minutes,
of shadows
that lurk astutely in the subconscious.
The rustling of leaves;
I have stood many a time at the doorway of dreaming,
attended circles
where people moan with disbelief— what if I told you
that seeing things is another name for siding with truth,
would you side with me?
Would you step outside your comfort zone?
Would you take the leap?
The watery embrace of the sea;
there is a thin line
between what’s real and what the world wants us to believe.

 

 

Photo credits:  Reflection by Serenity Mitchell, Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Aubade – This Much and More

It tiptoes into the heart quietly;
in the serenade of black where emotion takes center stage–
a moment of truth
alive and brimming, existing between two people,
how did we come to this?
You take the pain and turn it into something beautiful,
with your lips
remove all doubt and then press them to mine
until the sky bursts with light;
perhaps this is what it feels like to share your life,
perhaps this is what it feels like to belong.

 

 

Photo credits: Julius Kronberg Painting, Pinterest

Posted for Poetics: 9th Year Anniversary @ dVerse Poets Pub

Storm Rising

I didn’t notice it at first;
waves of sensuality that continued to trickle,
to wash upon me—
I cannot speak the words,
nor can I hope to describe the storm rising;
his eyes speak in sonnets,
roguishly blue-green—
anchor to world I breathe in.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Quadrille #107 – Blue Monday @dVerse Poets Pub

Also Posted on Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

Wildflower in the Rain

Perhaps the most beautiful words are those
which remain suspended in mid-air,
here,
over heathland pathways— I want you beside me;
listening intently,
in a world where honesty is considered imprudence
and shades of mauve are misinterpreted.
An inundation of sorts;
half sip of rhapsody, half of ache,
love is a portion of an epic poem adapted for recitation—
and I wonder
if poetry would suffice?

If anyone observes in me a slight hint of obstinacy?
Forgive me,
for I seem to have lost my breath,
your warm touch and nearness have my blood stirring—
like a wildflower in the rain,
I am beginning to comprehend what it’s like to yield.

 

 

Photo credits: Pinterest

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

Blades of grass

The grass has a cerulean tinge which I associate
with the seaside, coarse and tough—
while the day
wraps herself in a silky cloak that gleams from afar;
it’s admiration that moves us,
inspires us
and urges us to make a change, offer input, and restore beauty
back out into the world.
Things were different back then; honesty had a way of finding its path,
a form of karma
that portrayed not only golden stones but potholes as well.
Fast forward to the current age,
and dive headfirst into lies— all vibrations in the air,
inconsequential to the medium through which they travel.
Of course, if you fight it,
you stick out, you are a rebel, a conspiracy theorist— a marked person.
The grass on my soles is scarce,
mown so short that the ground can be seen through
and the day is shadowy grey,
almost as though the skin is stretched taut across her cheekbones—
were my thoughts visible,
they would be an explosion, should I choose to speak them out loud
and see the wandering begin in your eyes—
you, the current generation, the future bread and butter of households,
the shapers of society;
your thoughts you guard, hardly ever letting an unconsidered word
escape from your lips,
I fear you lack depth; you lack imagination.
I don’t know what causes you to hide or what forms your apathy
but I need you to hold open the door.
There comes a time when pushing one’s ideas that could save our world
becomes morally the right thing to do;
much like destroying weeds before sowing new grass, only—
things were different back then.

 

 

 

Photo credits: Unsplash

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

And Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub