Strawberry Moon ~ Part Two: Heart of a Songbird

Shattered in ecstasy,
the moon bends down to whisper into my ear,
perhaps it has sensed a sliver of soreness behind–
a decade has passed,
were we if only songbirds perched upon a tree with just seasons
to guide us correctly;
I’d never have to worry about a thing.
The birds possess perfect faith, with a song that reverberates deep
inside their bodies; and I wonder,
how is it that we as a species are more than different?
I am uncaged, slowly becoming part of the silence required
to observe their ways—
my lips defying darkness that threatens to engulf unremittingly.
Is it considered a drought if I am gasping for you?
There is no telling the distance, how high these clouds climb–
in the end, it’s pain that saves us when the world fails to give us
what we have earned; the exposition of truth,
I can hear the birds this morning– their chirping is a sign,
it’s conveying a message.
Love wounds but deprives not of emotion.



Photo credits: Artwork by Ransom and Mitchell, Pinterest

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

From Dusk Till Dawn

Dandelion seeds whisper your name towards the end of the day,
can you feel the mantling of the sky?
Among roots and blades of grass lies self-restraint,
why is it that the sun refuses to sleep?
My breast filled with the humid emotions of June;
what is this alchemy?
I fell in love with the way your eyelids closed.

Speak, the heart’s descending to darker depths
of meaning,
golden in its knowledge of the realm’s return to dust;
do you see the delicate way in which assassins touch machinery?
As though aware of the weight of conscience;
my apologies,
that was a dreadful misinterpretation of monstrosity;
they possess none whatsoever,
keep walking— repugnance will dry anybody’s lips,
what does increase in fahrenheit have anything to do with it?
I fire up the clouds from dusk till dawn,
my tongue abrogating sweet milk that it has tasted over the years;
it’s no longer acceptable to be immune.



Photo credits: Pinterest

Song Choice: ZAYN – Dusk Till Dawn ft. Sia

Skylover Wordlist: Machinery, fahrenheit, speak, golden,
dust, assassin, return, medicine 💝

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

Since Flower, Nor Stone, Nor Depths of the Raging Sea

I have died and come to life a thousand times,
the unprecedented sighs of June stand as witness—
why was the world made this way?
Do colors have no choice but to fade at the end of the year?
You blow soft, the words that stir me from oblivion,
I knew not I was at war with myself;
dawn is beautiful,
uninvited thoughts in return that haunt me
at the end of day.
Let the rain fall,
let the rain fall down and wash away doubt;

sometimes it takes a stranger to reintroduce you to yourself—
I don’t possess the poetry to describe you perfectly on the page.



Photo credits: John William Waterhouse Painting, Pinterest

Posted for Writers’ Pantry @ Poets and Storytellers United

Strawberry Moon ~ Part One: Black Lives Matter

before the dust settles upon their graves,
golden stupor, come sweep away;
we are guilty of being inconsistent in indignation and outrage—
in what words do they justify killing?
Is this what they call enforcing discipline?
I have seen it happen over and over again,
what kind of plausible justification are they seeking?
Don’t read this,
it’s possible you might get caught up in poetic machinery;
there is an insurmountable amount of gall involved that begs
for illustration.
And now the moon with dark slice of weariness propels,
dunes of towering monologues
in favour
of hopes and dreams extend— there is no medicine against death.



Photo credits: Pinterest

A Skylover Wordlist: Machinery, golden, speak, illustrated, dust, medicine 💝

Posted for Weekly Scribblings @ Poets and Storytellers United

& Posted on Open Link Night @ dVerse Poets Pub

Facing us is inequality

A slip of the pen
and the next thing you know there’s a visible rise
in Fahrenheit;
they despise us for our tongue,
gold illustrated rage that alludes inequality
and now the moon roseate observes my intentions;
there is no turning back.



Photo credits: Unsplash

Linda is our hostess tonight! She wishes us to Cry
Havoc and let “slip” the Dogs of War. Come join us 💝

A Skylover Wordlist: Fahrenheit, golden, illustrated 🌹

Posted for Quadrille #105 @ dVerse Poets Pub