Modest moon’s mid-day pale
smeared white-out
clipped fingernail
flung on a blue sheet
This famous ruler of night-
light of Rome and Egypt
Debussy, Beethoven, Apollo Eleven
assuredly unspectacular today
D.E. Stevens
https://stevenspost.wordpress.com
.
A child again
I cannot find the classroom
heart pounding
looking for the exit sign
running taunted from the recess line
in neural-stormed confusion.
I stand-alone again
while rain beats down
on monkey bars.
I never could perceive
the path to interweave
it might be nice
to have a friend I said
while walking to the trees
through salmon-berried nettles
to the massive trunks
of bark-clad guardians
dressed in moistured lichen
north and south.
The briars shook my hand
the Devil beat me with a club
and underbrush embraced me
with her formic acid sting
and fungi whispered windy truths
to guide me to a place of refuge
water all around me trickled
into stony paths where rivers
birthed themselves from
earth-wombed cracks and craigs
The one child left behind
sat eagerly before
the mossy teacher’s desk
and held the lessons of the earth
in bitter-mouthed suspension
and the spirit-animals began to speak
their softly structured wisdom
and the heart began to stir
until its root-seed anchored
deep relief in shimmered
spider webs of destiny.
Robert J.Foss
https://allpoetry.com/Betoangel
I will not meet you there directly, no
we will meet at Mirador San Nicolas
on the outskirts of Granada and there
we will dine and catch up on so many things
as it has been several incarnations, since last
we were face to face – and it is from there that
we journey together, thou and I, to hear nightingales
beneath a cloudfree sky of robin’s egg blue
and we will listen to a little concert of the Goyescas
of Granados and you will laugh because the encore
will be called a la cubana and I will laugh too
and later when we have reached it
we will hear de Falla’s Noches en los Jardines de España –
En el Generalife the jasmine-scented gardens
around the palace of the king’s harem at Calat el-hamra
La Alhambra – the red – because of the sunsets
on the ancient ancient walls
how long have I longed to go there with you –
a thousand years of conquest and reconquest
and Berber kings of Al-Andalus and the Nasrid dynasty
moorish palaces with their long reflecting pools
that at night are filled with dancing stars
and we will get drunk on the scent of roses, and you
will spin me tales as we wander through the orange groves
and not only horror stories of pillage in Latin America and
we will forgive the tyrants and the jesuits – the imperialists
the Incas, the Mayans, the Catholics – everyone
we will forgive them all and listen only to the fountains
Timea Deinhardt
https://timeadeinhardt.wordpress.com
.
I peek cautiously through the kitchen blinds.
It’s like a BBC 2 jungle documentary out there,
A green canopy growing wild and untamed.
Nature is reclaiming my garden,
and I feel like
this is a job for another day.
I tentatively open the cupboard door.
It’s like an explosion in a skip,
no antiques or heirlooms here.
This is Tutankhamen’s stuff for the tip
rubbish unfit for any afterlife.
Another job for another day.
I’m no Attenborough or Carter
Fearlessly investigating or excavating.
Instead I brave the TV channels
to visit far away lands
armed with a cup of tea
Sitting comfy in my armchair.
Richard Archer
https://skaggythepoet.wordpress.com
although the nearest neighbours
are a mile away, I tell myself
these silent occupations
are designed to not wake them.
What is there to do at 5 am?
I scan the room, decide to proceed
with a needed floral funeral
to remove the now-colourless
and wizened jonquils that once
were inserted precisely
to add colour to philodendron cuttings
set in water to grow roots.
The viscous brown stems
now in the shadow of a cannister
are living worms, seemingly mobile,
soft and ready to wiggle
on the kitchen counter.
I shudder at the ghoulishness
of an autopsy turned vivisection
but manage to distract myself
with the amusing paradox
that plants must be sunk in the ground –
buried – that they may live.
c.m.anderson
http://allpoetry-classic.com/catimini
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