I will
light into your heart
and swallow the
secret pain that was
forever in your soul,
hidden behind
eyes that feign toughness
yet hold vulnerability
a little warm death
always on the ledge
of discovery.
I become a lake
for you to swim in,
A sky for you to write upon,
as a blank journal page,
the emotions caught in
Your throat, now liberated
become found joy.
Accept the silken feel
of my compassion,
sweet-kisses-dusting
all your pain away.
O.
Journal One Twenty
A POETRY JOURNAL -- SEND SHORT POEMS PLEASE
SPRING ISSUE 2011
Each issue will focus on women's experience, especially writing, yoga and everyday travels. Send poems and travel haibun to journal120@yahoo.com
Thursday, May 5, 2011
Monday, April 25, 2011
lucid misunderstanding
if only the tulips could speak
and tell us the secrets of their sweet nectar.
she was aware of his eyes,
his married, married eyes too brown not
to be true,
his true, brown eyes slipped into he aura,
his voice touched her heaven.
a card fell to the ground
dissolving us
she plucked up the moist white petal
and read the words printed on the card:
lucid misunderstanding.________________
the words awakened her mind,
he glanced at her and his pupils grew large
she ran, almost
and the tulips brushed against her neck
and shoulders, and spirit
whispering.
when she finally entered her bus for home
her scent was sweet and addictive
her voice gentler than the breeze of
this new melancholy spring,
with so much to offer.
O.
and tell us the secrets of their sweet nectar.
she was aware of his eyes,
his married, married eyes too brown not
to be true,
his true, brown eyes slipped into he aura,
his voice touched her heaven.
a card fell to the ground
dissolving us
she plucked up the moist white petal
and read the words printed on the card:
lucid misunderstanding.________________
the words awakened her mind,
he glanced at her and his pupils grew large
she ran, almost
and the tulips brushed against her neck
and shoulders, and spirit
whispering.
when she finally entered her bus for home
her scent was sweet and addictive
her voice gentler than the breeze of
this new melancholy spring,
with so much to offer.
O.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
POETRY
FIONA ROBYN
Yoga Class
on every forehead, a warm smear of lavender oil.
Gratitude Meditation
vivid image arises, kissing everyone's feet.
Shrine Room AM
strips of light, silhouette of trees, everything shimmers.
http://www.asmallstone.com/
fiona8107@btinternet.com.
.......
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