The bridge

mollypopdesigns.wordpress.com

I build the bridge between

loving heart & logical mind

to reach the consent

the heart’s enlarged –

yet North and South

hemispheres

touch the clouds,

the sky,

the forehead…

Exposure

deviantart.com

The teacher appears

whenever the student

is ready.

Sometimes in disguise

he speaks

barbarian language.

I can’t get your tongue

woven soft dew drop

into slang.

Why heavens

divided whole

essence of soul

to segments?

Various lessons

we learn to combine

into one.

Until then

our wounds are open

to rough/ raw/ array...

Shared with Open Link Monday IGRT

Tip-top

by Robert Hardgrave

Thinking of

the map of chance

with strawberry tincture

synchronized

Softly answered blast

mix of integral

tip/top/charms

in a tint of the eyes.

Read more at: Sunday Whirl

Nights

                          selfie

When I crossed

the territory

of the reveries,

a redemption

the naughty/ nights / knocked

to persuade/ upgrade

the extension…

Gloomy, they left

with no guess/ a clue / the keys, -

nobody fell for

the false / flickering / treat or tricks.

Read more at: Magpie Tales

Back to your arms

wallpapers-xs.blogspot.com

    ~ variations ~

          

           ***

 you want me

to play back stage

a chord warning

on cue

crowd scene

ragtime

cake-walk…

                                 ***

warm alley

no benches, no stop,

no seat,

heavy  sand

feet hate flip-flops

           ***

seaweed

lots along the bay,

gobies swim belly up

august…

hydrogen sulfide

in the air…

          ***

back to your arms,

rooted in  squares,

along the streets

sycamores,

acacia trees…

                                        ***

                                   I lean back

to keep the promise

the hug/ hides/ holiness

no breath, panic attack

sigh…

I want back to your arms…

An angel

Inspired by Three Word Wednesday

The song

'Celestial Choir' by Christine E. Alfery

There are lots of them

who want to fly free

the mouths are moving steady

Sound chain

by q8designer.devianart.com

In her window

behind the blinds

the sounds are knocking.

The sounds are knocking

one by one, fast, faster

voices ask unclear.

Voices ask unclear

at this quiet day

accompanied by heater.

Accompanied by heater

as if in a rumbling train

she travels.

She travels

on the wave

memory of forks.

Memory of forks

dropping down lately

often mean a change.

Often mean a change

a little, a big

what range?

What range of

efforts to live the life

we dream about?

We dream about

the present

in front of us, now.

In front of us, now

make a step, say ‘hi’

live with intent.

Shared with Imaginary Garden with Real Toads

Healing hands

by space.desktopnexus.com

Listening to my hands…

invisible worms – a million

run through..

Healing manna – inhaled

worry free, warm

energy cycle

Hold, hold until done

swirling ki, sipping by cells

sigh, life unfolding…

The path

by devpremium.devianart.com

…when I’ve returned

too fast / fetched / the fuel

toward

the body/ become/ boiling / bowl

to adjust

it took the hours

to iron the cramps,

a headache,

sore eyes,

weak muscles,

stiff joins,

numb thighs…

sighing…

realized

a contrast –

my earthy plane-

fragile:

slow/ soughs / sighs,

angels surround,

assisting to surpass -

guiding / gliding / gracefully

through the path

to pick scattered gifts

I've lost / living / losing the light /

lying,

declining the will

I’ve brought to the life,

crossed by Libra scales

once…

The voice

by iphonewallpaperstar.com

“I heard your voice…

even though  it wasn’t you…”

R. H. Mustard

Once I arrived

in a distant hall –

repeated voices,

unison,

open and closed

doors…

From a room

to the room

I walked,

trying to unlock

this random

motive,

invoked

the memory’s

exclusive

moments.

I’ve recognized

the light,

the style,

the set of chairs,

taking apart,

expecting

to fly

over the heads,

the intent:

realign

the hearts

near the hearth…

I/  heard / your / voice –

nothing new –

“turn the chair

to opposite side –

a different point

of view.”

Maturity age

Madonna with the milk soup, 1510. Gerard David.  

While ripening fetus

sips/milk soup/splitted

in levels by means levers

I pulverize clear scent,

echoing scenery/I attend

outside

I fly/follow/a shuttle

of intact/tactile/tiles

of clouds/new ceiling

spider clinging to…

yu. yu. yu. yay!

I listen…

                        by Brenda Warren

Read more at : Sunday Whirl, Magpie Tales

New Year verses

by Yuri Kalyuta

based on Russian jokes

With age

New Year

more often

and often

comes

to our door

with sparkling

Champaigne,

commemorate

joyous occasion,

throwing

glasses

on floor.

The man

gets confused,

saying to kids:

“I’m Grandpa Frost”,

and pulling off

a hat and beard –

to the wife:

“I warm you fast”.

Combative Petrushka

calmed down, awaits

for the master command,

deprived by dominant scarlet,

drown over the blue and white.

Man’s sluggish thoughts

drifting on facet

between new and old:

“Oh, every year I’m

buying new costume,

and sleep on the go.

So maybe this time

I will order a mattress

instead,

lifestyle representing,

resilient and fit

for the bed.

The Snow girl,

young and sober,

will drag me to home,

while Santa, oh Santa

 delivers   the presents

alone.

Read more at Three Word Wednesday

Wheel of Moon

hdphotogallary.blogspot.com

Spinning your wheel,

oh, Moon,

I’ve been introduced

to many faces

and moods

I went through

the calendars

of visitors,

appeared and

disappeared

in centuries’

volcano

craters;

buried the talents

and gifts of

past incarnation -

they might come

in the present lifetime

if I keep the seat

at merry- go-round

Oh, Moon,

will your guise,

so  swollen,

turn in the oval

if I disappear…

Shared with PU Verse First

Alice's sleeping

by Yuri Kalyuta

Alice – sleeping…

  The forms so airy…

    For grown ups

      the clothes

       haven’t been

           prepared…

Who’ll reconcile

  her consciousness

     with a size –

        so overgrown

           a chessboard,-

              big dreams

                 and…

                     closed eyes.

A kiss of a snowflake

Andy the Snowman grew up in the center of the lake, when the cottony blanket of first snow has attracted like magnet all nearby children to play, to skate, and build the Snowman.

Then Andy has learned that solitude of white can be rewarding.

Surrounded by dancing snowflakes, he felt happy, as if chosen.

And indeed, the smile has never left his face.

Staring forward with his eyes-buttons, Andy wished for even more friends. One day he noticed the light in a house not so far from the lake. Many-many kids hopped around a big decorated pine tree. Blue, red, yellow, green lights were reflecting in their eyes.

Since that day a longing for something untried has settled in his appeared not so cold heart…

Once, lulled by the wind, dreaming quietly, while kids have been attending a school, Andy hasn't noticed a Red Cardinal landed close, on the icy bench.

At first moment his drill-like voice pierced Snowman’s open mind under cute beret. But by focusing he has heard: “…I am instructed to transmit the Invitation”, - with these words the Cardinal unveiled the mighty wing, lifted with winning gesture the chin and read sacred tattoo. –

 “We like your happy expression. The positive vibes uplift all who see you. Submit your participation in New Year party. And your dream might come true,”

– the mysterious bird finished reading, looking expectantly at Andy.

-         But how? – The Cardinal majestically leaned toward Snowman,covering with magic script…

Andy hasn’t remembered exactly how it happened. He has found himself standing inside of this very house he looked at!... by decorated pine tree and with highlighted signature smile,…but now no snowflake can kiss him to submit his Snow nature.

With the long look of eyes-buttons he’s staring in the window. And dreaming… 

Read more at: Three Word Wednesday, Theme Thursday

Shared with PU Poetry Pantry

The swards of night

by Jennifer MacNeill

I’m skinless before you

with sticking out

arrogant ego,

squeezed in etheric half

a cup of coffee.

You drink this whole truth

of reality – us -

the blues among blue

of the sea and clouds.

I slice subtle piece

of five

dimensional face –

no time, no taste - unable

to erase the soul essence.

I string in a garland

expressions, modes -

roller-coaster of unknown

when nobody home

guts upside down… 

Winter nudge

minnesota. cbslocal. com

December slip-throw

slowly

sleet into slit

of my sanity

the old tires  - in a trunk

the notches are low,

though weight is fine

for balance show

it saved me while turned

as a dancing car/cow,

pursuing the will,

crouched in a line

‘whenever you go –

take your time’, -

radio 88.5 fm says, -

‘but better – stay home…’
winter calamity. 

Shared with d'Verse Open Link Night

Pre Play

photo from The Guardian, Eyewitness, courtesy of Tess K. 

In what currency I’d cash

the taste of sphere…

Seagulls desperate shrieks

cries out being released

from the prison of

dreary yet sickening

cloak of Jeopardy,

risked to become

a cruel wild croak

in the pursuit

to skirt
the goodies…

Beloved,

in Venus lenses

I flow,

follow…

                     Brenda Warren

Read more at: Magpie Tales, Sunday Whirl

Shared with Poetry Pantry

Globe-all style

hdwallpapers.mi9.com

My mono style - the ignorance

as if no Ki to enter

a sanctuary,

an igloo,

or spin around equator…

What if I wrap meridians

across the parallels,

infused

through the nadis

into my body's cells…

with magnitude of love,

infinite and diverse

for Gaia  gift,

the better place,

where whole world converse.

More poems read at : D'Verse:Form for All, Imaginary gardens with real toads

Fairy Tale

wallconvert.com

“Fairy tale – a  lie, but there- allusion…”

A.S. Pushkin

Her present life kept the traces of old, the ancient one.

Once rewarded, - brought to highest level of achievement –

a human life.

From brief meeting you would never say there is something wrong -smiley face, nimble manners, and witty brain.

Then, little by little, when you become familiar with the way of life, the house exposes every time a new clue: a statue, a photo, a fishy food, and finally – a stocking with a paw…

Insisted on a month of vocation by the ocean, one day she escapes to satisfy her nostalgia…

More stories: Three Word Wednesday

Life beneath...

wallpaperdreams.com

At the night

among all

the dark

silhouettes

of strangers-

knights stand up

as the statues:

feet -

at shoulders'

width,

arms are crossed,

hats all broad-

        brimmed right,

        faces- hidden

        in the shadows

of rough secrets,

a sacrament

rite

in a grot

among rocks,

underground

of castle...

ancient

barrels

of wine

scarlet red

in lead crystal,

eerily

sparks in the

quivery hand

begs me taste

to exchange

the persuit
of the fate

on a Groal Vase…

flash: Is it Ball

at the Woland's?

almost queen

Margarita…

I refuse

cheeky offer,

shocked, I honor

my sanity,

staying

on this side of

the scene,

where the scenery,

a plot –

just the guess,

what the life like

beneath…

I remember

this dream...

how far is

a grot…

Read more poems: d'Verse Open Link Night

In crisis

wings: Magpie Tales

My plight’

trouncing wing…

word ‘thanks’

reflexively

trickling down

to meet

the fire -

here, at the border

the forces leave me,

and I stand alone in-

sigh/t –

the road issued free…

Brenda Warren

Read more : Sunday Whirl, The Magpie Tale

Shared with PU: Poetry Pantry

Confession

I look in your face,

and see the gray stains

against a blue…

You open up,

and I’m dazzled

forever by radiance…

Could I survive

when your fiery lips

touching a  forehead?

And I run and I run

and I run to escape

in the chilled

green house

of yesterday,

as if never coveted

you... .

Yet every day

waking up

in the warmth -

grateful

for knowing

the gate...

Read more: d'Verse Meeting the Bar: Conceit