Collaboration #6 / 2014

1417448927337b

Confounding humanity/ Through the eyes of a wolf

©2014 Narcisse Navarre

@khajj
narcissenavarre.com
Ebon et Noir: Emporium Antiquaire
Facebook Link

_____________________________

electric crow aperture

the macrobiotic symbiosis is
a valley tongue sprung
from old mountains
cut by the will
of water over time

seeking our indulgences
rivers, ribbons and slivers
of civilized humanity
form stored trines
storied wax, waded brines
farms and other arms
of domesticated wild

daughters of millers
and fleet footed gods
make deals
for the parts
of themselves
that can never
be changed

sight for a nose
kites for fingers

tide after tide
archetypes and
the shiny things
stick to stealing
keys and memories
to feed the bleed
and churn of seasons

we reason
we collect our nostalgia
to know the empty
of a now on another day

we undergo throes
on journeys
of a caught captured
in someone’s blink
of an eye

where one understands
a universe can find
you sent a sent along too

©2014 Edward J. Rinaldi

@blindedbeatpoet
the blind lantern
Facebook Link

______________________________

In my dreams and deep in my soul…
I miss something…which I called home.

As I get older…and the memories fade,
All I remember is my dear ones…standing in shades.

©2014 Aditya Sachan

About Me / Aditya Sachan
Views On Everything
Facebook Link

______________________________

Who knew
this diamond view
could still be seen
after all these years
hard work and tears.

Who knew
this diamond view
could provide so much
through hot summers
blistered hands,
calloused but gentle touch
tending these lands.

Who knew,
this diamond view
could be multi-faceted
life long
loving strong.

I know now
how valuable you are
as I pass forth this diamond
for your heart to see
after all these years
hard work and tears
please remember the love of me.

©2014 April Higney

@PoeticHeart34
Betweenhearts

______________________________

silhouettes

sometimes
I wonder

if that old barn
is still standing

I can almost
see it

in a rough-sewn
diamond vignette

another
December day

when he
carried me home
laughing

caught my
long white dress
on the barbed
wire fence

sometimes
I wonder

if our old wounds
and my mother’s
heirloom lace

still lie somewhere

bare woodland
silhouettes

beneath a
crescent roof

and moonless
sky

©2014 csmoon

@christi_moon
Letters To The Moon
Facebook Link

______________________________

The Barn

an abandoned barn
abandoned field
overgrown forest

a lovers hideaway
cold bed of bales
blood-dark trough

caught
by her husband
before their lips met

©2014 Gary Blankenship

@garydawg
Facebook Link

______________________________

Sometimes I wonder if Cat
sees the same things I do
when he and I emerge from the brush
behind the house.
I see where She keeps family,
hearth and home, where
she sweeps away my cares,
calms my anger, offers her affection
as easily she sweeps
crumbs off its floor. I’m sure
Cat sees that warm place
where someone places crumbs
along the Warm Room floor’s
baseboard as bait on the trail
to the mouse Happy Hunting Ground.
But maybe he, too, sees the place
where she offers the miraculous hands
that soothe, that encourage,
that express love
in their housework roughness and
angel softness.
Maybe I’m wrong
and Cat sees what I see after all.
The Place of Hands where
Woman stokes our ferocity and
strokes us to domesticity.

©2014 Joseph Hesch

@JAHesch
A Thing For Words
Facebook Link

____________________

My deep and abiding gratitude to these poets and to so many others, over the last year, who were kind enough to share their poetry with my photographs. You make my blue eyes, sing.

“the knot that was her heart…”

knot

the knot that was her heart
her once unfettered heart
the knot, woven
of silken endearments
and the fabric of distance
the knot that was her heart
her bound and maddened heart
the knot, no reason
could undo

“dressed…”

“the calligraphy…”

“October wind…”

dscn9346aOctober wind
lifts the curtains
in the window
turning the bedroom into
a torrid flutter of mayhem
and incarnadine ambush
just as suddenly
I realize,
that I must burn the same,
from a mere spark
in your eyes

Collaboration #5 / 2014

72

I found
a seraphim’s
silver thumbnail
on the railroad track
reflecting ghost of past

I was only looking for my lucky penny

©2014 Steve Schultz
@fm_ghost
FM GHOST
Facebook Link

_______________________________

The Watchmaker God
left a seed
with a new universe
contained

©2014 Alethea Eason
@aletheaeason
The Heron’s Path

_______________________________

 Infinitely small but existing.
Who?…
I am here! I am here!
Cries my reflection.

©2014 Edwynna Roach
Facebook Link

_______________________________

 A shiv-ling
reflection of our lives
reminds us of what we are
and the purpose of life

©2014 Aditya Sachan
Views on Everything
Facebook Link
About.Me

_______________________________

 a reflection
of me
that I set
free

©2014 June O’Reilly
@LunaJune
Facebook Link

_______________________________

 Sepia

all that’s left here
is a mere hint
of us

splintering images
in glinting silver

lies
buried deep

with the ghosts
we engraved
on brushed metal
and a bed of oak

our allegiance
creeps up
like leafy poison
from the forest floor

small tendrils
of treason
and burnt colours
stretch us toward
the wretched
heavens

October
sweeps in
like a silent movie
in Sepia

as splitting bark
marks the fall
of another

dying season

©2014 Christi Moon
Letters to the Moon
Facebook Link
@christi_moon

_______________________________

dreamy visions of
Another world place and time
Dreams of far away

©2014 Nicole Jordan
Facebook Link
NMJ Photography and Poetry
@Nikkimj19

“when i was his flower child…”

“he said, love…”

“tonguing the shards”

72

the window knew
knees and pleas
gathered lambs ears
silk and wine
every lust filled
intention

we became what
our shadows wanted
to play with
poured soul
slow tided
to empty

©2014 Edward Rinaldi

I posted this photograph on my photo-a-day journal at blip.com.  Edward spied it and fired off this short poem to go with it. This prolific writer and dear friend never ceases to amaze.

@blindedbeatpoet
the blind lantern

“She conducted me, a spirit in love”

134a

we have doubles
triples, quadruples
and other accordion parts
waiting and wanting
to stretch and bend
today into tomorrow
smelling of yesterday

the hologram
never minds
what part
you jump in
and out of

©2014 Edward Rinaldi

@blindedbeatpoet
the blind lantern

“etching onto charcoal black dust…”

Collab with Edward

etching onto
charcoal black dust
a thin film is
covering all our rainbows
certain art
lodges beautifully
beneath our nails
pictures and poses
wanting us
to dig further
into where
a surrender is
waiting to drive

©2014 Edward Rinaldi

A new collaboration with a wonderful poet and dear friend, Edward Rinaldi. Edward’s writing has always fascinated me. He is a master at weaving words into emotional vignettes and his subject matter ranges from love to sorrow, politics, erotica and so much more. If by chance, you are new to his work, please click on the links below to connect with him and to read more of his poetry. He never disappoints.

Twitter link / @blindedbeatpoet
the blind lantern
Facebook link 

“the wild clover days are not gone…”

wild clover days

 

The wild clover days
are not gone
honey still flows
tupelo sweet and bees,
oh the bees,
their stings, libertine,
yet so welcome
so raw
and the wild clover days
are still mine.

“we’ve always been so near…”

563b

we’ve always been so near
of this, I’m certain
you, steps ahead
your mad fey light
the genius loci
of my enthrallment
and me, the perfect archetype
of our unfettered passion,
fingertips enfolded
in the pith of you
coattails flying
in a race to skew
our parallel
for one
chance
alignment

“the ashes…”

“beneath swallowtail clouds…”

 

748

beneath swallowtail clouds
of a small town dusk
an ensemble of crickets attempts harmony
with squeals of hide and seek two lawns down
as I, in my seclusion, pen in hand
pretend to write
my eyes, traitors,
leave the pages
to follow snow-white butterflies
in a fandango through deep-well
shadows of magnolia leaves
and as the long-fellow legs
of a day’s death
stretch in thin disarray
across my ink,
I resign myself to the same fate
as the golden arrows being plucked
by a breeze from sycamore trees
surrendering, to the season
and the swallowtail clouds
of a small town dusk

“Unfree Poem”

SKIP

 

A poem is a bird

in a gilded cage

a pining soul

on a weeping page.

Open the door

but still it stays

Close the door

and it flies away.

©2014 Skip Maselli

 

This is my second collaboration with a favorite poet, Skip Maselli, @Proseplay.  This particular photograph was created today, especially for this poem.  Please do take a moment to click on the links below to read more about Skip, and his writing.

Phosphorimental
About Me / Skip Maselli
Facebook Link

“when last we met…”

when last we met
when last we met
I was arriving on a jet plane
500 miles of forgetting trailing behind
contrails vaporizing, as I stepped through the gate
I dropped my book and
when you bent to rescue it,
my eyes feasted on the curls
licking your collar
as you looked up,
your own tongued my soul
that was the beginning
of when first we met…
after 24 hours
and a lifetime
of an impossible us,
you were leaving on a jet plane

that was the end
of when last we met

“I wish I may…”

DSCN6405I wish I may
I wish I might

I took down the jar
of wishes from the shelf
where they’d been reaping age
held them to the light
one by one,
searching
for a hint of viability
and found them dead
or dying
I’d kept them
much too long
hoarding their promise
their glittered edges
still keen with risk
they’re nothing to me now
but tin-whistle waste
I strike a match
and into the smoke-gray
quittance, I say

have the wish
I wish tonight

“we time travel…”

100_9490-002a

we time travel,
you and I,
never touching
but for palms,
in passing,
a brushing of a chance
to grasp
and just as suddenly,
gone
I’ve seen your footprints
on my riverbank
the scraps of paper
tucked
into the bark of trees,
cyclical epistles
left behind
to document
your seasonal departures
the mouths of these rivers
know the redolence of you
the way the one
between my thighs
knows the ache
we time travel
and for now,
it is enough

“The Sweet Spot…”

1you know the place
the furrow in your bed
where your body fits
just so
the way hips spoon
into hips and breathing
is a neck baring pleasure
I tell him often
“I’m going there”, hoping
he’ll join me
sometimes he does
more often, not
but when he’s there,
that spot
so bitterly sweet
is where I dissolve
into the dust
of his fingers
into the bokeh
of his eyes

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