Life Through Blue Eyes

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

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The Watchmaker God
left a seed
with a new universe
contained

©2014 Alethea Eason
@aletheaeason
The Heron’s Path

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

©2014 Edwynna Roach
Facebook Link

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 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

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 a reflection
of me
that I set
free

©2014 June O’Reilly
@LunaJune
Facebook Link

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 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

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

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

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

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
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
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
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

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

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
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
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,
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

you 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

Up here, hollering winds unsettle dust
softening on Empyrean
rising thermals graze cloud meadows
Up here, those who dress in shadows
dare not enter dreams of men.

Upon this brow my nimbus glows
Bestowed on my ascent
I bow in flight, on wings wraithlike
eschew the day to chase the night,
in bolts across the firmament.

Surrender brings lightness to a leaf
Behold my feather, the freer’s blade
Time is but it’s morrows thief,
A bounty box of verdant leaves
Released before the ransom’s paid.

Oh Icarus, what have you done?
Our escape was not your calling
Through life we sleep and death we rise
Yet vanity undreamt your vaster skies
Into an ocean, woken, falling.

©2014 Skip Maselli

This is my first collaboration with Skip Maselli.  We connected through our About.me pages. The first thing I did, was to check out his writing. One read, and I was hooked.  My current favorite piece there is Love Ballad of My Generation.  Please take a moment to visit his links listed below. Read him. You will not be disappointed.

Phosphorimental
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @Proseplay
About.me / Skip Maselli

IN THE FLOW…

We float, effortlessly melding
along blanched parchment
congregating in a mass
of synapses
searching for an outpost.

We reach, over stretched
Querying philosophies
emulsifying in a search for truth,
Not our honesty.

That lies in sensitivity,
where our colours run
ruin, embracing

Enhancing what we once were.

©2014 Shân Ellis

Musings and Smatterings
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @Awdures

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The carefree child
Whiles away the day
Watching the grasses and
Waterwitch bugs
Dancing across the swamp

©2014 Archaeomyste

Panoply of Life
Twitter Link / @Archaeomyste

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changing seasons
the space between
our heartbeats

©2014 Sandi Pray

Ravencliffs
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @bigmax722

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stump of my
p . u . l . s . e
int the ab
stract-urge
the kind I want to-fuck
to-feel as-real  a s  this
scar

©2014 Cat Cray

SOMEHOWCONSTANT
Twitter Link / @cat_cat_

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the colours of life
swirling by
lifts me up
and catches
my eye

©2014 June O’Reilly

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @LunaJune

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over the surface of the pond
a midnight blue sheen
the pond empty of life except
ghost pale weeds
and blood red brush

we stand on the shore and ignore
we can no longer breathe
drink the water
talk to the frogs

©2014 Gary Blankenship

Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @garydawg

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You
The one I’ve never met

You
Above the dark side of my world

The one the pond in the park
Still waiting for

Fishes and lotus flowers
Yet skate the world

©2014 Victor Alberto Bueno Marichal

Victor Bueno Blogspot
Facebook Link
Twitter Link / @victor_bueno

he says,
“you’re beautiful”
I smile, letting it reach my eyes
but I don’t believe him
not for a minute
I think, his eyes are blind
from lust
from a euphoric fog
of satiety
from anything that prevents
him seeing what my eyes do…
no svelte lines here,
no smooth and unmarred visage
no
only renaissance flesh
and a face with lines
where laughter lives
he can’t be right
he’s high
or the wine
has clouded his judgement
he repeats, “you’re beautiful”
and I wonder if my mirror, mirror
on the wall
has been lying to me
all along

tonight
I will convene
with departing passerines
I will tuck in between
blackened silk remiges,
every time I’ve called your name
every thrust of vowels
against my hungry tongue
every wanton sigh
their own siren, is the south
but for me, they’ll chart
an easterly
and later, when you are quiet
and replete,
the air will writhe
with something unexplained
your face will lift
your eyes turn west
turn west
to me, and the departing
passerines

I’m on the road
to somewhere
stumbling along
in the wrong
pair of shoes
shoes, I’ve yet
to fill
I can barely see
where I have been
it’s all a fog
of letting-go
of doves released
of looking in
instead of out
I’m on the road
to somewhere
else