dire the lake at night
alive the darkness glowers
nothing but the eyes
@RhymingTherapy—July 2023 @writerscreed challenge “the lake at night”. My photos May 2021 Nth QLD Australia.
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Homebound
There is no light, not yet.
The 5:35 skims your window,
rattling bowls and plants.
Your pleasure is unharmed.
At the peak of a track-flanked hill,
you sing low of distant trains.
In the pre-dawn cold, I wonder
how on earth you landed here,
wry and austere and full-fledged:
your ageless, fathomless eyes,
the impossible things you know.
The only way to explain it
is that we haunt together
some locked, abandoned place,
and when I leave this life
I meet you there,
the past a sudden future
where the first trains begin to run
and your heart quickens.
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Beauty of the dark
The lake at night,
Glistens in the moonlight
Heavy clouds find home on the skyline,
The trees all shake
Seeing the beauty of the dark,
A lost wanderer appears
To write a poem and depart.
~ A. A. Roman
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a cliffside, a cure song
a crash & no one is singing
i am drifting
i am drifting
i am drifting in a sea of dead flowers
they drown me but i do not die
it feels like falling for a ghost
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Feel a touch softly caressing my cheek
Cold air that gently brushes my face
Against the top stair is a murmured creak
A chill that no warmth can ever erase
I wander searching for that wary wail
The walls now seeming to open their eyes
A faded flower now wilted and pale
A shadowy form full of failed goodbyes
Oh lover, linger away from the light
Spectral sweetheart please just give me your hand
Your eyes gleam too brightly, swallowed by night
Oh darling dearest please try to understand
I cannot lose you, the one I love most
I find myself trapped in love with a ghost
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Falling for a ghost
the silhouette appears
as soon as the clock
strikes midnight
at first I was afraid
and under my blanket
I took refuge
until a voice
sang a charming song
she, the Celtic ghost
with whom my ear falls in love
and yet
I'm still under my blanket
for my eyes
don't dare
to take a look
--- h.harouche
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Skeleton Flowers
Numberless times I've seen you
Your pulling voice in my head
Feels like there is no elusion
And still we remain unconnected
As she moves on through constancy
While obscurity holds me here
wpm
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Falling For A Ghost
I thought it was the memory that I was in love with, but the shadowy man in the corner still remains.
Every waxing of the moon breaks the light in the window, and I can see the phantom lingering.
His whispers disprove that the dead don't speak, and his hands reveal the life of what's after.
So I thought it was a memory I was chasing, but it was the ghost of my closest friend.
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Where are you from?
(@writerscreed prompt)
I am from a haunted house - I am
the haunted house. I am a shifting
landscape of memories. I am from
here, a land between three rivers
and two highways and three freeways,
but I haven't been here long. I am
from out west, a field of wild barley
beside a creek and oak trees and moss.
I am from a cornfield beneath a wide
ever-changing sky. I am from down
south, a childhood filled with fireflies
and cicadas and pine needles. I am
from a moment of happiness at
a coffee shop where the baristas
remembered my name, at a sandwich
shop I would frequent on lunch breaks
and get talked into trying new things.
I am from my local grocery store,
a Shop'n'Save, a Safeway, a Schnucks.
I am from a university, a major, the 800s
section of the library catalog. I am from
a bookshelf, from Beagle, Christie, Bronte,
Shakespeare. I am from a ship on a wine
dark sea. I am from nowhere by way
of everywhere. I am from the last line
of a song or a poem.
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Falling for a ghost
Calling me on a pink flip phone
that would be just like you
calling me from a red phone box
that would be just like you
calling me from your robot dial up
that would be just like you
that would be just like you
calling to pour your silence
down my moonlit throat
s.d.bea
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soon another window opens
—portal to the unknown
landscapes beyond the realms
of imagination
drawing ever closer
.
RhymingTherapy—August 2023 (my digital artwork) poem inspired by @writerscreed challenge “portals”
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writerscreed challenge of the week, March 5-11
Errant tide
Once a Barbie doll Mom living in her castle
Now as fragile as Humpty Dumpty sitting on a wall
The big bad wolf has let himself in
Now she is teetering high up on that wall
The errant tide is here
The storm is fierce
The days turn into night
There isn't much hope in sight
photo and poem by @sherrylephotography
@writerscreed
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Falling 4 a ghost
There is a shadow,
A presence that shines
Candle smoke that lingers
Well past midnight,
A love by most forgotten
That will never die.
~ A. A. Roman
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Hyaline
The night arrived
In dark of moon, obscured,
As mournful clouds processed across the skies
With solemn silence lasting in their wake.
Awash in black I sought to be assured
Of life! — beyond my closed or blinded eyes,
Unable to discern reality.
A noise; a sigh so soft, suffused with ache
Caressed the drapes, and thus my gaze, allured,
Beheld her love, confined in
Spectral guise.
She reached with glassen fingers, mine to take:
One touch to spark her luminosity;
One kiss — that clouds, consoled — might free
Her ghost.
Come morn I read her obituary
And wish I'd been there
When it mattered
Most.
---
19-10-2023, M.A. Tempels ©
A Keats sonnet
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too overcast to see the moon
i brush mosquitoes away from your arm
listen to an owl cry / the angel comes
[ silently behind us
in the darkness the water is deeper
the angel wraps around my chest ( tightly, tightly )
i am bitten / i cannot scratch
you have carefully boarded a small boat
[ you are floating over & away
i do not know where i am now
maybe i will become algae / maybe i will become silt
the owl watches you kindly
the stars finally find their place
[ you make me smile
the angel squeezes me in two
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The lake at night
A quiet sigh
Long and soft
-ly slip across
Cool currents dips my fingertips
I reach for you - your frozen lids
Brush lightly bent and bony back
Your winters touch and starlit hands, soft
So softly skims across
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