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Woodsmoke (… a share…)

the woodsmoke of your soul seeps deep into my skin it follows my every move i turn away within there — again it lingers pungent puncture of cold pine air, of vacant love toasted with scent of heart of combustive heat that burns i walk faster until my breath runs to forget is a fool’s […]

via Woodsmoke — Poet Girl Em

 

Rarely, words coincide with feelings of the moment. I can barely speak about this poem, it’s staggering beauty speaks for itself…

With thanks to Emily C  xo

Depleted

in these canyons of craving

we shuffle as

shadowed silhouettes

shallow footprints never settling

under a stinging desert shamal

squinting through silica scathing

with sand grit mouth

our lips pull away

parched, lithic dry…

your pernicious passion contrived

in clandestine contrast

to the sky

which thereafter floods blue

from tears

bathing

true

 

Kismet

when the divine created our star

near eternity we lingered

a somnolence of heaven’s burning

till red, raging

a supergiant

and in the the near, never-after…

us

a supernova sublime

a merging of milennia and molecules

belligerent to time

fiercely fusing

not even destiny to deny

now today

our eyes of umber meet

familiar iridescent irises

peppered with stellar dust greet

for we are of stars

welcome home…

Suffocate

the creation

of this asphyxiation

relies upon the air shared

when lips are locked

inhaling exhalations

to hypoxic innervations

 

the stars you’ll see

blame solely on me

and my insatiable

oxygen depleting desire

 

after you whisper

sommergimi di carezze fino a farmi affogare*

I make the stars dance through celestial sparks

crowding our heaven

as we fall

together

through the crack of time

one single breath, divine!

 

 

______________________________________________

*smother me with caresses until I suffocate

Words

“Parole” to Italians

“Les Mots” to the French 

an abundance of words

upon you

i shall drench
You shall emerge

from such a verbal sea

dripping with heavy

and longing for me
let them not evaporate 

for they indeed eviscerate

from a heart undone
perhaps press them between pages

with dried forgotten flowers

to hydrate when needed

come someday 

lonely hours

TO OWN A BREEZE

“To Own a Breeze” by Nigel P Smith. I just had to share this, because even the title of this poem is fierce magic and I adore every word that follows….

VOICES OF A HIDDEN SELF

To own a breeze

If I could, I would have my own breeze

with a soft song voice of hum and sigh

playfully weaving amongst the trees

as I by brackish beck in sun patch lie

lulled by stencil dancing shadow dots

and the swish of many tormented leaves

gently blown, releasing solar shots

of brief warming touch upon my sleeves.

I would send it off across this land

to sweep though dale and over plain

chivvying meadow and golden sand,

then with stolen sounds return again

to give me gifts of a firstborn’s cry

and of young love’s kiss parting lips,

the melting voice of a beauty shy

or a laughter burst from comic slips.

Such treasures in my heart I’ll keep

and savour as though a heady wine

while my breeze spoils senses deep

with scents of garlic wild and pine.

Then I would ask of my breeze

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