I witch for water.
I concentrate on my effort.
I am desperate,
You watch for rain.
you believe it will come.
You have faith,
It is in your nature
to trust in what you need.
Nature does not need you.
I witch for water,
…you watch for rain.
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My heart leaps up beyond the wishing excursions
of Summer when I see you standing alone in the
solitude of your ancestor glade, with tender tears
you weep to the tempo of this land’s rural architecture,
Weeping Willow, your beauty is a memory too green
to stay, too rare to last beyond this season’s late
sensitive spurs, still your spirit is embalmed in
rustic strength as your ageless roots drink the
milk from Gaia’s deep bosom, it rushes through you
-amber hot and amber cool-but as I look at you
content in your simple living I am left to wonder,
Weeping Willow, why does your sweeping leaves hang
down like tears, forsakened to this weary low,
weeping, ever weeping, why do you weep so, Willow?
Is it because you’re crying for the child who once
played among the timber sighs of your cradle branches,
but has now abandoned such blithful fare with
Summer’s hot and juicy end? If this is the reason
for your grieving then cease your perennial fears,
though the child is gone and though you may think
his laughter and the recess of fun he shared under
your protective boughs were but fond illusions,
falling onto your reprieve of Silence like the
falling Autumn leaves…his spirit remains behind
leisurely light and free, and the laughter that
has died into a bittersweet memorial of what was
will echo among the pretty lapses of your ivy tresses,
and even if he doesn’t return with the slow-evolving
of the Seasons’ tide his childhood shade will stay
to mingle with yours, and the weeping spray of your
leaves will remember as they shed trinkets of pleasures
now pale, vanishing with the delta Dusk, and I will
remember as I gaze at you, Willow, my fond friend.
Author: Jewel MoonSilver Knight
© Jewel MoonSilver Knight – All rights reserved. Full restrictions apply.
September 11-13, 2002
I watched a thunder cloud rolling by
Its marching brigade stomped on velvet soles
Lightning bugs flashed in lazy response
It never rained, just roared in muffled solace
The booms growled to another landscape
Author: M. M. Danielson
I am still a stranger in your battlefield
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting the ground under your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out
You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more
I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Let my head rest in a land of cinnamon and honey
When the white hands arrive with their remedy
Tell them all my birds left me and flew north
I do not wish to heal, I do not pray for cure
Battered and broken, my heart left the shore
Author: Saida BUL.
Passion has no taste
It just burns your tongue
While fingers compose symphonies
On nameless ribcages
Black widows don’t label their pets
Other than with dull numbers
Making disappointing engagements
Worthwhile episodes of a life wasted
On selfish charity, superiority
Damage of clarity of human heart
Dwelling frightened, cracked and murky
In its fragile shell
Soul is a carton box
That implodes in heavy rain
While rays of sun in a marmalade jar
Mean a miracle, if piled up carefully
A man says he met God in the subway
What most don’t want to listen to
See, mirror is the one true friend
As it always smiles back
A horse’s eye mutely reflects old days’ glory
Unnoticed by those who just recklessly ride
Into sunset full of screaming colours
At dusk that for a change might not be followed by dawn
There were years when I would chase the words
to speak of the souls and worlds around me
but I have run round the bend,
over the hill, and through the woods
Today is the last heaven I am to know
I go where the space is empty
I take what is left behind
The competition is over
because it never began
Author: M. M. Danielson
The air is sweet
In my distant dreams.
Where did the sun go?
Away we went,
Across the sea,
To a land we didn’t know.
Adventure planted on our face,
The mood felt lighter,
I think it was the place.
We entered into a world,
Of freedom and youth
To enjoy the rest of these days.