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Heidi Franke May 4
From here, four thousand feet down
The Rocky Mountain Range
As winter subsides and spring begins
Purples and whites among the forest, up there, from here
My shaded porch by a hundred years old ash
I see where I once was, high above.

From here, as the tick, toc, tick, toc
Snuck through the air of time
As the children lost their wonder
The fancy climbing, the hold on tight
Of a tree swing dangled, beckoned
Them. They lost their spark
From here at this distance I see it all stuffed in the dirt of time.
I used to live in a fancy house against an 8,000 foot mountain range. I moved to the valley floor after divorce and now from my front steps I can see that beautiful mountain range from a distance. The view is majestic and I think I see more than I ever did living right in the forest. I appreciate my time on earth especially when I step back from everything and perch from a distance.
In my mind,
I am in the deep south,
Dancing with Cowboys,
Singing folk songs.
Herding cattle,
Chasing outlaws.

In my mind,
I am in Paris, France,
Waking up with you beside me,
Strolling in the lazy streets.
Chatting with the News-Man,
Drinking coffee at the Cafe.

In my mind,
I'm where I want to be,
I'm with all my buddies.
Time never seems to pass,
How can I get all of that?
Sometimes it feels as if I'm writing to her
Life is here,
Then it's not,
One small portion of time,
It's all we've got.
You find things you like,
People too,
I found you.
No second chances,
No time to make up lost dances,
Or even a simple second,
To appreciate what you have.
I blinked,
Then October turned to spring,
Easter flowers came just in time this year,
I can only give them 86 more chances,
To reappear.
It's not enough
Rain May 2
It’s looks so perfect.
Somehow in those 60 seconds,
Everything aligns so perfectly,
I just stare at the clock,
How good times looks.

But now it reminds me
Of how imperfect life is for me now
I lost someone so perfect,
Who always made me feel so aligned.

I would stare into those rich eyes,
Like I stare at the clock,
And things would feel perfect.
But others just see us as ugly.

So now when I look at the clock
I don’t see 11:11
I see you.
Baby,
You’re my 11:11 forever.
Maryann I May 2
No…
Let the stars go dim, let the sky forget my name,
I’ll
burn the sun out of spite if it means I can stay—
right here,
beside the hush of his breath,
the world outside can hold its death.

Heaven, wait.
Don’t press your gates—

He’s here,
and I’m not done yet.

Let the angels pout, let trumpets mute,
I’d trade eternity for the whisper of his “don’t go,”

soft and low,
like dusk folding over our skin.
Let the cosmos spin without me—

his kiss is the only holy thing.

If time dared to pull him forward,
moved him on, moved him gone—
I’d
flip fate backward,
slide through light-years just to belong
again in his hold,

wild and warm and bold.

Can’t stand— no,
I can’t stand to see
some stranger’s lips stealing
my symphony,
hands tracing what only mine should know.
No.

I’d drown the clock, freeze the moon’s pull,
erase history with one scream,
if it meant he stayed in this dream.

I’d fall from heaven—

again and again—
if that’s the cost to
breathe him in.
irinia May 2
on this hill a poet can see how
the tip of the forest is the dance-floor for light, how
silent sediments don't notice our steps
yes, there are mythologies of darkness in the bracket (some are ready to take the plunge) but
I am here to watch the evening simmering, the light letting go of itself
the tide of sight attuned with the air discarded by trees
my bones run in a depth even when time calls a truce with itself
Tomorrow is
nebulous at best.
A dream of one
who still sleeps.
You are alive now.
Awake in this fresh
green world.
In the planning, we
forget to live.

Ask the mice and men
how plans go.
There are traps and
trivialities that keep
you from carrying on.
Funny things happen on
the way to the bank.
My mom died while
grocery shopping.

Today, peers back at
you from the mirror.
Breath and heartbeat.
Desire and passion.
No one survives this
story.
You're the author and the
protagonist, write it
well.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEeNcBC_mnM
Here's a link to my You Tube channel where I read my poetry from my recently published books, available on Amazon.

I'm proud to announce the release of my newest book, Sleep Always Calls Poems due to be released later this month.
Piyush May 2
Always and everywhere,
The man who can speak well holds the power.
And the one who lacks the courage to speak—
Always and everywhere—
Stays lower.

No one knows what he hides from others:
The past,
A future,
Or his own feathers.

A past best left behind,
A future woven with lies,
Or feathers meant to fill the skies.

But what if he finds the courage to speak?
To speak of what was left behind,
To tell a future free of lies,
Or simply—
To fly into the open sky.
"Always and everywhere, the man who can speak well is the man who has the power."
-John Wanamaker
eva May 1
Five more minutes with you, my love.
Our bodies entwined,
sewn together by ribbons of love.

Rest your head in the crook of my neck, my sweet boy.
Let your mind surrender to peace.
For here time stands still,
silent promises, whispers of love.

In your embrace I am forever safe.
Warmth blossoms from your hazel eyes,
that perfect smile, your gentle touch
where love resides.

Five more minutes with you, my love.
Our bodies wrapped together - a perfect fit,
souls dancing forever unbound.
Mark Penfold Apr 30
Time appeals to those who wait,
A calendar without a date.
No point of interest here or there,
A nomad life without a care.

Until one day a lone chance fleeting,
Made in haste upon a lazy greeting.
Will you dip your toe within those rivers,
Of contraband? and selfless givers.

Upon the rostrum bear your soul,
As naked as a childs doll.
While new sensations spark the senses,
you seize your mind but body tenses.

So onward! now from past decay,
Yes! homeward bound youll start today.
To feed the mind instead of silence,
You now see beauty in the violence.

Such wild distemper of a troubled mind,
Seek recompense in all you find.
For time is always on the side,
Of new Spring flotsam on the tide.

So grasp that oar with all your might,
Muster all your nerves to fight.
Lifes breaking waves and vicious tide,
For time is always on your side.
hope you like it, think its about someone so hurt they closed them selves off from life until it became so long ago as if a dream until the moment chance offers them a hand to pull them back onto the merry go round of life again.
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