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Saturday, July 21, 2018
Van Gogh’s Stars
‘Awe’… is such a small word,
but, it is all I have.
Electric blues and lemons…
I am drawn in, magnetically,
engulfed in the splendour
‘Wow’… there’s another small word,
again, it is all that I have.
It’s one of my all time
Unbalances me, inside…
trippy, in a beautiful way.
I shudder and cringe,
flowing, deep river undercurrents,
and the sea… waving
at, and through time.
The surface of the
is merely the tip of the iceberg
(So To Speak).
There are rhythms,
swaying feelings and emotions
at play, beneath…
the tender magic and craftsmanship
of a Genius
painted with childlike innocence
from an asylum east window.
© Paul Tristram 2018
Paul Tristram is a widely published, Welsh writer, who’s currently up to his elbows in Magic, and long may it remain this way.
Thursday, July 12, 2018
the words we never say
bind us like a ribbon
that stretches across miles
those words unsaid
laughter that lights our days
or brims into tears
the love unspoken
that trips us both
bumps and moves on
at a table and walked
JOANNA M. WESTON. Married; has one cat, multiple spiders, raccoons,
a herd of deer, and two derelict hen-houses. Her middle-reader, ‘Frame
and The McGuire', published by Tradewind Books 2015; and poetry,
‘A Bedroom of Searchlights’, published by Inanna Publications, 2016.
Other books listed at her blog:http://www.1960willowtree.word
Monday, July 9, 2018
Saturday, July 7, 2018
I am a fish in the San Francisco Bay
Swimming in and out of the door of opportunity
Moving towards a faint light in the darkness
Am I as sharp as the edge of a broken glass
Burning as bright as the yellow disc in the sky
The questions I used to ask myself?
I used to be as certain as the ending of a mystery book
Aimlessly walking through the well-known fog
Wondering if the world would ever become clear
But now I am a voice cutting through the noise
A soft blanket of hope to warm the despaired
The needle in the haystack of the misunderstood
I’m glad I am a red rose being watered with knowledge
A crystal door that opens with a friendly knock
A butterfly that flies into the hearts of the lonely
I’m glad I’m not the bull’s eye of the shadowed ones
The ones who wear cloaks sewn with the threads of fear
A target of theirs I shall be no longer
You are a dandelion where the wind whistles fiercely
The half used eraser that has been lost and replaced
A person of my past but stuck in my future
I am certain I can be the one who helps you touch the stars
The one who shows you the blue in between the clouds.
I am the one for you, for you were the one for me.