Tarzan & Jane

you are Tarzan ~
tangled.
strangulated
by those same vines
that once used to let you soar
and i
am no longer Jane,
but Cheeta, unmistakably.

i used to be Jane once ~
i think i remember…….
when our hearts sang a different song
in unison.

(Im)Print

fragile is my name
when i am stranded in your hands ~
formerly bold, i crumble
and leave
delicate calligraphy
for you to paint across your heart
in pulsing letters.

Once, Always.

once, I did not drown ~
forced towards
stagnant water’s edge

washed you off my hands,
once, twice, thrice ~
yet, you never left.

water turned to sand ~
i found you,
once again, timeless

now, as storms pass, your
lips are mine ~
as you always were.

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5-3-5 syllabic Kelly Lunes (the American Haiku)

Anthology

I could be
a moment, tipping
over the edge of space
to fall
and never fall
again.

I could be
a letter, lost;
curving,
curling black on fading white
where words are left
unspoken.

i could be
a trace, sighing
on the shores of nowhere, turning
with the tides
as faces
change.

I could be
a life, swaying
on the thin line between
high heaven & rock bottom,
placing careful steps
in worn out shoes.

I could be
this world, unscathed
and never fully grown, as ages float
among the clouds & leave
the faintest kiss
on greying hair.

I could be
whole
& scattered all the same —
but in your arms
I simply
am.

Stripped Bare

sometimes i lose myself in the gap
between zombie flicks and heroic deeds;
there is a love story, wrapped in plastic,
that reveals my squishy core
and points your way

when pompous days retreat,
I seek refuge, devoid its colors
& smile in grey, not
taking sides
for a change

in this moment,
when your gaze holds mine,
I shed my heavy armor
and, for just a second,
become 
me,
unplugged.

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Fred Rutherford over at dVerse invites us to write a poem on the topic of becoming ‘unplugged’ for Poetics today. Grab a pen and join the fun!

It’s Not Time Yet

there’s magic
in the early bird’s song;
vibrant fragrance hidden
in the twilight of dawn ~

a peaceful sigh
lies north of my heart,
and i wrap myself
in your sleeping beauty.

The Traveler

bits of glass, tinctured red ~
deformed metal scree(EEEE)ches
as roaring teeth attack; frantically

again

again

burnt rubber stench & muffled shouts
“stay with me,” he says, breathless ~
Red Agony
is all you see
before the lights dim.

beep

beep

beep

is the music of the Lost;
her hand in yours on sterile white ~
she mumbles
about clipping your nails,
absent-mindedly rearranges
hearty smiles in picture frames,
while her hollow eyes SCREAM at me,
reflecting monitor-Green
& she jokes
about the weather;
rain pounding against windows

Always
her
hand
in
yours…
and moments turn to hours.

the sky weeps for days ~
one morning,
i see my deepest sigh
in her unbound, joyful tears and
those ocean eyes of yours

“welcome back,” i say, smiling ~
and You
illuminate the room.

__________________________________________________________________
I used to work in an ICU as a physical therapist for a couple of years. A place of such sadness and turmoil – yet, it is also where you witness great Beauty.
Written for Fred Rutherford’s wonderful prompt about Beauty – in all its facets – over at dVerse. Grab your poem and join the fun!

Beyond The Moon

from the corner of his eye
he reads
the wind in her hair;
intoxicating, scented braille

he whispers fireflies;
fragments of his soul,
to descend
on her eyelashes
(feathery soft),
and tip-toe to the moon;
where his gaze tastes hers,
delicately,
in white & faintest blue.

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Written for Victoria C. Slotto’s prompt about Synesthesia (confused sensations) over at dVerse – come join us at the bar!