Sharing Sunday’s third poem is Drops from Anita Lubesh and it’s breathtaking.
Anita’s blog is http://www.writingasitcomes.wordpress.com
Rain’s cool,
clear consciousness
evaporates with dawn;
teardrops tasting of fresh mourning
explode.
Poetry
SHARING SUNDAY; Contoocook
Todays second reblog for Sunday Sharing is Contoocook from Paul F. Lenzi, a poem bursting with nature and alive with beauty from his blog http://www.poesypluspolemics.com.
“Contoocook River, Henniker New Hampshire” by Exponential Terrestrial Pedestrian
running north
cold and clean
bass and trout
flourish under
blue freewheeling
shadows of
eagle and heron
tall high-stepping
sure-footed moose
wade and wash
at the liveliest
whitewater fringes
of nursery pools
where spawned
salmon first learn
independence
and swim with
conviction that
here is a place
they can eagerly
live free or die
SUNDAY SHARING; The Splendor of Light
Midway through this weekend’s migraine madness I realised I hadn’t done a Sunday Sharing in a long time therefore, as I can’t get through the fussiness to my brain, I thought I’d share the beauty of others instead…
Todays first Sunday Sharing comes from Merril D. Smith and this beauty inspired by Jane Dougherty from Jane Dougherty Writes entitled The Splendour of Light.
Check out more of Merril’s wonderful words by clicking the link or at http://www.merrildsmith.wordpress.com
By Internet Archive Book Images [No restrictions], via Wikimedia Commons
She laughs and flames shoot from her chariot
moving through the sky. She will carry it,
(the splendor of light), and with lariat
she’ll rein in her gilded steeds, ferry it,
the glow, from dawn to dusk with merry wit.
She brings joy, life, pulses to beautify.
Her companion stars though, she sees them cry,
their tears shoot out, then streak across the sky.
Still she laughs, shares her light, as she rides by.
Someday she’ll fade, turn black–and then she’ll sigh.
This is a response of sorts to Jane Dougherty’s non-challenge.
Jane found the rather strange image above. It’s supposed to be a sunspot, and it comes from an 1898 book called The Story of the Sun, the Moon, and the Stars. I started thinking about sunspots, and then this story that I read recently about an…
View original post 60 more words
THE B’S
Between the beauty and the bee
there is a hunger
for what will be the honey.
Between the honey and the hunger
there is a sting
that can piece through the beauty.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
COME HAS THE SHADOW
And the black crow comes calling…
and summer is falling,
has burnt in blushing breaths before us,
before worshiped walls and rushing rivers,
as if it’s taken to tombs or swept below waters
raging in the ruins, sunken into shade,
shadows slip winter’s wings over sunshine,
colour hiding, as if hibernating,
climbing tall towers till showers pass.
Light is waning as if washed away
from where we bathed yesterday,
like dreams that dissolve at daybreak,
as if the world isn’t capable,
as if hope isn’t sustainable;
sweep in, stir up, swoop out, leaving us wishing, waiting, wanting.
And the black crow spreads its wings
as autumn stirs and winter sings
in shallow pools on sidewalks,
in river beds where torrents stalk.
And the black crow crashes down on the storm,
all light now shadow, all colour now fading,
all freckles now a flicker of what once was,
all changed in the flutter of a wing.
Come has the crow and we cower from its cawing.
All words and photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio version available on Soundcloud:
STILL MOVING…
Moving, still moving on metros, more metros, more sturdy, more stable, more directive, less suggestive, people, more people, less strangers, more familiar on metros still moving through motions of settling, the notions of belonging to lives above these lines, above these metros still moving like my life that’s still changing, new lands, new lines, same lines, different names, sometimes sturdy and stable, more times suggested than directed, catching connections in the passing, holding hands, holding tight, losing grip, letting go of these lines of our life that we mark into memory like the tracks under ground where we scuttle and scurry on metros, still moving…
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio available on Soundcloud:
https://soundcloud.com/damien-donnelly-2/still-moving
Poetry challenge Fifty: the entries — Jane Dougherty Writes
Wonder what I’m talking about when I say this is one of Jane’s Challenges? Wonder why you don’t know all about Jane Dougherty Writes? Wonder what you’ve been missing? Well here you go, last weeks challenge was the final for Season One but below is a link to Jane’s Blog and the wonderfully gifted poets that took part in this Challenge No. 50, Constellations:
This challenge was the last for the time being. Call it the end of Season One. This has been one helluva ride for me, so much poetry that I’ve discovered, and met so many poets. I hope you have enjoyed it too. When things settle down I hope to bring the challenge back. In the […]
via Poetry challenge Fifty: the entries — Jane Dougherty Writes
THE SPIDER AND THE FLY
Remember when we spun promises
on golden threads,
as if they were webs,
as if they could catch us
falling,
as if we ourselves
were promises spinning,
forms of filigree
laying silken lines
on subtle skins
like veins entwined;
limbs on lust
and fingers on flesh
to feverishly fondle.
Remember when your breath
was my everything,
as if you were oxygen
and I the earth, starving,
falling
through that fragile filigree
of lace
catching light,
catching crocheted kisses
that swept over us
and blotted out
the existence
of the rising storms
in the distance.
Remember when things got tricky
as the web wound its way
to sticky,
as it wove through our wants
and we turned
from spinning spiders,
spinning promises,
into fooled flies
trapped in the tight twists
that staggered and strangled,
the web now trapping us
instead of catching us
in the failing filigree
through which we fell,
no longer spinning,
no longer
falling.
All Words and Photographs by Damien B. Donnelly
CONSTELLATIONS; BEAUTY BURNING
In response to Jane Dougherty Writes Poetry challenge #50: Fifty
For challenge No.50, the big one, the rules are simple: single stanza, five lines, ten syllables in each line and the last word of each line holds the rhyme throughout. The image supplied by Jane is entitled ‘Constellations’. So go check it out and get writing… Jane is waiting, stars are burning…
I lay me down neath the constellation
as my soul seeks shade from observation,
this sky full of stars my sweet salvation
though tumbling towards obliteration;
how beauty blazes before cremation.
All words by Damien B. Donnelly
KISS HIM
‘Kiss me
before the light fades
into the dream of what once was’
she pleads.
Kiss him
and fall,
and then look for him, let her look for him,
falling through the fine hold of false hope
as he moves off
to twist through other sheets.
Kiss him
and he is gone
evaporated in a lips touch
not a minute more than much
and yet she looks for him
she still looks for him
as if his breath were traceable
as if his touch was reachable
as if his promise
was trustable
Kiss him
but once
and watch her fall,
identity,
like the dream of what once was,
lost in a single kiss
drowning in dreams that follow
as he moves on
to other dreams
to shatter
with that same kiss.
‘Kiss me,’ she pleads
as the dream finds light and bleeds
onto the folds
in the empty space
on the bed
beside her.
All Words by Damien B. Donnelly
Audio version available on Soundcloud:
Damien B. Donnelly 