Poet with a foxy soul :) I've poetry in my blood & a heart made of rhymes. Love yoga, writing #poetry & drawing, reading manga & stories that make me feel&think
I was standing on the edge of a cliff under a starlight that sunsets an eternal twilight, waiting for you to stand beside me, not thinking about #falling down, not trying to take me away, not worrying about past or future, but sharing this awesome beauty of being alive with me.
#vss365 #bionicanadian @bionicanadian
Life is all about forgiving
and being forgotten,
failing, falling and rising again
then smiling and smiling again.
Letting go.
Moving on.
Let go some more.
Never let the child the love wire in you die, nurture it.
For it will keep you alive.
"Green was the silence,
wet was the light,
the month of June
trembled like a butterfly."
― Pablo Neruda, 100 Love Sonnets
[images: Hasui Kawase / Koson Ohara]
#vss365#wondrous
wondrous peril
of poetry-scented
frangipani nights
under oiled moon
my mind slips
on the verses
honey dipped
in your name
soul inhales the light—
poetry becomes prayer
#poetrycommunity#writingcommunity
"In summer the night.
Not only when the moon shines,
but on dark night too,
as the fireflies flit to and fro,
and even when it rains,
how beautiful it is!"
― Sei Shonagon, The Pillow Book
(images: Hasui Kawase / Mikiko Noji)
She unlaces
those red buds
of #gravity that
spill from his lips
unsure
where to place the ties.
For now,
she slips them over
her shoulders,
a few neat layers from her heart
a few clumsy breaths from her skin.
#vss365
📷 Pixabay
"A firefly slips off
The dangling sleeve
Of my light summer kimono
Taken by the wind, drifting away
Into this blue night" Akiko Yosano
(image: Shoen Uemura/ Mikiko Noji)
We had made it to the edge of infinity, climbed to its underside, and gravity flipped. It was inhabited by anti-beings, inky balloons sucking at the dark that leached thru the ground. Where Dali's mind bubbles roamed like free-range chickens, unmolested by reality.
#SatSplat
#vss365
"thingless names"
You should not let them touch you,
or you might find yourself falling through a hole.
You could be the frenzied words whispered to the naked page, so embarrassing that she strikes you out again and again. Yet you still remain, your lurid colors bleeding through the black.
You could be an ache.
A hunger that will not be defined.
The mind dare not linger on you,
or it will fall off the map.
Because there—
there be madness.
There's no psychoanalyzing the dead. They haunt these halls but can't mend the wounds they've inflicted. Even some that are still breathing, but have been silenced, a whisper of what they once were. Many seem sad, and I imagine their tears of the blackest ink, are for me. #vss365
#vss365
He didn’t care for the sun, whitewashing everything, making one thing bleed into another. No place to hide from its baleful glare. He had no address. A #misfit. He was a sin, a dirty, nasty thing. Spoken in secret to a deep well, but he had climbed out, and now sought cool shade.