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Open Poetry #33
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Transidental
| Open Poetry #33 |
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Transidental |
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LeeJ Member Patricius
since 2003-06-19
Posts 13296
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Drunken woman Euphoric with excuse Grotesque quasi human Venice Slow dancing love songs With handsomeness Candle-lit pallid Skipping through streets Past entryways Starry eyed Drifting white seas Born in high places of Alps Melting liquid of telling moments Singing songs from a Frank Sinatra Album Cappuccino fondling green drama Handing me a down payment On a table for two I want you to study me Unwrapping the wound We’ll laugh a little Your arms inscribe tickets To an hourglass on it’s side Sifting through A native finery Breast feeding us Thoughtful for a moment We worship different Gods Learning about yours You embrace mine Never knowing what makes it work But knowing for a long time Always presenting a face to face off Sheer infinity grows Water-dazzled trinkets Asking us questions we can’t answer We taste strawberries Treating us as equals Sitting side by side at the piano |
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| © Copyright 2004 Lee J. - All Rights Reserved | |||
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nakdthoughts Member Laureate
since 2000-10-29
Posts 19200Between the Lines |
Each line would make a great title of a poem... *s M |
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Susan Member Ascendant
since 2004-03-27
Posts 5104walking the surreal |
the way you weave your words, it intrigues me. as always, your imagery sticks.  SusanHappiness isn't something that happens to you, it's created from within you. Joy is a state of mind. |
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passing shadows Member Empyrean
since 1999-08-26
Posts 45577displaced |
what a scene! |
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Dark Stranger Member Patricius
since 2001-03-19
Posts 13631West Coast |
table for 3 perhaps may I read you some poems with my mouth closed enjoyed the layer here javajillscapefancylady nice |
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inkedgoddess Member Rara Avis
since 2002-11-19
Posts 7392Ohio |
loved the trip start to finish how this all trickles down and puts me in this picture |
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Goldenrose Member Elite
since 2003-05-30
Posts 3665 |
Composed and controlled brilliantly as usual Lee..thank you.. Goldenrose. The supreme happiness in life is the conviction that we are loved. Victor Hugo. |
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