Author of The Heartwood Crown, The Crescent Stone, Good News for a Change, Sky Lantern and several other wonderful books!
Kiss the SunKiss the Sun and burn my lipsBlissful pain, blistering love,Blinding light reveals everything,No shifting shadows, grotesque exposure.Tempted by its golden shimmer,Though toxic fumes melt my lungsThis paradoxical paradiseWill be my heaven yet.I will hold the Sun within my armsAnd melt my body to it.First my flesh and then my soulThat I may become a partOf this Golden GlobeWhich lights the World.Extinguish me that I may glow.Destroy me that I might grow.And learn to live…Without myself.
We retain the rights to this poem, and it is copyrighted 2006 as intellectual property of Visionary Mavericks, Inc. Thank you!One Words can't touchlove shared by twobelonging to one, eternity Tastes like pure waterjust as clearsky of te amore (ohm)nidirectional in beauty(ohm)nipresent in life(ohm)nipotant, wholy, everything Layers differing in color, flavoralong flowing starlightdreamed so distant everlasting gobstopperin hard candy shellsunbreakable Unspeakable the magnitudeunseen the endsbeyond imagination No different than Godon the mighty throneat the center of everything eating lightconsuming spacebending time more powerful thanall black holesin all their infinities Beginning endalpha omeganeverending circle indestructable undenyableunbelievable Everywherein everythingIT IS... This heaven.This reality.One and only. Our love.
One loves worthWorth more than a picture,Worth more than first prize,Worth more than your gratitude,Worth more than my pride,Worth more than open arms,Worth more than a warm smile,Worth more than a goodnight kiss,Worth more than the final mile,Worth more than chalk drawn caves,Worth more than a simple verse,Worth more than this scribbled page,Worth more than our beautiful words,Worth more than a first love,Worth more than a last breath,Worth more than the end of it all,Worth more than whatevers left,Hers are the eyes that hold existance itself,and without my image reflected in them,there could be nothing else.Copyrighted Dan Scouten 2004.
Here's my entry!Oh yes yes (a poem) mascarponeits intrusions into fantasy have taken hold of a new strengthbecoming a talisman (fetish may be too strong a word)i can give it life, touch and tasteand locate it halfway past my dreamsin long sweet smearsdelineating the no mans land between two girls as they kissi'm not poet enough (or man enough) to place myself in between(not even here)but the wish remainsand the mascarpone is sweet and richlike one grain of pepper making all the difference on the perfect steakbut you're not just meat to me, honey- oh no- and not you either, honeyyou're the grail at my wit's end, because i know you're out there, you twowaiting patient and wildwearing the mascarpone with a grin
GRAND CANYONBig mountains!Clear and quiet rivercrossing between strongmountains.Colorado River!You are there and see the creation.God has touched this site.Enormous stones, trees, shrubs.In addition, wildflowers near you.Buses, trucks and cars were there,That day when I visited you.They were taking photos of that area.Marvelous area of the USA.The sky with clouds,the rain came in.A big bird flying on the sky.People were taking the best view,the best scene. Big mountains!Nice view!Beautiful site!LETICIA PONTONI-COPYRIGHT 2006
Losing My MotherSometimes after I lost my father I’d lose my mother.Days leaked into summer after they zipped his black body bag- she slipped away, clipping the enormous yard for the first time,the lawnmower awkward, like pushing bricks.Knuckles white, hands swollen red, her soft pink t-shirt clung to her back. Tears dripped from her eyes, like sweat. Her white Keds stained green, she stopped to empty the bag,bare arms shining, lungs hungry.“Get the garbage bag” she yelled, I did and rushed to her. Bent down, face dripping, she struggled with the pregnant bag, broke the silver latch, sliced her hand. She sunk the wound between her lips, eyes closed, kicked the bloated bag over and over, untilglobs of green peppered my bare feet.“I’m-not-supposed-to-be-doing-this!” she yelled to the clouds, slumping to the sticky lawn, fists diving into the pile, blonde hair fuzzy from heat.I stood clenching black plastic, the smell of cut lawn thick in my nose, I missed my mother, my parents.She snatched the balmy plastic, plunged her arm deep into the chopped grass, began stuffing. I watched her drag the fat body bag to the curb, fresh blades of grass stuck to her sweat.I lost her in the driveway mirage,yelled for her to wait, not to leave, not to climb inside.
lost againI’ve found my own way; so I thoughtlearned I’ve learned nothingsearching for meaningmaybe a soulmateseems I’m wrong just when I thoughweren’t you with me holding my handyou let it go, it seems notquick to find a soulmatestill now I press onthrough dreaming day’s nightwith me holding my hand
I'm not an American and have never been there but I thought I'd enter anyway for the state that I have the most connection with because my only cousin lives there.This poem was written in honour of the work done recently by the University of Arizona into rheumatoid arthritisSpice of LifeJoints begin to seizeAnd movement is painBut never fearHelp is at handA natural remedyTo an age old problemIs found in the WestFrom a source in the EastEat curryYes eat curryI don’t know whichJust make sure it contains the vital ingredientTurmeric© Luke Harrison 2006