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branch dips with sweet light

brutal eve
singing twixt bank
delved refreshed
persistant

rattling like a loose
shock
jarring memories
pantry stock
the winter preserve
the crystal lake top

suffuse drift
like bread
takes dryness
and stirs the
gut to action
stymies restless
desire
and a hunger
forever gaunt

worn are the weary
with pursuit
run mannerism

stretched splendid
botched wing tip
wool blend
crossed legged
seam satin silk
dark like a
distant summer
arc of milky way
constellations
transformation
into maps to trace
a route for a
caravan of
bode
tidings
itched like
ice
etched like
frost mandelbrot
excursion

a lonely respite
and roof
in peace
beneath
colorful quilts

but I fall into
the realm
hearing the
song sung
still
like chimes
against the
stillness
stars

..

Editing stage: 

Comments

I think you were Barry's favourite poet @ Neopoet. Next to Barry, you're one of mine. :-)

Consider cutting the *but* in the first line of the last stanza.

it cuts its flow from realms of colourful quills I fall into.

a lonely respite
and roof
in peace
beneat
the realm of
colorful quilts
I fall into

hearing the
song sung
still
like chimes
against the
stillness
stars

..

barry....wow...old times...
I think like this all day...
I sing out loud at work here in
the home
I can cover.bowie..enough
doors enough
nick cave enough
johhny cash..ring of fire..
all poets..individualists of course
loved madly by their women
when the women should not have
Hurt video with June on the stairs
excellent and Reznor...magnificent lyrics!

my great woman here...
far in front of me
making way
and behind me
she cries often
im against the rampart
doors knowing
there is a way
too break on through
at such a great cost!!!

thank U!

author comment

or it just rains
from your brains
you complemented me in my last poem
I commented
you did not acclaim
Esker the
Rivers Flow
let all here you thus know
now here off my mind does go
easy flow
you alone know

Nothing more to be said than Brava my friend

I adored this one

love always and forever Jayne xxx

“The world is full of magic things, patiently waiting for our senses to grow sharper.” — W.B. Yeats

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