Subzero

Vivid imagery of winter… beautifully penned
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Poesy plus Polemics

cold mountain “Cold Mountain” by Cristina Del Sol

no season for sadness

as tears turn to crystal

no freedom to grieve

a more ambient winter

icy fingertips sting

to be stranded

so far from the heart

breathless lungs seize

in shock of the cold

not allowing the voice

to enunciate sorrow

it’s left to the pines

pained and strained

by the hammering wind

to moanfully mourn

such arctic aggression

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Nine Ways of Shaping the Moon

Powerful imagery, beautifully penned!
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O at the Edges

file9781336412046(1)Nine Ways of Shaping the Moon

                                         for Lissa

1
Tilt your head and laugh
until the night bends
and I see only you.

2
Weave the wind into a song.
Rub its fabric over your skin.
For whom does it speak?

3
Remove all stars and streetlights.
Remove thought, remove voice.
Remove me. But do not remove yourself.

4
Tear the clouds into threads
and place them in layered circles.
Then breathe slowly into my ear.

5
Drink deeply. Raise your eyes to the brightness
above the cedars. Observe their motion
through the empty glass. Repeat.

6
Talk music to me. Talk conspiracies
and food and dogs and rain. Do this
under the wild night sky.

7
Harvest red pollen from the trees.
Cast it about the room
and look…

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The River and The Sea

The deep felt tragedy of this:

“If only it could bear the dead
And bring you back to me”

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No Talent For Certainty

The river travels through the land
And out into the sea;
If only it could bear the dead
And bring you back to me

We’d travel off into the blue,
And far away from shore:
But we all go where we must go,
And you’ll be back
No more

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The Storm and I

A unique perspective on storms… beautiful rhymes
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No Talent For Certainty

The storm and I are cousins, we
Both hang out here a lot;
It tells me all the time that I
Am wasting what I’ve got

And then it throws its rain at me,
And soaks me through the skin —
The storm and I, we have our ways:
We’re very much
Akin

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The Purple Sheep of the Family

I can relate to this poem more than I care to admit!
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No Talent For Certainty

I don’t do anything the way I should;

I failed my class in simple fitting in.

But somehow, I feel happy anyway —

In spite of all the scrapes I’m getting in

And out of everyday, from being weird.

I don’t think my condition is that rare —

I don’t do anything the way I ought,

And what is more, I do not seem

To care

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