The Muse In All Her Colors (A Collection of Poems)

Nalini Priyadarshni‎, the accidental poet


Bread of Oblation

Man shall not live on bread alone
We nurture the highest in each other
Without depleting granary of our offering
We pour ourselves out to make room
For the best is yet to come.
Whorls of my fingers explore your grains
As I mix rich oil of first pressing with eggs and milk
Knead the sweet and salty memories into dough
To bridge the gaps between knowing of our hearts
Like a sunny kitchen in an autumn noon
My smiles surround you with warm loving
Beads of sultry passion leaven our beings
We rise to become more than sum of our parts
Loaf of our intimacy seeks wholesomeness
In the rigors of fire circles we draw
Not an obstacle but path of our choosing
To expand and grow into bread of oblation
Earthy loaf of our loving overruns
Aromatics of the most seasoned wines
We nurture the highest in each other
Without depleting granary of our offering


©Nalini Priyadarshni 21-09-2014​

 

Spring Gods
by Leonore Wilson ©


Remember the water flowing
from the distant mountains
into the red delta—
how we made love there
like lost nouns in the solicitous
late June among
the withering thorns and locusts
and wheat; there
we stepped from our cotton clothes
into the feminine earth;
there we began
to spoon little pieces of paradise
inside our mouths.
For months we had been
deceitful; we had stretched
our marriage vows,
but oh how we returned
libidinous, repenting
back to the flesh—
refuge of hunger
and the drooze of memory;
oh it seemed that spring
all the shells and plants
and stones were drawn
to our anxious and swinging
bones as if we were
the forefathers of flame,
and the gold sparks
inside the flame,
two crimson flowers,
two Judas
butterflies in braid.​

 

They Say, This Door - Written by Kushal Poddar - Spoken by Hank Beukema​

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Guadalupe
Read By Hank Beukema

Written by Tom Russell ​

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Andrew Bellon © December 18, 2010 · two bound poems "dreams are living, living is a dream" b.maat i. A raven dreams in an oak of summer kingdoms falling - sheer topplings of light that shake the leaves from the branches. Somewhere the air is still shaking. The sun's gone and so's the moon, whose candlelight played between us. I'm as blind as a winter raven. Only the night speaks your name out of the deep oracles of the world.​ ​ ii. She plucks the day like a ripe tangerine. No other day exists. There is no other night her eyes can burn from time.​

 

A Cherry tree struck by Lightening​

a poem by Freya Williams​

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Blowing Bubbles
by Freya Williams

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request for leave
by Freya Williams



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