i watched you sleep
like angels
birthed
from the golden eyes
of heaven
i watched you sleep
as the rain
fell
peaceful and calming
to me
my soul
watched you sleep
and your spirit,
spoke
and i watched you sleep
as rivers raged
and oceans roared
and Mother Nature quaked and came
then bellowed
from the very depths
of the crusts of caves
that this time is precious
like diamonds buried deep within the snow
and sand
as it falls from the palm of one's hand
and every solitary tear
never wasted in vain
like every smile
a song of hope
and i watched you sleep
like angels
birthed
from the golden eyes
of heaven
© Susan Marie
[Jharna means "waterfall" in Hindi]
© Alison Mayor
The Wind
This life is not yours to keep,
She says.
Learn to love.
And in love,
learn to give it all away.
Stop clenching your fists
and hobbling forward,
like the wretched inheritance
our parents deny passing on to us -
but did.
Instead,
learn to open.
And breathe
but not like strangled children
drowning in shallow waters -
like the wind,
tearing through the trees.
Screaming.
Listen.
Learn to be everything you love -
higher than the sky
and deeper than the ocean-
then master the art
of gifting it all away.
* * *
© Alison Mayor
The Fighter
So we are like ships,
crashing into one another
then sinking back
into ourselves.
This fire fueled by prayer;
Great Mountain,
with your ridge back beauty
and immoveable strength,
take my hand.
Walk with me into the village,
where they have thoroughly forgotten
the weight of your name.
Teach me how to be a silent force;
so loud, so enormous,
all deaf hearts tune
to the choir of your truth.
Help me to soften
around the things I hate,
and have no control
to possibly change.
Or break me in two,
three, four hundred distant ways
until I am as imperfect as you -
with shadows I can call home
and learn to crawl up into.
Show me the way of family
flowering over narrow passages,
intoxicated by life, and everything
becomes more beautiful with time.
So the stories we carry
have never felt more precious,
as we look out across this unlit season
and wonder how you’ll possibly survive.
* * *
© Alison Mayor
All Things Real
Sorrow is the door
by which my inheritance
showers gifts of sustenance
into my outstretched heart.
So I enter
and wind around the circular
square of buzzing sensation,
until I come face to face
with the tanned and toned
silhouette of solitude
grazing upon red sunflowers,
aroused by the seduction
of springtime’s end.
Dark clouds loom,
casting shadows atop
our instinctual bodies,
so I inch towards my aloneness
as this exquisite one takes bold
steps back towards me.
Slowly we stop, and stare
into the deep set eyes
of intimacy
and the understanding
of all things real.
As the sky parts,
eager faces turn East.
But I greet the sun
in a different way
by quieting my pace to meet up
with the pulse of the Earth
and revealing parts of myself
that I’ve been told to keep covered;
exposed skin, caught between the teeth
of warmth and wind. And the lingering shyness
of being witnessed in my wilderness.
* * *
April Glaser is extra-ordinarily sensitive to the environment - to the steady flow of energy and emotion bubbling below
the surface of everything. Writing is the artistic expression she utilizes to channel life's immensity. She visualizes artistry and profound beauty in this mysterious way of being.
It is her birthright. It is what makes her fully alive. This is what her poetry is made of. After all, she was born into the dark hands of
night. Visit [and subscribe to] April HERE
© April Glaser
M O L O T O V H E A R T
Companions Of This Farce
Color Me Boldly
For All Lovers I Know Are Lunatics
How We've Come To Regard The Heart
In Paradoxes Of Redemption & Pursuit
I Have Worn The Madstone Smooth To The Crust
& Recorded Molten Madrigals To The Sun
Where The Lunacy Of Love
Presumes An Ecstatic Moan
I Have Forced Myself To Swallow
The Juju Of Liquescent Moons
And Sought To Spill Pale Light
In Pools Of Cool Blue Irony
All These Princely Cousins Of Narcissus
Think Of Me Mouthless
Make Of Me Thoughtless
Forget That Where Revolution Begins
It All Ends In The Language
Of Gasoline & Matches . . .
-randini-
*Randy Welch is a multifaceted artist in Denver, Colorado, USA. He can be reached HERE
Randy is the first to submit to my global request of inviting all forms of creativity to be displayed and promoted here and to the world. I invite all of you on this journey.
M O L O T O V H E A R T is a dynamic stream of consciousness and I am honored to bring fresh, enlightening and diverse trains of thought your way.