(35) Handpicked: Galaxies with Mrs-Freestar-Bul

Jul 16, 201515 min read

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Published: Jul 16, 2015

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have you smiled at pluto lately?

here is a journal page for pieces of art that might inspire you the way they inspire me.
thank you for taking the time to bask in their beauty.

handpicked updated version by wispy-blue

Galaxies
poems inspiring me to write my own

Sea of GreenWe waded through a sea of green,
Broken up by only pale white, painted lines.
We stared up at the cotton clouds,
With our backs in the grass against the ground,
And wished there were stars in the air.
The sun, low in the skies,
Painted us golden-topaz.
And smiles lit up our eyes
As we passed laughter all around.
We watched as the glowing moon woke up,
And the stars traded shifts with the day;
As the lights came on when the darkness fell,
And the beauty of it stole all our words away. of glorious plumagei. descend
i've lost weight since we last met
we fit differently from before-
bird-thin, the both of us-
but this hollow in your feathered chest is
still where i feel most at home-
your jade eyes
a nest, to cultivate my happiness
i've been betrothed to the birds
you stayed back, earthbound
i fell, a cataract, from the red cliffs
you watched me sink, earthbound
i was ripped to shreds in the tundra
freezing and thirsty
and you listened instead to the flowers,
drowning me out as i whispered for help
they told you sunlight stories
when i was trapped in dusk
i was an inch from the edge of night
and you fled
so as to not be consumed.
ii. unpend
i know what i told myself-
i said i shed my mourning veil-
but i still weep for the morning lark,
your lightening song
haunting my brittle nightingale
i write you letters every night
with a fountain pen slathered in red ink
saying what i never could,
spilling my regret on the page
(wake up with bloody hands)
i should have known
you were no one to trus<da:thumb id="300502733"/>
Of solace        sleeping in today was the essence,
waking up the process of becoming singular
                               .
        I want to end it
but I can't stop associating you with these images—
:       a season being flung onto the ocean, making a mess of color
                               .
        there's an insect caught in my poetry,
trying to mend its broken wing
                          Unbound TiesYou choke on the meds—
the bitter taste of failure,
the coffee thick in your
indecisive throat.
Downstairs,
a baby howls like
a mistreated coyote
at the vaporizing moon—
the all day affair
of listening to abandonment
thumping in your ears.
Across town,
a man you might have
learned to love
boards a bus
for greener pastures—
the promise of keeping in touch
rolling in your mouth
like a pendulum uncertain
of its true purpose.
& in a tiny town
on the edge of oblivion,
your one-time, for-all-time lover
chokes on the daily defeat—
feeling the chorus
of your blood
burst against her lips,
all the unspoken things
piled up in the alley corners
like last year's
forgotten leaves. Just a ManI was cold, you made a fire.
The logs crackled like applause
while you played your guitar
and sang to me songs of love
of broken roads and crossed stars;
with every note I loved you more.
You brought me flowers-
no, in my mind you did,
and that was all that really mattered.
I kept them pressed neatly
between Byron, Keats, and Shelly
and the lines that made up you.
You said that you had always loved me
and that I was the only one,
but I didn't really listen,
I only heard what I wanted
instead of what was important,
your use of past tense regarding me.
I was wrong, I was wrong,
I made you grander than what you are.
I built you up in my mind.
I hid your flaws in the shadows
and let the rest of you shine far too brightly.
I saw exactly what I wanted to see.
I was wrong to make more of you
than what was really there,
but my heart believed in the mirage.
That song you sang to me
has turned to ashes in my ears.
It's my fault for trusting you.
The petals wilted upon reflection,
and in this har Alzheimer'sHis house is made of crumbling slats
    of rotted knotted oak
  peeling paint
and weakened joints.
  The wind blows unfettered
through unshuttered apertures
   dragging fresh sunlight in
      and memories away.
Even on the clearest days
       he visits the front porch
    less and less often.
        He prefers to explore
    those rooms further in
where tide and time have yet to reach.         Sometimes
                                     he might be gone for a week.
And one day, too soon
    (not soon enough)
  his ramshackle dw

heartwarming prose, passionate poetry and beautiful metaphors:
all these plus a lovely person:

Mrs-Freestar-Bul

When Your Lover is a MoonI love you, aware of my exile, your exile
Between us; clouds, wind, lightning,
thunder, ice and fire
Glad to tear myself apart
just for your eyes,
and sew you a cover from my skin
When love is big, and the lover is a moon,
do not tremble; one bird in winter nights
The tender sky touches all the scared wings
And cares for the wonderfully pale lilies
I walk on dry leaves, everyday
I create hope from that rainbow
I talk the language of trees
And I make a country from roses
Every day, I want to ride the sea,
every time they say no sailing allowed
Everyday, I build a home for our birds,
every time the floods take it away
I love you, until the day they put me out,
with eyes as wide as your skies
Until I disappear slowly, slowly
down the purple cliff
Until I feel you become some of me,
all of me
I love you Soak My Feet In WineWhen the sun and the earth were in love, ever young
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her  heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from ?
I live where stars grow bigger on a light breeze
Where butterflies were once flowers
Where God blessed my garden in Eden with peace
There, I lay on a cloud softer than foam
When the day splits into two halves, you see me
My steps are as light as those of a chamois
My hair running wild; wings of an evil crow
My mouth has the roundness of a precious ring
Cheeks, two fields of roses blooming again
Under my feet grow trees, and remain ever green
You need my palms, you seek my blood and fear
Before you crave for more, grant me what I wish for
Kiss the ground before me, show me your loyalty
Borrow the devil's wings, bring me bouquets of stars
I want that purple flo Fields of Golden WheatMy fingers travel through your hair, fields of golden wheat
Your lips have the taste of an ancient salty ocean
My childhood dreams of blue birds and their heartbeat
The delicate fragrance coming from eastern lands
The softness of a delighted soul and your sunlight
The black wings of a sad night and my heart in your hands
I listen to you, the language of birds, the mystery tone remains
I hide you, inside my eyelids, between the layers of my heart
Where you choose to live; mixed with every color in my veins When love rhymesYou said God made me perfect
The roundness of my hip, the softness of my lip
Gentle is my tip, I take you on every wild trip
So tighten your grip, squeeze me and take a sip
Get on my last ship, it is  time to tear and rip
My waves keep slamming your shore
Burning every sense in your core
Your nails on my side, always coming back for more
They take over every land, as we celebrate this war
You said God made me perfect
The size of my breast, where you built your nest
My wild birds on your chest , always flying west
The short breath is your guest, dancing, will never rest
Every touch  gives you my best, closer to my final quest
I am a PoetYou ask me who I am , where did I come from
I say:  I am a poet, I was born out of the blazing silk of my words
My heart is an eternal rebel, since the dawn of creation
I'm the master of my own words, the keeper of God's secret
I'm the story of that rose shivering on the freezing hill
I live in that oasis of light, in a world beyond your world
The stars stare at my hopes, and hell trembles between my fingers
The night dreads my pain, the morning sleeps on my pillow
I create my words from the tissue of my veins
I weave the images from the feather of my eyelids
I wash my sins away, when I repent between the lines
My words move slowly between your palms, climb to your soul
To hug that poet, who sleeps between the chambers of your heart
When the world is mud, thorns and empty substance
I create my own, where the ground is basil and the walls are none The martyr of loveI am still a stranger in your battlefield
My rifle on my shoulder, I do not mean to fight
My tears cutting  the ground under  your feet
You stand over my bleeding body
Your cold blade dripping your way out
You stab me, once and twice, you grin at my wounds
My blood meets the thirsty salty soil
They greet, they hug, they mate under your feet
They give birth to the wild bloody roses
Where every wound blooms once more
I hear your walk away, leaving my barren land
I pray for death to push the arrow deeper in my back
To take the last hopeless breath, the last breeze of love
Bury me where the old moon was born
Let my head rest in a land of cinnamon and honey
When the white hands arrive with their remedy
Tell them all my birds left me and flew north
I do not wish to heal, I do not pray for cure
Battered and broken, my heart left the shore Find your wordsYou sat on the couch beside me, you held my hand and you said that I looked sad. I turned my head away from you thinking if I don't look into your eyes you wont probably see more. I said I'm fine, and that you don't need to worry. I think I convinced you because you went back to watching your show.
We love each other, and love should let you know when the one you love is hurting, shouldn't you feel a heavy heart when they are sad, even if you can't see it with your eyes.
Words are stupid , language is stupid. I can't put in words what I feel, some days like today, when you ask me, I can't answer you, I'm not sure how to say it in a way that really reaches you. So why can't the love we carry for each other take care of that.
I want to look in your eyes, and let you know everything. How lonely I'm, and how scared I feel sometimes. I want you to feel it like my heart does. You say I talk so much and it's adorable, but I only scratch the surface, the things I really want to tel late night conversationIt was already late when we started this conversation in the living room, talking about if we should buy a house or just move and rent a better house somewhere nice, til we save enough money to actually buy one. He was so sleepy and wanted to go to bed. Still, I couldn't stop talking about the subject.
The bedroom window let in a dim light from the street lamp, it landed on him and I could see his face. I came closer to him, I put my head on his shoulder and resumed talking about the house.
Houses are expensive, we have been looking for sometime now but the prices are almost shocking and to me depressing , while I was on the internet looking at those houses for sale, I saw this house that was really cheap, outside the city.
So I asked him if he remembered the cheap house I showed him, he said he did because it was rubbish. Yes the house is old and it looked like it lost some doors and windows, but we can fix it. What if we buy it and slowly start fixing it. It had so much space a

Soak My Feet In Wine

When the sun and the earth were in love, ever young
I was born on a full moon with silver clarity
I'm that woman who sleeps on olive groves
Who makes angels fall in love with men's daughters
And lets herself be tricked by your sweet spells
Who obeys the very impulse of her heart
Do you know who I am, where I came from?

previous feature:

(34) Handpicked: Life is A Razor Blade

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© 2015 - 2024 wispy-blue

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FridgePoetProject

Yay! Feature day, and this looks like a great one!