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Multitudes layed beneath you
Reading, heavyweight thinking
Rolled over, tossed, turned

and played

Making love, then ruminating
In your sanctuary shade
Dreaming you renewed

their vitality

Instead of burying the pain
With your enduring sway
Abandoned lovers, found their groove again

Transcendent blue

What Dreams May Come is a painting by Christy Freeman Stark which was uploaded on January 25th, 2015.

Seeking divine justice
clutching our broken hearts
our reverence and our truth
hand in hand we stood

the beautiful
silk road tree
growing on the rivers of Babylon

Possessive of our gold, silver,
our white and our black, our lapiz lasuli,
our glorious transcendent blue –
caring for our wellbeing.

Underneath, delicate woodland
the artist stood, wept and broke.
Brush dipped in jasper green
melancholy weeping

filling woodlands
on gentle hills …idyllic beauty-
disenchanted world
restrained virtue, goodness and liberty

Sylphs of the Air

Only The Two of Us is a painting by Kiril Stanchev which was uploaded on November 8th, 2011.

Beyond words, the ephemeral beauty
of willows a picture paints.
Adorning lakes and rivers, golden energy

stream through strings of leaves.
Sylphs of the Air sing in-between
Love’s enfolding heart-centred harmony.


Outrageous poses

Supple intellectual

Draped in yellow


My days are
they take
up my hours,
cut off
my thoughts,

blow bubbles
with my daydreams,

they smudge
the dots
smear the drops
of a heartbeat
eager to trace a line
in all tranquility

with pen or quill-
time is not mine
precious tiny numbers
have me on speed dial

She felt the sun in her heart

Wobbling on bricks
Under the autumn sky
Eyelashes brushed her cheeks
She felt the sun in her heart
In between my tears I thought
Life will be better for us

Dwelling in the Mind of God

Speckles of dust scratch the eyes,
I write now for me, a word of my own,
bless this path and the roads I must cross
Holding close to me the burden and the blessing

I would like to speak it like this, in a manner of address
So many years sailed down the river for eloquence to express
There is nothing passive about life, we must record our burdens

Healing Butterfly (@healing007) | Twitter

Bless this path, richly dowried children of God , you were there with me
Every one of the burdens are special, tugging at the heartstring
Precious gemstones, mother of pearl ray, dwelling in the mind of God

Bless my path goliath is slain,
radiating the blessing
my necklace my sling
Bless our paths
Bless our abilities,
our gifts, talents
and our personalities

It shall not disappear, priceless love
anchored burdens,
tiny yellow butterflies.
Bless this path,
grounded love
will not be vanquished
baby feather floating by
white butterfly circling
up above listens to the sky

Bless this path, enter new dimension
sacredly lay before the cloak of protection.
Gazing at the glory, precious burdens
are not light to carry.
Blessings glazed in burden

exhibits colourful paintings
of new sunrises
and the daily thanksgivings
of rainbow sunsets,
my blessings and my burdens
Bless this path, burden and blessing
clearing my mental planes

Expressions of Joy

Smelling coffee,
gorgeously styled 
with renewed colour
things pluck at her mind
desperately juggling
around searching

bounty of blooms
full of the wind
her clothes take flight
expressions of joy
in everyday life.
Just because

Pick me up
a gourmet couple
dancing on the sidewalk
relishing peace away
-serene alternatives –
from overcrowded family life.

Mix ‘n Mingle
in the embers
of midnight i dreamed
of the river
me bathing in liquid
of milk and honey.

Whispers of Joy

Sweetness the flavour,
is meant to be devoured
sorry, enjoyed.

Photo by tea rose on Unsplash

Rushed blood
standing erect
whispers of joy.
he photographs,
he paints
and he writes.

and correct,
most desirable.

A tin roof on top

Conservatory of conservative
conversation and conservation –

volumes of unwritten romantic love
letters conserved in the tomes of the womb.

Filled to the brim of unpainted
colourful lush exotic places

erotic paintings slightly askew
music played in hushed conversation.

A tin roof on top
pitter patter of the raindrops .