The Space In Between

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(for Anton Kabonic)

I am learning to love

the spaces in between

waiting

wanting

letting go

quieting assumptions

and fears

the space between the wick

and the flame

I am learning to embrace

the silence

watching droplets of rain

tick off my days

on a rosary of

laters

getting to know who I am

questions I want to ask

of you

touching your wild

hoping you’ll trust me

can there be an “us”

I am learning to trust myself

allowing my wild

to howl

calling to the moon

for my lover

no longer apologizing

for my words

my crys

my passion

depending on myself

to run alone if you won’t

run with me

knowing I am strong enough

to love you unconditionally

even from a distance

and still love myself

as well

LAS copyright 2017  all rights reserved

photo courtesy of Pixabay
https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/later/

Discard

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You asked me to wait

for you

but I don’t think I can

the silence

no calls

but I know you are home

and I am

unnecessary to you

but when you need me

necessary to me

but you’re not there

not at all

familiar souls

connecting for a moment

I made the mistake

fell in love

became vulnerable

and now broken

Know it wasn’t me

Know it is with you

at least I learned the lesson

that I can still feel

still love

and my heart

with time

will heal

while it’s your turn

and you can wait

LAS copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

 

I Don’t Want to Write Anymore

So beautifully touching. For all of us that have the empathic gift, I thought this summed up how many of us feel. Enjoy Sumiyana’s poetry!

Sumyanna Writes

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I don’t want to write

anymore

I don’t want the words

rushing through my veins,

the surge with which

leaves me unsettled

raw and open…

It is much

too much to ask of me –

to bleed the twisting sentences

to feel the verbs

tracing down my spine

and the world becomes

unburdened of her sin

yet I am left to feel

each pang of remembrance.

A child cries

and I feel her tears

added to my sorrows.

I watch a hungry man

stooped over an open trashcan

and I cannot escape

his need.

I hear the sirens

of yet another disaster

and I cannot pull away.

I feel the loss that others

cannot bear to breathe.

My eyes

were never meant

to look away.

My heart

was never meant

to go to sleep

and I feel

and I feel

and I feel as if it is too much

and…

View original post 38 more words

Stop the Wild Horse Round Ups in Wyoming!!!

Originally posted on Straight from the Horse’s Heart: “This is Your Chance to be a Voice for the Horses…” Destruction of Wyoming’s Adobe Town herd by the BLM ~ photo by Carol Walker of Wild Horse Freedom Federation The Bureau of Land Management offices in Rock Springs and Rawlins are launching a 30-day public…

via BLM Seeks Public Comment on Plan to Rip More than 1,000 Wild Horses Out Of Wyoming — hocuspocus13

Patterns (Lissa, Peggy, Karen, Stevie…)

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Riding the full moon

I cannot sleep at night

3 am

and I am still

waking

automatic

decades of it

and I have often wondered

whose dreams

I am walking through

wondering aloud

I have found

my best girlfriends

do the same

the patterns repeat

at the witching hour

we laugh at our

congruity

wonder what we’re up to

the joking conjecture

of stirring up storms

and secret romance

or perhaps

its just so simple

a case of insomnia

of five women aging

but secretly

something in our eyes

the hint of a smile

we know

as creatures of the tides

we hold the world in our hands

spinning the wheel

as life goes on

LAS  Copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo Courtesy of Pixabay

https://dailypost.wordpress.com/prompts/pattern/

 

 

 

 

Transformed

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The connection

charge sparkled

between fingers

in their hair

layered on skin

the corona expanding

and he held his breath

eyes meeting

their first dance

the darkness

parting

for the first time in years

she pressed closer

to hear the song of his heart

moving to the beat

of lifetimes

found again in each others arms

LAS  copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

The Spell

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No words

uttered

the smoke rises

she turns looking

at the only face

that has stayed with her

shining silver

constant

changeless over ages

she tells the moon her dreams

her wishes

shadows wait

frozen

watching

waiting to carry her love

on the wind

letters consumed

flames and wisps

smoke

and the ashes dance

lifting lightly

floating over the miles

settling light on a hand

lying in the darkness

lost in the warmth

of her dreams

swirling about him

enchanting

stirring

washing his pain away

waking to the dark

thinking

oh

thinking she was there

but the room holds

his breath alone

And she waits

as the waters mirror

that silvered face

framed by the mountains

knowing her secret

knowing her pain

shrouding her desires

as the gilt shadows

dissolve in darkness

to place a kiss

on a furrowed brow

resting restless

scented with cedar and pine

and the stirring incense

of a woman

burning bright on the shores

of a lake

miles away

stirring his heart to her

warming flames

and the moon touches the mountain

in a caress

both knowing

the moment is fleeting

but will

play over and over

in the eons of time

LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay

 

My Wild Horses

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People tell me

you need variety

don’t put your

eggs in one basket

but

they don’t see the wild in me

they don’t see

the hunger for open spaces

desires as crazy

as a whirlwind in July

the turmoil

you stir in my blood

until my horses run

uncontrolled

past caring

of the ruin

stampede in my soul

They don’t understand

the passion

you created with careless words

honeyed with a dark liquor

bleeding through the miles

of invisible line

and I choose to believe

that you spilled them

with the same hope

I had of hearing them

a dark demolition

throwing that gate open

to let me dance

following by your side into the

moonlight

and running with the stars

LAS copyright 2017 All Rights Reserved

Picture courtesy of Pixabay

 

 

Coyote

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I dreamt of coyote

last night

He came to me

through the opening

of a tight orange canyon

eye to eye

coyote was not laughing

and I knew this was bad

the visions came

A broken lance

“Snake Oil”

I stood on a rock in white deer skin

howling into falling snow

as horses ran

a painful lesson

of needing to

let go

LAS  copyright 2017  All Rights Reserved

Photo courtesy of Pixabay