JUNE SELECTIONS:
Melodies of Life by Eira Needham
A rhythm gently stirs the dormant earth with tranquil harmonies. All creatures browse; inherently they couple, giving birth, as woods deliver buds to gravid boughs. Soft showers suckle buttercup bouquets; a rainbow colours mama’s lullaby. I fly away with blue birds while she sways me, lids becoming heavy; hush-a-bye.
I leap awake to summer's bold refrains in verdant fields, where poppies splash their hue. I preen myself; sap surges through my veins, perplexing urges rousing my debut to adolescent days. Discordant sounds of rock enthrall; my sensual desires are vivid like the flowers. Life abounds with energetic zest; true love transpires.
I dawdle into autumn and repose beneath old foliage of rusty blends, its slower tempo lulls until I doze. I wake as desiccating leaves descend, accepting life’s erosion with dismay. Transformed, my look precipitates the fear that fading blossoms wrinkle and decay; the flush of summer fades … to disappear.
I hear the strains of winter’s chilled advance and feel ambivalent to distant days. As snowflakes fall, resplendent, they enhance the stark reality of life’s malaise. Will mist surround my mind’s befuddled dreams, purloin my dignity when time seems false? As cold entices sleep, the sun will gleam once more for me to dance … that final waltz.
When winter leaves I hear its funeral dirge; inactive life bestirs, becoming rife. Sustaining water spills as shrubs emerge in rhythm with the melodies of life.
The Ballerina In Apartment B22 by Linda E. Cable
Flapping pigeons remind Freda of applause; she smiles, wriggling crippled toes inside wide, fuzzy slippers, attempting a chasse' around pots of purple pansies, bergamot, stirring tea roses with a silver spoon, the bittersweet clink of Tchaikovsky's A minor.
Dawn spotlights her imagined plie upon the edge of the palsied deck rail - she grows momentarily tall within memories of an arabesque beneath swan-clouds, sighing in veneration of Vazem, Gert.
Her broken body totters toward the coda of a peeling, padded chair, the orchestra playing in her head. Closing lids as dry as a moth's wing she whispers,
“Sur' le cou-de-pied”.
In dreams, she spins, and spins.
The Misting by Lorraine M. Kanter
From wastelands come clarity, visions await encircled by heralded whispers of late -- this paradise green, for those who have seen angelic life-forces, seek Heaven's vast gate.
I look as a brightened confluence of white cascades in a lucid, baptismal delight; in fantasy’s thrall, the deep yearnings do call, I reach for the mist which then cradles my fall.
The waters are calm in this euphoric place -- I wade in a crystalline world of embrace. In apathy’s den, soft ripples now grin applauding contentment I’ve found from within.
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"It's a dangerous business, Frodo, going out your door. You step into the Road, and if you don't keep your feet, there is no knowing where you might be swept off to." ~ J.R.R Tolkien, The Lord of the RingsCollaboration feeds innovation. In the spirit of workshopping, please revisit those threads you've critiqued to see if the author has incorporated your ideas, or requests further feedback from you. In addition, reciprocate with those who've responded to you in kind. "I believe it is the act of remembrance, long after our bones have turned to dust, to be the true essence of an afterlife." ~ Lorraine M. KanterNominate a poem for the InterBoard Poetry Competition by taking into careful consideration those poems you feel would best represent Mosaic Musings. For details, click into the IBPC nomination forum. Did that poem just captivate you? Nominate it for the Faery award today! If perfection of form allured your muse, propose the Crown Jewels award. For more information, click here! "Worry looks around, Sorry looks back, Faith looks up." ~ Early detection can save your life.MM Award Winner
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