Darknoir's publishing site DagdaPublishing is looking for poems on the theme of the city for their forthcoming Kindle anthology. You can find out more and how to submit here http://www.thepoetryforum.co.uk/show...488#post206488

Annie Morgan who joined here as a member last year when releasing her poetry anthology called 'Soul Feathers' is putting together a new anthology on the subject of water to support water aid.

She is requesting that people submit only one previously unpublished poem for possible inclusion. There is more information at the Poetry and Writers Charity Collective on Facebook http://www.facebook.com/groups/charitycollective/

For those of you who have missed DarkNoir's post he has set up a web publishing site for poetry as a means to allow poets increased exposure on the Internet. It is worth popping over for a read and while you are there why not submit something yourself? The site address is http://dagdapublishing.wordpress.com/

You leaned in for a kiss, your breath so shallow
You told me; you said
“I really do like you” you pled
“I want you to stay.
And take me here, tonight, here in this bed.”

At least that's how it seemed to me
Our warmth, our body, you and me.
- I shared with you my intimate times
My past, and hopes
Times I wanted to die.

You toyed with me and I with you,
I held you, you asked
“This thing in Denmark,
I know it hurts. Why do you care?
I'm just a bitch with purple hair”

You're more than a bitch with purple hair,
I forfeited to you
You're everything I hoped for and
You're everything I need.
But through it all, your warning, I refused to heed.

I liked you, no, I love you,
I thought you would be mine.
I thought we'd spend our years away
Just wasting away in time
With your purple hair so fine.

But past desires die not easily
And past lust revives succeedingly.
Through your lies and your deceit
you still had time to stop for a beat
and kiss your old love, like a bitch in heat.

You do not care for my heart once oaken
You've left it here shallow and broken.
A hopeful remnant of things heavy to bare
brought down by a bitch with purple hair.

Watching,
the brush strokes of the painter,
on this empty, elegant canvas.
A broad sweep of the brush,
then another and another.
Grass, gorse, heather,
And that perfectly autumnal brown...bracken.
For summers gone,and the moor breathes out,
relaxing luxuriously,just like
the fanning, dripping, ferns
and almost luminous grey green lichen,
of the hidden woods,
in the secret valleys of all time.

Brought alive
Ancient gnarled,bowed silver birch
surviving almost anywhere,
like the hard bred fox watching sheep,
and the imperious hare.

Firstly sketching the bare bones
of the toors,the sentinal toors.
Carboniferous and permian,Devonian style,
quartz and feltzite glinting,
so many greys and greens,
to mix with rain washed blue.

A distant Menhir,a stone man,
looks on and through time,
reminding him of his insignificance.

Wrapped up warm against this chill october,
cooler still on this high moor,
always a thousand feet above,
rivulets,streams merging now
into the ancient river Dart.
Giggling like a teenager,
shallow,broad,dark and beyond years.
Movement portrayed by clean,white,blue, quick strokes,
clearly heard from far above,
this deep wooded valley.

The painter sits and looks and waits.
For one more thing.....light.
Light changing with elemental speed,
undrawing a curtain across the moor...
the best clouds come...
grey, white,black with sun between..
majesticaly striding on and on....

and quickly sketching not to miss,
a solitary rider through the bracken,
sidestepping down a riven slope,
on a further field of view,
completing the picture.

The painter stands and smiles.





-------------------------------------
(Originaly posted in Tsus nature competition)

spotlighted december 2011

The scorched surface of my ground shakes,
leaving me tortured, nervous yet excited
in my own camouflaged insecurity.

My eyes flower at the sight of you,
surface melting at the heat you glow.
My burning dreams - your flames of silence.

Tasting the rhythm of your pulse and spring in your hair,
I get absorbed in enticing dreams of night,
where you remove the pain of my empty hours.

Our winds are smooth and swift,
though together the centre of the storm,
as we colour the streets purple.

spotlighted december 2011