In The Rough

00000 WP child beach REAL


Stifled crisp

stilled oyster

drifting in the deep silt

gritty particulate sand

sea-deep darkness

still and cold

rock-stuck, numb-froze

soft tissue oyster warms

light-point shining bleak shadows

silhouettes dance on the inside of shell

chasing a will to move

an intention to feel

stirring

sand-pulse

ocean current sweeping dense grains

light awakens stiff silence

wish

tip toe merry go

girl in sand

pearl in hand

sandbar

pink and orange dancing

footprints under dying sun

tingling rays, neck-ticklers

fun chuckle, light sand-sweep

tucked to cosy bed

rising sea stung sandbar

damp, chilled bone

silhouettes gone

deep oyster-shell

still again

numb

memories of being joy-held

wiggle room in shell

flickering recognition

bobby-pin buddy


Poem Credit – Kenne/Ken Adam

Photo Credit – Flickr:

esinuhe69

Golden Number Three

https://www.flickr.com/photos/esinuhe69/3056533082/in/faves-125138039@N07/

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Lilies tucked in the Shade…

Darkness descends on the sleeping lilies, midsummer dreams fading into fitful Autumn wakes, shocking frosts alert the arching leaves to the inevitable blankets of winter snow.

I encourage you to check out my Flickr page:

https://www.flickr.com/photos/125138039@N07/

Darkness descends on the sleeping lilies, midsummer dreams fading into fitful Autumn wakes, shocking frosts alert the arching leaves to the inevitable blankets of winter snow. Please check out my new Flickr Page: https://www.flickr.com/photos/125138039@N07/

Darkness descends on the sleeping lilies, midsummer dreams fading into fitful Autumn wakes, shocking frosts alert the arching leaves to the inevitable blankets of winter snow.
Please check out my new Flickr Page:
https://www.flickr.com/photos/125138039@N07/

The Mill Wheel

The Mill Wheel

At first strike, the water spun the mill wheel, grinding flour for the early settlers. The wheel was mounted on adjacent piles of rocks, here today. Fresh out of the oven, the toasty warm bread warmed the chilled farmers’ tummies.
The flour was later sold throughout the region, and bread quickly became a household item.

Syncopated Sunshine

Morning sunshine, nectar of the dew

A soft, supple girl

Long dark hair matted to cheeks

It is I who does speak

Noticing the liquid walls behind you dissolve

Yielding space of light composed of

Syncopated sunshine

Your rhythmic breath illuminates

Dim skin

In a holy rapture

Your skin, my touch, our love

A holy embrace into our shrine

And your pulsation emits glory

Morning glory

Into the dull, dark, pavement morning

Sunlit rooftops

Aching eyelids

Open to the pink, morning sunrise

Above

Above is freedom

Below is the girl whispering to her lover

Morning dew to country stream

“I am yours now”

And the sunshine radiates, filling the globe of morning in mobile pink, filaments of tendril clouds scorched rose,

Her eager heart races in the arms of her lover.