MY FADING INK… – Promote Yourself

Is my last safe refuge
From the cold dark pits of my now weakened heart
I was once reminded that resolve needs revival
A forward momentum of momentary standstill
And Suppose you know the formula of fraternity
To forever form a feeling of friendship
Forever eternity
A summoning of souls seals the silence
Of the now lost lambs
As love leaves laughing “lackadaisically”
Hate has migrated to distant lands

NEANICNOMAD

Renovation – Promote Yourself

 

We’re all hurled

Into the midst,

A perfect world

Does not exist.

 

Taught to hate,

Doomed to die.

Our death rate

Has soared sky-high. 

 

We can escape,

Begin the climb.

Build to reshape

Free from crime.

 

Help to offset

Push and shove.

Do not forget

How to love.

John Northcutt Young

https://johnnorthcuttyoung.wordpress.com/
http://amazon.com/author/youngj

Horses in Snow -YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

They are a gift I have wanted again.

Wanted: One moment in mountains

when winter got so cold

the oil froze before it could burn.

I chopped ferns of hoarfrost from all the windows   

and peered up at pines, a wedding cake

by a baker gone mad. Swirls by the thousand   

shimmered above me until a cloud

lumbered over a ridge,

bringing the heavier white of more flurries.

I believed, I believed, I believed

it would last, that when you went out

to test the black ice or to dig out a Volkswagon   

filled with rich women, you’d return

and we’d sputter like oil,

match after match, warm in the making.

Wisconsin’s flat farmland never approved:

I hid in cornfields far into October,

listening to music that whirled from my thumbprint.   

When sunset played havoc with bright leaves of alders,

I never mentioned longing or fear.

I crouched like a good refugee in brown creeks

and forgot why Autumn is harder than Spring.   

But snug on the western slope of that mountain   

I’d accept every terror, break open seals

to release love’s headwaters to unhurried sunlight.   

Weren’t we Big Hearts? Through some trick of silver   

we held one another, believing each motion the real one,   

ah, lover, why were dark sources bundled up

in our eyes? Each owned an agate,

marbled with anguish, a heart or its echo,   

we hardly knew. Lips touching lips,   

did that break my horizon

as much as those horses broke my belief?   

You drove off and I walked the old road,   

scolding the doubles that wanted so much.

The chestnut mare whinnied a cloud into scrub pine.   

In a windless corner of a corral,

four horses fit like puzzle pieces.

Their dark eyes and lashes defined by the white.

The colt kicked his hind, loped from the fence.   

The mares and a stallion galloped behind,   

lifting and leaping, finding each other

in full accord with the earth and their bodies.   

No harm ever touched them once they cut loose,   

snorting at flurries falling again.

How little our chances for feeling ourselves.   

They vanished so quickly—one flick of a tail.   

Where do their mountains and moments begin?   

I stood a long time in sharpening wind.

Roberta Hill Whiteman

YOUR FAVOURITE POEM

SENT BY YOU WHAT’S YOUR’S