Bev Flynn's Blog, page 33

red beneath my pulse

Scarlet, of a poemdaybook verse, runs red beneath my pulse.I thumb, between the cloudsin language, I rely uponhand of grace.. I carry on

Buried words

Dripping wallsof ink, and framehere shadows... come, to write.Where slow-blade grass,and buried wordshide castles... in the light

Untitled

Soft, unbroken poemsthe scent, of petals, tears... and soul.Her letters, sown from touch and understandingto heal her half... to whole

Triad

Poets, touch... in trilogytheir light within, repeals all sin.This triad, of the Soulabandon, love... and prose

Roof of the sun

Words of myth, and golden mistI writeto learn... where I belong.Gingerly, I heat my verseupon,the roof of the sun

Pale, the angles

Pale, the anglesfoam and fragilewords.. he grants to herbeyond, a finger's touch.Poetry... her silent paper love

Moonlight, tapping tips of sheets

Poet threads, of grace... and wire

Sentient vibration

Echoes, in the overlayshe feels a whispershattering... of soul.Sentient vibration,upon... an open road

Monologue, above the soil

Monologue, above the soilsoliloquy... at sunrise.Echoes wound, in gold chiffonwarming the bones... of dawn