The Salt in my Bones

I

don’t

won’t

can’t

needn’t

—say.  

 

I

do

will

can

need

—love.

 

I

see

saw

live

know

—truth.

 

I

feel

deal

steal

reel

—light.

 

I

go

stay

wait

come

—home.  

 

by:basheesima

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Always

Always by:basheesima  

 My heart

beating like, a mad man drummer.

Your hands

touching me, yet not my lover.

Closed eyes

startling, static energy.

Your lips

speaking, truths not forgery.

My spirit

joining too, embodied with you.

 

As children, my sister and I would lie on the bed and take turns closing our eyes while the other, starting from the wrist, tickled up your arm using the fairest touch done in tiny-roaming circles.   If the squirming soul with their eyes closed correctly guessed when the other reached the inside crease at the elbow—they got to be tickled again—if not, which was usually the case, places were switched.   Have fun trying it. J

Bonfire

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Bonfire
by:basheesima

Ancient Gasoline: a gallon
Decaying wood: a ton piled high
Ten inches of freshly fallen angel white snow
Light winds, perfect for fanning the flames

I love a good burn!

Wrapping cloth soaked in lamp oil around a stick
Standing back, the smoke will be thick
A simple flick of the bic
Lickety—split

Flames burst from the pit!

Once the burn is established
Everything collected—useless—and old
Goes on to be turned to flames of gold
That is when

The memories burn!

I stand in dirty snow
Letting forever go
What I once loved
My hands are gloved.

Ashes—far they fly!

Wind ripples surging rows of heat.
I hold my breath. I’m beat.
Pieces of rusty metal bend
Nothing but coal base in the end!
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Pillar


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The first instant I listened

to a man playing the piano at sunset

on a long sandy beach

no one but me and my dog

prancing in purple waters

and him playing.

So sad.

So powerful.

I stayed, listening.

The second I saw a pillar of sun

shoot to the sky

while walking over granular snow

during a cold sunrise…

I heard his music.

by:basheesima

Moon Frost

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Writing by moonlight on white paper, red pen
Out the window, black trees grow in a frost field sea

Simple silence to this early morning glee, broken
By fog horn regularly warning of the dangers to be

Yet, I, safely surrounded by glistening white lands,
Hear the horn sounds,
And desires are for the ocean’s calls.

Out the clear glass pane, where
A yellow feather clings,
After the bird hits and falls;

I watch the cloud change colors passing by the moon.

by:basheesima