Friday is a deer in a forest full of bloom

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Photo by Robert Jahns

Friday is a deer in a forest full of carnelian,
cherry, and cotton candy bloom.
Excuse her if she takes one green succulent
into her mouth ignoring all the glory
of reds, of pinks, of yellow bearing broom.
She knows that summer is fleeting and leaving
on feet as quiet as her own hoofed whispers
and chooses to savor the green beginning as
summer’s passing looms.
— A Soft Sehnsucht, by Annette Marie Hyder

Happy Friday!

Cracks and crevices

goats in tree3 (1)
Image via suzzz45.blogspot

Goats fascinate me with their indefatigable climbing. It seems to me that there is nothing they can’t climb. I’m surprised they don’t find the cracks and crevices thinner than a hair and use their pointy hooves to climb right on the air.

Feathers Float on the Deep Blue Air

By Annette Marie Hyder

His mind was a rain forest
rich and lush.
In the treetops of this rain forest
there dwelt innumerable birds
of glorious molten feather
and iridescent song.
Words, to him, were like noises
from the forest floor
far, far below.
And those word/noises would startle
the birds/associations and scatter them —
too many associations for every startle/word
for him to even know.
But the birds’ feathers filled the tropical sky
with sound and beauty
and fluttering thoughts
and prismed avian glow.

Like black angels dancing —

lye-5
Aquatic Wildlife Painted in Layers of Resin by Keng Lye

against a bowl of sky
filled with floating flowers,
like feathers that are really fins,
in a heaven red-rimmed
but cloudless at its core,
silhouettes of grace and beauty
spin
tilting and swirling
like ink spilled in water,
like aquatic ballerinas,
or like two plain
(but are they ever really plain?) fish.
It depends, does it not, on one’s
per
spec
tive?
— Perspective, by Annette Marie Hyder

Rainsongs the wild night sang to me

By Annette Marie Hyder

echoed through the long halls of my sleep.
I followed the sound through twists and turns
to the ornate door I found there
and turned the handle of the door
and opened it on morning, birdsong, rainsong,
and a joy running as deep
as a river fed by dreams.

I have spent nights on the beach

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Maldevian Starry Sky, by Dominic Kamp

where the sky curved like a mirror reflection of the beach I was lying on…the heavens crusted with glittering stars that made up the sand and the only hint of matching tide was not the deep sea of space but the beating of my heart…pounding like the surf.
— The Story Behind That Big Hair Picture, by Annette Marie Hyder

Happy Friday! ❤

I would dive, let my fingertips become hard,

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Image via Yasmin Acosta

calloused, and markedly round.
I would clench a knife with my teeth.
I would tremble in the depths and leave
even the memory of breath
behind on the beach
smothered in sand and out of reach.
I would gather, softly, softly,
shimmering abalone and curling seaweed —
all for your pearls if your pearls were for me.
— Ama, by Annette Marie Hyder

I was promised a SUPER MOON

but the clouds crept in with the summer haze
and they conspired, creeping clouds and shiftless haze.
And the haze, with its long lupine throat,
swallowed the moon
and the clouds floated like cream on top
greedily gloating over the taking of that
which I would see.
But I could still feel the soft glow
of that moon
and its pull pricked my skin
like an intuition of things
that are beyond believing
in their beauty and promise
although not
yet
meant to be.
— Super Moon 2014, by Annette Marie Hyder

There is magic

stardust
Stardust by Catrin Welz-Stein

in the air
slanting down in moonbeams
like Cupid’s arrows
penning love songs to the night.
You are also an arrow
in the night, a shot with aim that’s true.
I feel you
spinning your magic like motorcycle wheels
right outside my window
and from five floors up
I reach out and catch some
moonbeams
some magic
and a tiny smudge of you
in my hands like I am a heroine
who catches fletched arrows in her hand
and I tuck that arrow behind my ear
like a pencil.
I will use it to write my answer
and then I will pull the bowstring of my heart
and shoot it back to you.
There is Magic by Annette Marie Hyder