from British Columbia comes Regis Auffray ...

with some homespun truths.   You can find him here:

http://www.authorsden.com/regisjauffray

In Her Sunday Best

                                          

          ©Regis Auffray

                                         

There she is in her Sunday 

best blue dress 

she said she was 

saving for a special day

At last she's wearing it 

though she did not put it on 

herself 

They've closed her blue eyes 

blue like the dress 

she never wore 

blue like the sea 

she never saw 

Sleeping there 

in her velvet-lined skiff 

She'll float away 

across the bright gravestones 

like whitecaps 

in the sun of August 

towards the infinite sea 

of the sky

In his own words:

Regis Auffray came to Earth in Peace River, Alberta, Canada. He gives credit for that to his parents who had just come over from Brittany, France. He is of Celtic descent. Bretons are not of "French" ancestry thus, as far as he is concerned, not French although at least one of his siblings disagrees. But he loves all nationalities and origins of people. He is convinced that "compassion" is the answer to all of this gem of a planet's problems. He admits that he just does not have a clue how to make it happen. His first language is French but he learned English when his family moved to a town 100 kilometers (60 miles) east of Vancouver, British Columbia. The first poem he can remember writing was in grade 9 in English class. It rhymed and had the proper rhythm. His English teacher thought it was good and encouraged him to continue to write. (Thank you, Mr. Stolee). Regis is a graduate of the University of British Columbia with an Education Degree majoring in French and English.  He has also done some post graduate work in counseling psychology.  He is an educator in a senior high school. He has been greatly influenced by the romantic poets and the symbolists (in French) but many others - Baudelaire, Verlaine, Rimbaud, Lamartine, Frost, Keats, Dickinson, and so many others who don't come to mind at the moment. He says that he appreciates this site because it has allowed him to share with others what is in his soul and he has made new friends whom he greatly values. He thanks all of you who take the time to read and to comment on his creative endeavors.

Be sure to drop by and check him out.

Peteskid also comes to us from Michigan ...

which is, evidently, a hotbed of poetic abilities.   He can be reached at (PKPoetry)@hotmail.com .

(Remove the parentheses of course), and can be found here:

http://allpoetry.com/Peteskid

now, on to the poem --

moving waters

Rivers hold stories,

traces of things done.

Toes in muddied silt

lovers on shore,

rise and fall of cities;

patience teaching child

to swim.

Swirling around 

fallen limbs, trunks

seeming souls of forest greatness 

now left to hide minnows from big fish,

reaching river grown greatness.

Calm waters make lazy days, 

slowing to wait a bit 

for use of sun and breezes

when words make music

and soft eyes forget flowing streams;

and rivers know these things

but keep silence, holding

secrets like melted soil

and pieces of leafy sunshine;

all those noisy murmurs 

and happy squeals of life, there 

roaming beneath the glassy top

of moving waters.

Do check him out.  

Nicole Hanna, from Michigan, USA ...

can be found here:   

 

http://allpoetry.com/Nicole%20Hanna

Midnight. Bedtime. Deliverance.

tal-like

curled in the warm lips of sheets-

the cracked mouth of at least seven

dark Arabians swaddled, a camel caravan

three days deep in the desert. The center

in its palm, struggling and wet,

hefted as a Jupiter mount

below the left index.

The static of my house coat sparks

like May, its last great lightning, and the moon

beckoning one flesh to one flesh.

I am serious

when I say: let's strip off our clothes

pull at my hair and your hair like long

coconut fibers. Lean into me, subside

in my skin, hook your fingers

in my swift and flowing water.

Check her out.

A.J. Morelli, from New York City, New York, USA ...

with a new way to state a truisim.    You can find here:   

http://allpoetry.com/AJ%20Morelli

the grinding wheel

 

 

 

the dark air fills
with points
of light
thrown from
the grinding wheel

smell of rising smoke
and stars
and everything it steals

blinding light,
transforming heat

the single lesson plain

when something
touches something else

neither stays
the same

 

Check him out.   All visitors welcome.

Di is shy, so we have no last name ...

but she's known as masterblaster on Allpoetry.com:

http://allpoetry.com/masterblaster

Walk Gently Through Your Mind

That narrow path we walk within our mind,

We often feel we're swaying on the edge.

We seek alternatives, and hope to find

Solutions that will keep us on that ledge.

Each day we know we're wrestling with time

That battle that we fight, we fight alone,

We often pass from silly to sublime,

To wonder, if our sanity has flown.

The mind is like a river, it must flow,

The constant problems often raise a dam,

But strength and courage down it blow by blow,

We use them to the last and dwindling gram.

Walk gently through your mind,and do not fear,

For many times we're harsh, and too severe.

Drop by and check her out.   She writes marvelous sonnets.     ;)

Today we have Ryan Wicks, New York, USA ...

also known as ryanosauruswrecks on Allpoetry.com.  You can find him here: http://allpoetry.com/RyanosaurusWrecks#

Switches

Externally, the reactions are fluid

Synapses collapse with inward movements

Soothing condolences from glands undiscovered

Just cover the pain derived from another

Excretion of rivers to expose the issue

But dexterity is developed to utilize boxed tissues

Making shopping list complete, ending with chocolates

Salivating through dentals commences with talks of it

Noticing edging on hardwood floors

Unaware of testosterone when slamming doors

Payment for labor delivers you to the teller

Wishing you could tell her the definition of stellar

Endorphins commanding the pain of sharp blotter

When getting inked to pay tribute to Father

Speaking and reading, listening and demanding

Bi-lingual, uni-lateral, omnipotent, and branded.

Come check him out.

Robin Ouzman Hislop is co editor of Poetry Life and Times ..

with his Spanish wife and poet Amparo Arospide. He lives in Sheffield, South Yorkshire, UK, much of his work these days and further information can be found at 

www.poetrylifeandtimes.com/current.html, 

a bi-monthly online poetry ezine, submissions welcome.

Naomi Draw His Eyes

Naomi draw his eyes away.
He thought, as he sat there,
Before you with his lyre,
In the light of your golden hair.

He saw his shadow to the fire
Fleet & fly on flame like lightning
Struck. Naomi draw his eyes
Away, lay his head to rest,

Upon your honey dewy breast.
He is your lover, beloved & king,
Yet self has strange dreams to revile,
So lead him on to his sepulchral isle.

Check him out by visiting Poetry Life & Times.