2 posts
  • murryben 7w

    Nary a doubt must your heart murmur
    Whereby the creatures of the sky and land
    To feed on heaven's abundance in the
    Come forth my love, Rest easy your frets.
    In light steps must your form find me,
    Resting in sweet surrender inside Earth's
    sweet bower.

    'Tis here Gaia summons the wind,
    On a conch dazzling with rhinestones,
    And the sky in pearly reverence weeps,
    To witness her nameless divine. She walks in
    lithe grace,
    And the hills and mountains tremble in adoration, While grasses part in delight to make way for her gazelle feet.

    What gaiety must the sunflower feel,
    When the bees cluster to woo her affection 'neath the amber sun!
    What delight it is to have the wind kiss, my flaming cheeks the colour of a cherry!

    Anxious beats my heart, waiting for your footfalls. When your form finds my outstretched arms,
    I shall bedeck your tresses with stars and kiss away the city's smog from thine eyelashes and
    Poetry shall find us running among golden fields,
    Serpentine cities could never truly understand.

    ©Meri Murry

    @writersnetwork thank you for the lovely repost. Much appreciated ♡


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  • murryben 10w

    273 Days Later

    273 doggone days,
    The cat still licks my pink toes
    and purrs at me.

    273 doggone days,
    The coffee still leaves me gagging,
    Acid reflux's a sore treat for empty
    stomach you should know.

    273 doggone days,
    The October's sun still steals into
    my balcony at eight in the morning
    and I blink.

    Come heaven,
    Come hell,
    Some things just don't change.

    For instance the headline still reads;
    A kid kidnapped at gunpoint last night,
    A politician caught in his mistress's embrace,
    Hollywood and Bollywood sells meat for fame,
    This rumpled pyjama that sticks to my body like summer's slick sweat,
    And oh yes! This newspaper! Yes, this newspaper in black and white dotted ants.

    273 doggone days,
    My finger's been tracking days like tracing beads down the rosary.

    Some things just don't change,
    A rut of a life I'd sooner call a nuisance,
    And through it all I am alive,
    C o u n t i n g
    Just counting.

    ©Meri Murry