Pink Pearl Necklace.

Pink Pearl Necklace; and heaven is this.
My island an afterthought mornings glow,
and pink sands there coral waves grow.
Happy are the oysters every night as pink
sand washes over them in your dreams.
Under water so clear I sometimes forget
and stay to long listening to the waves as
they sing your pink song.
Drifting with the currents of sleep pearls of
yours pink, slip off from beneath your neck.
Filaments permeate the strings of your
dreams leaving me behind on a pink pearl
necklace on this island you float on made of dreams.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Under Cover Of The 'rain

Under cover of the rain,
it does this too you some times
and under it we are kissing.
I let you touch my face,
which like the tidal pool has expectations.
Your song of love, this song and does each lullaby
and the rain is quite never has it slept, this silent,
swimming pools, i and you look up.
Full the swimming pool which in the night
when the ground it shimmers and makes some other song
which sleeps as music under your pink tin roof,
some times i think you are eccentric,
but the water made in France is too expensive, love.

poem by Is It Poetry
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You Don't Cheat On Him Because

He washes dishes
he feeds the kids
he gives you a bath
eyes closed
he cooks, he pours you wine
he makes sure you keep all of your
appointments on time
he is the banker
he walks the dog
he eats your fish
he walked into your eyes wide open
he makes sure you are clean clean clean
that you always fit into your jeans
he takes the children to the dentist
and the doctors while shopping
He never misses a pebble you drop
you would kill for someone like him
sane enough to admit it to crazy to deny it
you co-opted him his price was the cheapest in town.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Back And Forth

both are mine they both/know
that but it is salted palms
and that very small mask that hides it's nose
and thorns cause it to bleed my 'roses'—only 'lily' knew—no frowns he/him expanded her\you wash it off 'oh Sylvia' we are rich
with your pink of fingers painted color rainbows arc the sky'
as a finger moves it back and forth see the sea as it waves
a beautiful woman made of foam or of;
which hand is the nymph to splash her water- where he swims
pushing her heart up closer to mine
and both are fine pink salted pearls you wear around there.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Tampa

Tampa from those whom sent him,
the back section of their house.
The letter which is written never.
Each judge of his who reads.
Read long in the concrete box.
To be long it has died in remainder,
but because of a certain in order to short-circuit,
excessively why he would know.
There was and his et. al
above everything to they was there lie.

And From Tampa
They Sent him away,
never but always back home.
Letters never written.
Each Judge clever breed.
Reading in a long concrete box.
Too long to be dead

[...] Read more

poem by Is It Poetry
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From the Green Eye

Eye the river which is formed by why.
Eye as for the river my mind has been formed by the why.
From the green eye which is older than the last bend now strait.
Eye of the blood from one person the river of ancient times.
And as human as the world,
like the river you were brought up why deeply.
The dawn is young, for you why me who she is and I.
When hearing, rising up from the mud and singing.
The river which is formed by the first ancient why.
Ancient times, dusky river filled over in mist.
Eye for my mind,
like the river you were brought up to rise deeply, bloody why.

poem by Is It Poetry
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it is..a....Casual Observer

Watching women do everything
while men play god.
Patching quilts of time to harvest
lost joys.
Passing memories hands of love
washing minds
pains suffering bosoms must hold
creating more as men
always have.
Watching it happen worlds unwind
tangled more
it's knowing it is a shadow
powerless for whom the snare catches.
Landscapes running home to women
pictures
leaving books words
unbound
hidden found hidden sound she hears.
Rehearsal's dresses staged unzipped
shows flow and ebb

[...] Read more

poem by Is It Poetry
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a Lad on Fire

Being young and young in
green growth already being
in a struggle to understand
insanity and never understanding
the nightmare of burning the
finger like a green branch,
While the sap screams, and hisses
lost untill the smell is covered over
by her knowledge of him, and no
sorrow it was not in piety nor,
when the bubble was pierced,
and the tears flowed out and
that by giants could such be done
and death claiming him and sorrow
by her a great mountain of guilt that
even with my debt of forgiveness,
I cannot move and the guilt made
her worse, and no one knew it but me.

poem by Is It Poetry
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Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose

Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose) it
blooms in my heart that rose(upon
me that grows, no matter where I leave
my heart dear(it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love, I lay on beds
of them forever waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.

My heart is your rose, it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn, to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to crown the
the heart, as the sun heats them both, to feed
each root that folds my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose;

poem by Is It Poetry
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Summer Of The Unlocked Door

It is raised up from the dust this earth of the silver maker,
her for me it was higher than the arm could and yet
infused as the rose I scented, starry nights stretch out.
O dresses flowing silver, towards me, therein you reach
and it faces to each of us.
There is the petaled flower of which,
and you open freely as the sun without obstacle.
May the white leaf, the flower did not run off nor divide the silver
from that kind of rare silver; O it is white, it does become you,
your cluster, thickly with the veined branch,
summer of the unlocked door
and it has the fruit which it matures, do.

poem by Is It Poetry
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