Melted and moulded

Like a phoenix the fire burnt me

With the winds my ash prevailed,

Mixed with water they painted their heads with my ash while going for a war,

The war which is supposed to be fought on the wax grounds,

Wax will flow from the waxed wounds,

And when the wax surrounds

I’ll grow from wax,

My roots will be wax,

Wax will be my trunk,

So let me be a flower of wax

Which cannot be burnt by fire,

Which cannot be drowned by water,

Which cannot be dried by air,

So they molded me like the earth,

And heated me by their sins,

And hence I’ll melt again,

To be moulded​ into a meteoroid and will fall on some other lifeless planet,

To be moulded again as Gods,

As Adam and Eve

As the Eden’s

As the guy Darwin who will put a drop of me into ocean to get solidified with the immense calmness and pressure of the Ocean’s bed,

Hence I’ll rise again as life, to be moulded and reshaped for millenniums into civilization,

To be melted again on some war grounds,

To be moulded into a phoenix of desires,

The whole universe will rise from my ash,

And will be moulded from my wax,

round and round.

Escaping the water, fire, air

Just to become earth for a war ground.

Hour 1 : HOPE

The fire of her love

Why makes me cold

Like sea water, so bold

Acts as a protecting glove

The wind of sighs

Ultimate heaps of cries

Enhance the life with emotions

Love is the mother of commotions

On the earth; where we sow

A day will come, together we grow

 

Earth, Air, Fire, Water

Puzzle pieces so small, singular in composition and form, but ready to grow forth.
From these, creations are endless.
Worlds come, not from great bursts of sudden creation, but alterations of minute importance, piled atop each other for infinity.

Earth, solidity upon which everything from metropolises to grass can grow.
Air, that gasping layer of ever-shifting matter so ever-present and gentle as it fills your lungs, but also explosive enough to shatter the roof above your head, or tear a home from its foundation.
Fire, warmth that beats back the frozen emptiness which grows within your bones, and a cleanser of evil, painful memories, and that which once grew and lit the land of the living with its presence, but now must be interred among its native soil.
Water, cool, refreshing, and life-giving when pure and true, but all too ready to absorb and carry along the filth and scree of our creations and mistakes.

This world on which we live was already built for us when we got here.
There are wonders of natural beauty in every direction or eyes can see, and beneath our feet, waiting inches from our fingertips,
If only we would decide to explore this erratic, invaluable, complicated, undiscovered, unending, tactile, and beautiful world on which we live.

Quintessence

Extend your hand until it touches
my skin or until the sand falls through
extended fingers, caught by the wind
and blown to the distant sea.

I have longed for your touch but I
understand it is nothing but carbon animated
by fire and blood and a cloud of angry
electrons, impossibly distant.

Some say we are nothing but stardust,
so why this keening for what is lost?

The fifth element lies within, buried
in the reliquary of my heart.

 

Hour One: Smoke

“the smoke is bad today,” she said, “so hard to breathe. I almost called in.”

our black cat drinks from her water bowl that I change out every other day.

Neighbor, Jim, waters his two hundred plus varieties of dahlias, shirtless wearing just shorts and boots.

“the fires in Canada are spreading,” she said. “the winds push the smoke down across the border into our bay.”

our white cat curls into my lap purring, giving me kisses and soft bites.

The Red Wine Apostates

We don’t get around much anymore.
The Northland signs tell us
who’s had a bad shopping experience –
even after the lot around the corner’s
been mown and lot sale signs placed,
no one’s had the audacity
to remove the
Beware Gladrents
in its crooked, angry, thick red scrawl –
and those unopened eateries
beckon our delight
to finally yelp
our indignation
once our fine, elephant minds
pull our husbands out of the car lots
and grocery store lunchrooms
in time to change their Dockers and loafers
for shorts and sneakers.

We have it soft here
(even if our arms are sun-mottled).

The city looks so dangerous anymore.

Poem 1 2017 Elements

Fire Blazes smoke rises
Fire Burns ashes forms
Pitch black smoke rises
Thunder rumbles aggressively
a sense of fear enters

The wind and water rages
it harnesses a feel of fear
yet a sweet smell of nature
the blues are yet to come

swiftly along the night sky
whispers a new feel
something of a fresh start
a new savor of sweet aroma

earth is about to burst
with the lush and slush
of a brand of light
that know one has ever seen
such beauty in sight.

All rights reserved copyright(c)2017 Roxann A Harvey

Poem 1 – The Hula Girl

The hula girl dances

On the windowsill

Driven by the fire

Of the sun,

Passed, by the clouds

Racing in the wind.

She knows not why

She dances.

She will never feel

The earth beneath

her plastic feet.

She will never

Submerge herself

In sparkling waters.

She knows not

why she dances.