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El Amor – Nuevo Dia

Mexican Sunrise by Adam Romanowicz
Los colores rosa
Dawn’s blushing colors
La salida del sol
La gracia
   of grace
   taste like the first kiss
   of a beautiful woman
Tiernos labios de un beso suave
Pan fresco de aroma
   serving the fusion of fresh bread with melting butter and honey.
La fusión de la mantequilla caliente y miel
El amor
The love
Nuevo día
New day

For One Stop Poetry: Sunday Photo Challenge

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Crazy Days

How can I paint a self portrait
Lookin’ out my door these days?
I can’t remember smiles I had,
Now lost haze of craze.
Today is off its chain,
A maid with lazy ways.
How can I paint a self portrait,
In a crazy day like this?
Trains crashin’ off warped tracks,
People travelin’ to damn fast,
OPEC gas hikes kickin’ ass,
D.C. hidin’ all the facts,
It’s a crazy tinted day,
In a mushroom kind of way.
How can I paint a self portrait in a crazy world like this?
How can I frame my life inside a crazy world like this?
How can a smile and a hungry child exist in oil as one?
In all this crazy haze,
Imposter’s dressed in gray.
I can’t paint a self portrait,
Inside a world like this.
Unless I go abstract and scream
With cubes and strokes of black.
Picasso’s comin’ back
With vengeance in his hat.
Trains crashin’ off warped tracks,
People travelin’ to damn fast,
OPEC gas hikes kickin’ ass,
D.C. hidin’ all the facts,
It’s a crazy tinted day,
In a mushroom kind of way.
I won’t paint a self portrait,
Inside a world like this.
I lay my brushes down and grab
A hammer, nail, and spade.
It’ a crazy kind of day,
I think it’s time to pray,
In a serious kind of way.
Not a time for self portraits,
In a crazy world like this

For One Stop Poetry; Saturday Celebration

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Self Portrait

Antonio Mancini
The Sun
Commotion of self
Skirmishes with doubt
Institutionalized pastels
Zapped dark
Bold strokes
Chiaroscuro
The Moon
Cello vomits
Porridge and bread
Entertaining pedestrians
Contradictory notes
Flat then sharp
Frustrating interpretations
Explorations of id
Undress my conflicts
Of self portrait

(For One Shot Poetry Week 51)

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Proofs of Life

Charles Vest
Stardust serpents shy from light
Sacred etches spark old fright
Stories tangled in temple vines
Gossamer clouds slit moon sky
Threads of bone limp from sight
Proofs of life fade in night
Stardust serpents spark old fright
Sacred etches shy from light
Stories tangled slit moon sky
Gossamer clouds in temple vines
Threads of bone fade in night
Proofs of life limp from sight
For Wordle 9
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Cloud Trees

Cloud trees release their fruit to the wind
  a hundred feet above
  in fields of eternal blue.
Clouds are birthed in this grove.
My tears alone water these giants;
  until,
  that is,
  my sorrow runs dry.
But
  do sorrows ever run dry
  this side of  blue sky,
  this underside of clouds,
  where rain falls
  and orange mist rusts red bicycles?
I’d like to move to the sun fruit forest,
  but pay is better here;
  more job security,
  and I am alone
  to create cloud sounds for blue skies,
  and those who live downwind.
I need my trees;
  I’m afraid to leave,
  and the valley needs rain.
For Poetry Potluck
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My Andela

Our love was the real art
She torments me
In each city
Every house I play
She leaves her mark
For me to see
Even in Melbourne
Upside down
Ironic
She’s so smart
Our love was the real art
I left
She has a voice
She sprays in screams from pleading eyes
To change the way people bleed
If you listen
She whispers
I sold her out
We had a mission
But I had dreams to read
Our love was the real art
I left
In Prague
My bohemian princess
Her eyes still ignite
My passion
Now hid by my wallet
And silent
Mute and dumb
Blind to …
Our love was the real art
I left
In Prague
For gold
She has a voice
Even in Melbourne
Upside down
Don’t forget me she sings
Don’t forget
She’ll remind me again in Montreal
She’ll be painted on my door
Our love was the real art
I left
In Prague
For Gold
My Andela
My Andela
My truth
My soul
Note:  Andela in Czech means: Messenger from God
(For One Shoot Sunday. Prompt is graffiti. At One Stop Poetry)
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