Push me over into the blackened junk.
Pull me up in silver fright.
Spin me until I’m out of sight.
I love, l love, I love
How you’d make me try.
With scales that hold all the lovely and ugly fragments.
With words that seem frivolous, And never define the trapped unattainable emotions I have inside.
Oh I love, I love, I love
How my heart can take flight,
In your remarkable sky.
You drag me down from
Barbizon coral’s might.
Oh l love, I love, I love
This gothic arcade sunrise
You teach me how to lay life down, from high above— like a wire walker.
For so long, I mourned with primitive bellows. A manifest of a nocturnal creature, I was.
To settle my night anguish, you brought gifts of lights; from color bands of moonstones. The display of my old soul: compassionate blues and purples, passionate corals, star flecks of gold, and the hovering cloud-space white.
This life, the 82nd time, I anticipate its release. To be again, in the garden spectrum of orbs, vibrating higher with you. Let’s reunite, before earthly rebirth. Familiarize our facet souls together, be intertwined in the ethereal expansion.
Photo by: Erin O’ Malley Poem: Naomi Ruth S. W. Music: J Tillman Crosswinds
I found the stars in puddles today…and poured them in my cup.
A cup of stars…
Washed down and warmed my belly.
It took the brown out of my skin
And turned it porcelain.
I thought I could glow like this forever,
But the incredible light burst forth from me
And dazzled into a trillion colors.
And this was what was left of me
Hues swirling through eternity,
To fill up countless irises
Of wishers and kissers of the night.
To shine upon velvety skin,
Of girls that I could have never been.
And when they bathe naked
They absorb my energy,
To color their cheeks rose
And their navels, for the tongue of a boy…That will love them.
Poem and Photos by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.
She thinks…”We are all skulls, jouncing in our heads. Destined to be a stone.”
She wishes…God would make her into an opal; as she’s burning her cells. Wasted on a nicotine fever.
Will she ever understand her sadness? And there is a heaviness in her chest, that shouldn’t be ignored.
Familiarize her death, as delicate as the monarch’s wing.
With all the ways she pacifies herself, still the memory…the mention of his name seizes her heart.
She will rise up, Be forever lost in the infatuated morning.
Poem by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W. Photo by: Naomi Ruth Saharski W.