#michaelbogild

[goneahead]

A rain lily, weary from worshipping broad and stormy skies, fled the sun-warmed prairie gold, wandering deep into the blue shadowed northern hills. She tried being a cattail for a while, in a green shouldered river, and a yellow bright daisy, in a field of whispering hay. Finally, she just laid in sweet clover, and let the brambles of a wild dog rose grow from the restless seeds of her heart.

~~~~~

@michaelbogild thanks for the prompt!

@pseudomenudo thanks for tagging me!

[praggya1993]

The moon watches the ocean

In all it's resplendence,

Coveting a touch

Then drifting back in resignation,

So in tune with all her movements

A familiarity that surpasses

Lifetimes of creation,

The elegance dances

Night after night

In front of his burning desire,

He gazes as far as possible

To learn everything about her reflections,

Hesitant to speak out

The moon writes a poem for the ocean.

[justsaying40]

Finally the sun sets and darkness fills the sky.

I rise to the occasion shedding light on the night.

I admire my reflection on your surface, my beloved sea.

I feel my adrenaline rush as you gravitate toward me.

I pull you in with a seductive dance.

Spinning around you until your waves fall under my trance.

I use my power of titillation to take over your tides.

Now let nature take its course sit back and enjoy the ride.

[aloneforeverwithoutyou]

Tumblr doing it thing.

[marxsound]

ANOTHER OUTLOUD (composition for voice)

an orange Race races... blued then greening red lassoes... Red leaves Patience thinks about sex while Sex, Thinks and Brown wait in line at the new Bistro War and Death peruse the Sunday papers while Coffee looks at Porn on her phone

Somewhere blues into the Night the Red mist... Misty and sedative

“a Misty and a Sedative walk into a Bar ????” I AM SEDATIVE?..... FINALLY  shaped by another Hamstring Trimarran alas alas and a Lass alas alas alas and a Lass alas and a Lass and a Lass and at Last a Last  alas

[goneahead]

The dusk hangs between spring and summer. I follow the pup, boots sinking into rain-soaked clover, while the gleaming chariot of the sun is dragged lower and lower into the green distance of hills, until even the wave of pink-orange hoofprints left by her straining horses fades like a lost myth. I find myself in a mystical grove of black walnuts, their broad arms tossing up vespers to the evening sky, as the spirits of last year's harvest crunch under my boots. A choir of crickets sings hymns to an unseen moon, and one lone firefly slips through the shadows, a tiny winged prayer of hope and light-

@writtenconsiderations prompt: what we allow to slip through the shadows @michaelbogild prompt: mystic, dusk, spirit, shadow, distance, waves, gleam, myth

[hoezierre]

Tiny beads of substance,

You swallow with winter-dry throat

Because you want to live

To see another clockwork-day.

But the dreams at night

Shake your morals,

You wake up not knowing who you are.

Who is she that opens her shameful eyes—

A dilettante of lose habits,

Atrocious thoughts,

A woollen jumper of flesh, coming off

Strand by strand, vein by vein,

With no one around to knit.

She is a whore, a killer, a psychopath

Hanging desires like frozen old meat

In the cold storage of nightmares,

Tightly fastened until she sleeps.

Prompt by @michaelbogild