untitled Poem about Dandelions

A field of dandelions
Like Hope spread far out,
Filled with seeds
Puffy white wishes
Waiting for a breath;
Fairy wings and duckling down
Fastened precariously to the ground...
A field of dandelions
Waiting to welcome a runner
With heart open wide
Singing out wishes
To be carried by
Dandelion seed.

Poem_as yet untitled. Inspired by Senor Frita's style

Mismatched knee-high socks,
Right hand clad in a fingerless glove,
Hair half pulled back,
Coattails hanging to her knees
And a champagne glass hold grape juice

Lanterns like fierflies stuck on bright
Hang from the trees draped with Orange silk
And white lilies pool around rooted feet
She eyed the party
Music breathing in her ears
Wine red corset hugs curves
As if it were her date
Blue jeans and converses complete her attire

She stands out among
Tuxes and evening gowns
Mismatched knee-high socks
hidden from sight
A secret defiance
Accompanying blatant matchless-ness
She's an audacious proclamation
Daring the others
Forget me if you can
Daring them to do anything but ignore
Accept me
Rebel

Her mutiny is joined by one other
he sees her from across the lawn
Lantern glowing on neon hair
White dinner jacket gleaming
In dark and candle
A shirt in cotton candy pink and blue
Stretches over his skin
And leather pants encase his legs
Bare feet toe the grass
He raises his own glass
Blue cool-aid, unspiked
Eyes meet
Smiles bloom
And they are the only two
Wreathed in light
From mismatched socks
To neon hair

Across the lawn they salute each other
The only two to leave happy
For they are themselves
For they are together
For they are the Forgotten Rebellion
Brazen declarations of
The refusal to be ignored
Mismatched knee-high socks
Toe the line with bare feet
In lantern light
Mismatched socks the pair of them
But belonging together

Possibly "Rebellion of Mismatched socks" The imagery popped into my head. It began with what she was wearing and then the setting came into my view. And then he came into my head.
And then the ending about how the pair of them were mismatched socks but that they belong together came on its own. Nothing was planned. The only thing I changed after I wrote it (besides spelling ;P) was the line "A shirt in cotton candy pink and blue/Stretches over his skin" It use to be one line saying only "a pink shirt stretching over his skin"
THAT"S ALL>>>SUDDENLY MY SHIFT KEY IS STUCK> UH_OH>

Poem: "Poetry in Motion, in Meditation"

Running forward (or it is back)
Running away (or is it toward)
Running 'round in circles
Wiffle-waffling like feather down
On the undulating wind
And dead leaves skittering
On a time-frozen river of stillness

Silence muffling thoughts--
Noise drowning out the deafaning quiet
That makes you face yourself--
A walking meditation
Misplacing self out of body
Sight crystal clear
Yet strangely distant

Like poetry in motion
A beauty found only in passing
All emotion and impression
Raining down on the eyes
Like sunlight in springtime
All creation and formation
Spinning, spiralling, and undulating world

Her poetry is in Meditation
That she finds only in motion
Her running and uncertainty
Creating the world;
Her beauty like a poem
All contradictions and comparisons; silence and noise, motion and stillness

Her beauty like a poem

Poem_As Yet Untitled. Inspired nby A'net's "a small sunburnt shack"

It stands forgotten there--
Lost, alone, abandoned--
Where rain and frigid cold, winds and scorching heat
Ravage, weather.
It had been a home once
Now it no longer even deserves the title "house"
It used to be red and cheery, a hub of activity.
No more.
It has faded to grey--
The warped wood shelter only for termites who've carved their paths like tribal tattoos into teh flesh of the structure--
And lost more than half its shingles
The windows have been smashed, leaving
Gaping Holes
Like caves for dead leaves, dust, dirt, and the odd mouse,
The door the last memory as Home,
A tribute,
A sign for any weary wanderer to come and take its precarious shelter.
Roses border it, still faintly seen--
The only color left.
It waits patiently for the Return,
For the Homecoming,
For when feet will once again tread on hardwwood, thread-bare carpet, creaky stairs, and cracked tile
For when laughter echos down the halls instead of the mere faint echo of a memory.
It stands forgotten there--
Lost, alone, abandoned--
Ravaged by Time and patiently
Waiting