PostPoems Be Artistic. Be Creative. Be Inspired!

To keep in a hot car a beagle

is in most states illegal

but since some humans do

animals eat

it's not unlawful to keep

pigs and cows in freezing or 105

degree truck heat

Roedd gwl dathliadau Mai dydd;

Mae'r wyl uchod yn ddithlwyd, nghymru er mwyn arsyllwi. dyfodiad Haf. Nid yw Mai dydd yn coffau equinox neu hauldro'r.

Yn hyrach ei fod yn afeniad a ddefnyddir, Yn tan: tanua i droi buchesi gwatheg o chwater y Gaef; tanau i gynnau'r fordd er gyfer y gwatheg, tanau i lanhau ymaith clefyda a allai niweddio y fuches.

Tanau gyfer Baltan a elwir hefyd, yn Beltane: a fflam yn tan; ar ayfer defadau puro derwydden au Haf.

Gwyliau tan Mai dydd eu cynnal a rhwysg mawr a seremoni.

By Anita Griffiths (Welsh language translation)

Mayday Celebrations

The above festival was celebrated in Wales: in order to observe the arrival of Summer time.

Mayday in Wales is not to celebrate equinox or solstice.

The Mayday festival in Wales is a custom consumed in fire: fires to turn out the herds of cattle from Winter quarters; fires to light the way for the cattle; fires to cleanse away diseases that may harm the cattle.

Fires for Baltan also known as Beltane; fire and flame for the Druidic  purification rites of the arrival of Summer.

The fire festivals of Mayday celebrations were carried out with a lot of pomp and ceremony.

By Anita Griffiths

like porcelain shavings

her skin began to crack

like a feather floating on thin air

she's losing strands of silken hair

the mirror spits back 

all the qualities in which we lack

like needles in our eyes

poisoned with vain lies

she savored the quiet moments 

devoid of conversation 

the sound of still breathing

the footsteps that followed him leaving.

the closer I feel

the further you fade

the more I crave

the less you feed

so I chose not to need 

a single thing..

will there ever be a solid bridge built to cross..?

a river below, to toss our fears away...

voices muffled, as she sank deeper

yet no hand reaches.

sunshine streaks through the surface

the only warmth you'll get

engulfed in cold fluids

& a heart weighed down by loves disillusions---

many reminders of what could have been..

all alone

she knew it all along..

The pressure inside

when you and I 

are together 

builds and builds 

with every glance, 

every wink, 

every smile. 
But when we touch,

the pressure becomes too much to handle

and I erupt

like a volcano.

The molten lava melting

over my heart,

my lungs,

my brain,

heating every inch of my body

in the hot magma that is you.  

warm thighs wrapped around full submission to thievery.. gift of self wrapped in thrusts of emotion..

urgent hunger as life force funneled and shaped into the ram pounded tinto wall of distance between us as bodies meld together..

sensations rise to blur between lover and loved as boundaries of touch spread out into the ether to embrace me caress and know me as the warm winds know the blades of grass on a cold ground..

feel the dance of my kisses upon you as i seek warmth in the touch of your face there graceful curve as snuggle into warm lips as they wrap around the parts of me to be tasted and felt and listened to..

they sing to you as you wrap around all of me to be a home for this wandering soul after a hard long journey to find you there..

Save me from what I’m becoming
Fading from what I once was
Into a shadow of what I’ve been
Breathe life into me once more
Revitalize the ghost in the machine
I have become
Like a shadow on a cloudy day
Not living
Not dying
Just existing
I want to burn
Than feel nothing at all
I want to freeze
Than feel the chill of my own apathy
I want to die
Than just exist
I want to live
Than just watch life
Give me a purpose
Show me a meaning
Save me from what I’ve become

Oh mourning Dove, why are you mourning, Love?
Can’t you see how I empathize with thee?
The evening’s done and all that’s left for me
is a rising sun and its hot curelty
the warmth he brings does make me sing,
but like you Dove, I do
want to rip off my wings.

A bathe in the rays leaves us in a daze
while the sorrowful band just plays and plays
That good morning tune has more solemn in June
as the morning Dove mourns
the scorched rows of corn,
crack beneath my feet,
I inhale the scent of wheat
burned in this heat,
leaving us with none to eat

Oh mourning Dove,
Where summer nights had life
the summers rest is death,
the Earth’s warm breath
that causes sweat to drip
and minds to rip,
that pours down trees,
no shadows to be seen,
but leaves the land scortched and torched
and in us hopes of Summer Nights
not close enough to make things right,
but mourning— oh- Dove,
your sweet song sings along the cautious shades of blues,
fading out of view,
you lament the loss of summers true Boss
and as the curtain of night is drawn back,
we await summer’s daylight attack.

Cobalt storms; not azure skies,
predict changing seasons.
Vague ambiance of lies,
waltz with fated reasons.
So tug upon the corners,
try to veil the smile.
Gather all ye mourners,
weep for her awhile.

He knows that she flows,
rivers channel deep.
But ocean's floor below,
caress his troubled sleep.
Golden pair;wounded dreams,
silently entreat.
Moments slide between the screams,
stranded in the heat.

She can't draw inside the lines,
of howling winds deranged.
And up ahead; ominous signs,
the highway looks so strange.
But he can hold her brave will;
in his hands so tenderly,
not even strong enough to still,
his mind she cannot free.

He is the lust to breathe and fly;
his wings stay unused,
within her voice; an angel's sigh,
but the melody, confused.
When questions birth insanity;
saline begs for more.
But he can only hear and see,
the vision behind the door.

And he will toss; and he will turn,
until his eyes are bright.
But in the loss of orgasmic burn,
the other sighs in the night.
He cannot wait; the world is open,
quiet, he leaves the bed.
Heart is faith; pulse is broken,
but his soul must be fed.

With trembling hands;he gasps to feel,
her curves and body light.
Silken strands and he must kneel;
to deliver here tonight.
He hears soft cries;for all too soon,
the other is in pain.
As his soul dies; behind the moon;
denying need again.

Have you ever had to choose;
one over the other?
And you knew that you would lose,
giving up one lover?
Life is a composition;
he strives to hear the source.
He must create; orchestrate,
passion is the the force.

When you read this piece of art;
you may think me wrong.
But I've heard the rhythm of this young man's heart,
and the music keeps him strong.

As he grows closer to his wife;
it's the stuff dreams are made of.
But from now til the end of of his life;
he's alive in guitar love..