e-Paper Poetry of Vinx

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Monthly Archives: August 2015


Eyin-nta, Eyin-nta
A tree witches don’t perch on
From as far as a child’s parent great grandparents
Standing rigid on the sands of thy fathers
Looking ordinary way beyond its protections
Mulish to all the evil acts and suggestions
Mystic says: witches don’t perch on it.

Eyin-nta, Eyin-nta
Spreading branches wide and long
On it, only god-birds sings a song
Sunny or rainy: its leaf drops
Like tears and sweat drops
From its fierce elastic stems
Mystic says: witches don’t perch on it.

Black Wilted Rose

Some Roses are warm red, pink or white
Soft smelling and often the cupid light
Sending arrows down the path of a fulfilled heart.

Though, if planted underneath the gravel
The roots shall to death be in ravel
Then it turns dark; black wilted broken in hell.

“I love you” should be a joy to hold
If given in freedom as a warm Rose
If not, thou have been dished a black wilted Rose.

August Moon

On a friday night
I drove slowly
Along tires path
Staring at the light
From a Yellow full Moon
Smiling faithfully
Because August begins as noon.

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