Silky Flowers. . .Epitomes of You | Poetry Remix No. 49

Silky flowers . . .epitomes of you.

Decorated in delicate dresses.

Silky Flowers. . .Epitomes of You
Photo by Nikhita Singhal on Unsplash

I’ll draw you in pastures of loneliness.

Suns Rise to Parch Tears

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

The Waves are Crashing | Poetry Remix No. 46

The waves are crashing against shaded stones.
The salty air dries the brine of the night.
Creatures clamber, evading to their homes.
Skinny palm trees bend their hands to the light.

the waves are crashing
Photo by Jack Stapleton on Unsplash

I close my eyes, you drift into picture.
Disregarding all but our affection.
We’re so carefree, relishing this fixture.
Insouciant, relishing imperfection.

Let’s float apart, together, me and you.
Laughs. . . flirty glances. . . our envisaged cove.
Between the azure sky and ocean blue,
there’s the warmth of the sun, and of our love.

I close my eyes and I hold your hand in mine,
But when eyes open, you’re not here. . this time. . .

One Day You Won’t Recognize Me

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

One Day You Won’t Recognize Me | Poetry Remix No. 45

I sense one day you won’t recognize me.
They say to remember where you came from.
But I say sometimes change is meant to be:
To march to the beat of a different drum.

One day you won't recognize me
Photo by Yudi Indrawan on Unsplash

But only a still small voice inside knows
the rhythm of life soon to be composed.

I Thought You Were Dead

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

I Thought You Were Dead | Short Poem No. 111

They wheeled you out and I thought you were dead;
Your hospital bed mirrored a casket.
I ducked down and dropped my lips to your head.

I thought you were dead
Photo by S L on Unsplash

This season, I lost two people I love.
Appeals go up, if I’m able to ask it,
not to take this third soul, too, up above.

I Write in my Grave

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

I Write In My Grave | Short Poem No. 110

I write where I passed. . . I write in my grave.
I write in passing. . . there’s naught I can save.
Writing can sometimes rekindle my gall.
Can writing sometimes rekindle a crawl?

Would you ditch me here in this tomb to rot?
You observed me carefully mark my spot.
I sunk in sin, duped by a false lover.
What love grants you to die for another?

I write in my grave
Photo by Josh Miller on Unsplash


I grew in sin, became a false lover.
False love robbed you of me to another.
What’s reckless, what’s not. I deserve it all.
But cautious love will seize me when I fall.

I lie in my grave. . . I whisper your name. . .
Remind myself that love’s always the same.

Sometimes, My Only Friend

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.

Sometimes, My Only Friend | Poetry Remix 41

I hide in music. . . sometimes, my only friend.
Or poems, with my second friend, a pen.
They ease me to shut my eyes. . . drift away.

Your love for me is clear in lucid words.
But when you’re missed, there’s no words for the hurt.
Sometimes, solitary, I weep alone.

Please take away the way I feel, I pray. . .
Please take away this pain, every day. . .
Take away the way. . . take it all away. . .

sometimes, my only friend
Photo by Mak on Unsplash

I hide in the shadows, under your wings.
I hide when I muse too much about things.
But you’re always here, and that’s what consoles. . .

Will My Heart Bleed Through Pen?

© Jonathan Pines and WritingWithStrangers, 2019, except where noted otherwise. All rights reserved.