Image rights to Karen Glosser

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High 50s, sunny, and trees in bloom,

milkweed floating thru the air,

birds singing -

it’s spring.

But snow is on the ground!

Melodies of la la la-

float in a torrid dance,

the animals of the season play

with their offsprings.

But snow in on the ground!

Chilly water, green leaves, later sunsets,

gossamer tangled cotton candies,

girls with seedpods in their hairs

running and giggling.

But snow is on the ground.

Watch it as it melts through the day,

draining into the roots of the earth,

I smell the warmth of midday,

the season is changing.

The snow melted from the ground.

Image rights to Frank Cunha III

Image rights to Karen Glosser and Frank Cunha III taken with iphone 4/4s

Thank you Karen for the inspiration and the first stanza

Image rights to Karen Glosser

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As the colors of the day melt into darkness,

like curtains flapping from a gentle breeze,

the daily routine molds into canvass,

floating and fleeting through air with ease.

As the colors of the day melt into darkness,

sleep comes easy, like water on a stream,

playing with dreams that intertwine us,

blowing a whisper as we wake to the sun’s gleam.

Image rights to Karen Glosser thank you for the inspirational picture

Image Rights to Frank Cunha III

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Letters fall

like droplets of ink

from scribbles

and bold forms.

Each letter fornicates

with each other

agglutinating words -

hurtful or loving.

These offsprings

of the pen

make war or peace

assassinate or

build character.

At last,

these doodles

become intense

with emotions

falling like a waterfall

at the bottom of the page.

Drowning every line

with the smell of ink

loitering the nostrils

and a reminder of

powerful allusions

unfair and unmindful

of the spilled ink.

Poetry by Zorlone and Image by Frank Cunha III

Image from Zorlone edited by Frank Cunha III

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As one thing falls,

another grows,

From North,

this brave wind blows,

Ever gently

in the breeze,

It chose this day

to seize,

Follow not,

unless you are led,

Go forth and prosper,

it said.

If it’s proper,

don’t hesitate or wait,

In this, a frustrated,

scarlet state,

You must live

a life filled with faith,

But if you should choose,

just live it straight.

Co-written poem with Frank Cunha III

Image rights to Zorlone edited by Frank Cunha III

Image Rights to Michael Salonga

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White morning shroud,

cast a misty shadow upon the lake.

Masking the tranquil fluid,

with a freshness of a moments haste.

Shades of blue afloat,

an upside down universe.

Reflection of a place – remote

enigmatic and diverse.

Guided by surface tension

we push on the water and stride.

Gliding across the turbid lake

to rest a bit and just admire.

One whiff of the sulfur tinted air

from the Taal Volcano yonder.

A piece of limbo on barrels and wood,

drift as our spirits ponder.

Image rights to Michael Salonga

Taal Volcano is famous for having an island in a lake on an island in a lake on an island in the Pacific Ocean

Image Rights to Windwalker429

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Red or black? Red or black?
Black is black, and red is red.

Black is not red and red is not black.
Which color to take? Which color will rock?

Black is cool and red is hip.
Which color should I get for my Olloclip.
Red is fire, hot, and sexy.
Black is night, simple, and pretty.

If I get red, it might catch attention,
and black is like a spy, hidden from detection.

So the choice is clear,
and the choice is fair.
I’ll get the black one,
to finish this fun affair.

Image rights to Windwalker249

Thank you Rosanna Martinez for the lens

@rowsiept

Image Rights to MjYj

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I grabbed your desolate hand
to fulfill a promise
broken in the sand
with blind tears
and soundless
fears.

You quickened your angry pace
to leave behind emotions
that filled this desperate space
with my lonely heart
suffocating from
this dust
filled art.

I pleaded for a moment of conversation
with reason and longing
but no words took action
out of my empty throat
scourged by the
ink of the letters
you wrote.

There was an eternity
of indecision in our shadows
that remain like drawings
on the wall that could not follow.

Image rights to Frank Cunha III USA

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I left

the silent gaze
of your sympathy
Stepping ever slowly
on shards of glass
as I walked away

I bled

from the cut
sliced skin
of my decision
to grow apart -
from your side

I cried.

The thoughts
of your kindness
that I disregarded
and abandoned
from fear
of leaving behind
a life that I knew.

I am sorry.

Photo by Zorlone - Philippines Edited by Frank Cunha using Snapseed and Photoshop - NY, USA

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Figures, forms, random, and repetitive,
Sequences of space and time -
shape stories.
Seeing, being, and occupying space.
She senses the essence of being there -
from here.

On her device,

Looking and being, mind, body, and soul collapse.
Sequences of space and time.
Patterns forming,
and changing.

Calls dropped, missed, and gotten, but never forgotten.

Soul retracted.
The other person listens.

Talk.
Talk.
Talk.
Walk.
Walk.
Walk.

Sequences of space and time come and go,
Her phone call – done,
her essence – gone.
Soul patterns on the floor,
only her soles,
remain.

Image: Zorlone Edited by Frank Cunha III

Poetry: Frank Cunha III and Zorlone

Another collaborative work of Frank Cunha III and Lorenzo Bernardino. If you enjoy this, please also take your time to like it HERE.