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ADELAIDE Independent Bimonthly Literary Magazine / Revista Literária Independente Bimensal, New York / Lisboa, Online Edition  

 




 

 



 

 

 

 

 

FALLEN SEEDS
By Donny Barilla

 

 

 

 

 

Fallen Seeds

Sweet juices pooled about the floor of my mouth.

I snapped the apples skin and felt the floods slap across my tongue.

Pulps sauteed the parchment walls of my throat

as I opened this rivulet as a gash only to thicken its way

down the beard of my chin, neck.  Walking through the grove, I

sat beneath a tree which offered a gown.  Quiet shadows of the Autumn

burgundy sun flickered calm dancing lights which rested upon my eager skin.

I wandered through the nearby pasture.

Glazes of fallen leaves and chipped acorns

pressed in anticipation under the thick of my boot.

 

 

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                             
Stooped to the Lilac Bush

The sky was a cotton shroud of thin grays
and ribbons of the glancing moon.

I walked through the yard and felt the velvet
jade colored grass stretch around my hooking toes.

I stooped to the lilac bush.  I smiled.
Dew droplets gleamed upon each flickering leaf

which cupped as a endless ocean cove
aware of salts and white rippling waves.

A thin patch of grass and a neighboring crouch
of slender onion sprouts fondled the rushing winds.

I turned, faced the gushing scents of mint,
sweet the pressing gusts from the north swabbed across
my limbs and wavering silky hair.

Straight into the thick of night
I wade through blades of green and pausing dew.

 

 

 

 

                                                                                                                                          

Dreaming in Autumn

I loosened her garments.
Leaning forward to the window, she showered
in the fabrics of the Autumn sun. 

Maples shred each leaf
and quivered the loss of sapling and buds.

Softly, I placed my lips on the nape of her neck
and gently her fragrant scents stretched across
the bed, sheets, and pillows of down.

She livened the emerald moss as we walked
deep into the thick of the woods
which bathed us in mint and humble jasper.

Paused, we lay on the carpeting of leaves, reds and browns.
I fell upon her in the creams and milks
which fell on the ripe fruits of thigh and abdomen.

~

I awoke to the scents of coffee.
The window rattled as a tea kettle.
Fog dripped in grays and fallen beads.

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author:

Donny

Donny Barilla writes poems daily as is his custom for many years. Common themes are: nature, love, sexuality, mythology and spirituality. He has recently published his first book titled 'Treasures'. Proudly, Donny, is a native Pennsylvanian and tends to draw inspiration from the beautiful surrounding his great state offers.

 

 

 




 




 

 

 

     
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