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Wind

I want to be the wind,

the one that remains turbulent, chaotic, and free.

I want to be the wind that has everything figured out –

it may sound naïve now,

but I know it exists without a shadow of any doubt.

I want to be the wind that remains happy, and can do nothing else but just ‘be’.

I want to be a wind that doesn’t need any other weather pattern,

one that has the choice whether it is tame or unruly that day.

I want to be a wind, that fills my lungs with a fresh sense of escapism, and longing for what is to come.

I want to be a wind, that matches the passing of time, one focused on the present, neither on the past nor of the future rhyme.

I want to be that wind.

 

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Photo by Ricardo Esquivel from Pexels

#poem #poetry #writer #community #weather #expression #inspiration #longing

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CHANGES.

Racecourses gathering troops,

mardi arses all filling their boots.

Red glitter sticks and ignorance hits.

Anger, arrogance, and artificial energy –

all around for tid bits.

A “sorry” isn’t ever far behind,

whilst a young soul looks for a more harmonious kind.

Sweet diversions and distasteful verses,

merge on an incomprehensible wave of oppression and injustice.

Speak now or forever cement your words.

Carve a design into the maker –

You didn’t realise you are now the creator.

A soul lies in some shadow walls,

where the clinical air keeps the creativity at bay.

A hopeful destination after conflict,

lies waves and sunlight on the sea;

like sunny droplets and whirlpools floating, dancing, in some magical symmetry.

A world visible, opposite the mirrors,

where segments remain changed and converse with one another.

window-view-of-sea-during-golden-hour-2733955

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Created: September 2019

Photos:

  1. Walking through the sea by Elia Pellegrini on Unsplash
  2. Window view of sea during golden hour by Jeffrey Czum from Pexels

#poetry #poem #poet #writer #creativity #expression #changes #newpost #2020 #poetrycommunity #writing #mentalhealth #love #themes #imagery #freedom #thoughts #emotion

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Ego Delight & A Note To Minimalism

Hidden out of view, yet visible out of the corner of one’s eye,

the whispers of consumerism, materialism and advertising culture all

make themselves heard and known to the wandering view.

Shouting from the depths of creation and brought from the sketchings and designs of those thinkers and sellers,

it finally brings its heroin on the market for just a few quick easy dollars.

Easy money.

Whilst our environment takes the brunt of our spending, and the children in China continue working,

it’s all labour.

Even philosophers find their craft is now spending rather than thinking, discussing, and admiring their new discoveries. They transition from academia to industry.

A production unknown to them.

Instead of alcohol diets consisting of our regular whiskey, wine, or tequila,

We sip and consume the units per day of what it’s like to be a shopper.

Jokes made around the dinner party,

become the ‘usual’, with no real thought of how much spending was had that day.

Rooms we do not enter and so continue to be locked away.

The baggage in the corner sweats, festers, and lingers.

Both weeks and months pass, seasons flow, and the bag is not yet opened again.

We didn’t succumb to those cries we heard so long ago and they mourn for the consumer, for

we no longer need them either.

A sharper and tidier space,

A clearer mind and headspace.

Packing up,

Package out.

 

man-standing-beside-train-2365701

 

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Created: late 2018/early 2019

Photos:

  1. Group of people crossing pedestrian lane in greyscale by Paweł L. from Pexels
  2. Man standing beside train by Trace Hudson from Pexels

#poetry #poem #poet #writer #minimalism #creativity #inspiration #ideas #expression #emotions #2020 #capitalism #metropolis #consumerism #culture #writerscommunity #newpost

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Joy.

They were released.

The paint set expelled a rainbow after so many years of constraint.

A warm honey and bliss,

Lies between my chest and curvy hips.

Over my ribcage too – it sets me free.

I see the world now through my shiny vintage sunglasses;

I see it clearer than ever before.

I feel my soul matching the heat of the sun’s rays;

It feels like love.

Somewhere the universe heard my cries…

It heard the echoes of self-doubt, irrational guilt, and instability. It heard inaudible whispers of self-love.

Ready to face the world on my travels now,

It looks like karma has come full circle, and it has heard me.

I’ve got a way to go but before making my tea, I must first boil the kettle.

My soul is happy that I’ve heard my subconscious, before my hidden thoughts continued to be obnoxious.

I write this as an ode to you. You did it. You are enough.

I cried to flush the shitty stuff out. Thank fuck I did.

 

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 11th September 2019

Photo by Immortal shots – Daily from Pexels

#poetry #poem #poet #writer #creativity #experiences #love #themes #woodland #imagery #creative #development #self #adventures #innerwork #writing #ideas #expression #2020 #mentalhealth #consciousness

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Memories Of Love

You were beautiful from far away,

till your sweat and wet silky skin

dripped pods of false memory.

You sexted and teased me once more,

you made me imagine us together,

whilst I drew you from afar.

I danced and stripped for myself,

a sorta self love that I wanna share.

I imagine you watching me

and I feel no shame.

Watching and feeling your strong

hands caress my skin again and I 

feel you close; hard, hot, heavenly

erect, and sexy all at once.

 

“Give me my sin again” says Romeo

to his Juliet. The metaphor

continues.

It reminded me of moments like

these that I learned of as a child,

one where I dreamed of love.

 

My sticky, glowy, skin sparkles under

the first full moon.

Bask in the season of darkness

before the light comes soon.

Awake before my love and

awake from your gloomy state.

It matters no longer for you’re here

with me, 

for all we have to do is wait.

Listen to my heart beat now. 

It’s calm but quickens at the same

speed as the reflex at which my eyes

flicker and blink day-by-day. They

move in tune with my heart which sings when I see you,

and for my crotch which twinges too.

Move again under the bridge, and be

bound to me once more my love.

 

woman-standing-and-raising-her-hand-2996171

 

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 14th January 2020

“Romeo & Juliet” – Shakespeare (of course)

Roses Photo by Irina Iriser from Pexels

Woman Standing: Photo by Julia Kuzenkov from Pexels

#love #creativity #poetry #writing #expression #lovers #romance #newpost #ideas #roses #metaphors #thinking #lostinthought #emotion #themes #new #2020 #inspirations #feelings #poem #poet

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Lovers’ Skin / The Studio

She was hot and blushing.

She lingered and

leaned against him.

She remained naked and

undeterred by his presence.

A wall of beautiful flesh.

A goddess making her nest.

She poses in the spotlight,

as she waits

for the finale.

Lust. Naivety.

She’ll grow into her own,

she’s a woman now.

Mouse hairs continue

to curl on her neck,

attached to this sweating,

sexy, wreck.

She loves him

and she’s his muse.

That’s why when they’re apart,

there’s only ever blues.

Look by my window first,

when you come again –

you’ll find me there under the spotlight,

Waiting.

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: around 9th November 2018

Photo by Alexander Krivitskiy from Pexels

#writing #newpost #olderwork #studio #lovers #emotion #romance #2020 #creating #creavitity #poet #poetry

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Thoughts Left Unchanged

I thought I released them.

They persisted like colours in an ink bottle,

or paints printing themselves into the fresh H2o.

Lying awake in the subconscious.

Shaken and spilt,

onto fresh cotton,

fields, and fresh silk.

beds of Heathers lie dotted along the moors;

colouring our cheeks with a new blush and lip liner as we lay in them.

Brushed on our jeans,

the colour of love, forgiveness, and new beginnings.

Our targets were over the hills –

new opiates for us both.

Ones we created, love we must.

 

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 11th September 2019

Photo by David Bartus from Pexels

#blossoms #writing #newpost #2020 #creative #heathers #flowers #thoughts #emotion #creativewriting #ideas #unplanned

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Galaxy

Heavy sleepy eyes, and midsummer cries.

Radiating embers surrounding us,

we feel it. A warm magma.

Magnetism.

The little atoms and electrons orbiting our universe within a field;

A beautiful, creative space — the galactic centre.

We find the angels sing in harmony,

They disseminate and move quickly to protect us.

O’ the flows!

Chiming and shimmering harmonies –

vibrations down by a riverside.

I cried or ran,

I faced a conundrum.

Choice;

I chose by the riverside.

Nestled between our shoulders on blades of grass, situate the sunshine of stars. Not yet touching, but still so close.

~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~

(I had the picturesque landscape of the Haworth moors in my head whilst writing this. We take walks here every once in a while for the fresh air that permeates our lungs for the whole 9-10 mile trip. It reminds us of Kate Bush, her songs, and the Brontë sisters that once lived there.

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 5th February 2019

Photo by Simon Matzinger from Pexels

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Projections

A spectrum, a dome of perspective,

letting those windows see clearer

light.

~ ~ ~

Tumultuous waves

streaming down that face,

a rub better. Not always a kiss.

~ ~ ~

I was now inside the dome.

The same view as the rest,

and the perspective could be seen.

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 17th September 2018

Photo by Maurício Mascaro from Pexels

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The Woodland

Innocence vs Experience,

two polarising ideals within a space.

A woodland spectre observes the whispering chilly fields and

among the landscape lies a crowd of beings,

a foggy thick air.

My feet stick to the ground, and I observe.

A snapshot is taken.

Crumbly and separated, like chunky bits of sherbet in sweet packets — the fall was.

I observe the woodland where the trees connect,

where the whispers grow louder —

voices deeper in pitch,

and the day draws and becomes darker.

Her veil prepares the fog for it’s engagement and now imminent rest.

A landscape is still viewed

and a sense of nostalgia felt —

to witness the once innocent times of that life

that has grown up next to the nature.

The white essence of beings, on the other hand,

embodies experience within the trees.

The history that lays there still;

the animals, bear pit and blankets of moss,

all like coloured green felt tip ink,

all made its mark.

Copyright © 2020 Savannah Plain – All rights reserved

Date created: 5th February 2018

Photo by icon0.com from Pexels