they miss the spirituality of the trees. the faint whisper of breath in oxygenated richness, the firm application of smoothness eloquently divine on the skin's surface. they miss the impartial breeze hitting blades of chloro-filled to the brim excitement of buds and the promise of another day. there's a reminder. a dancing metamorphosis barely young enough to hold unto the quaint swivel of the bark inching towards its cocoon, fluttering on the thin line of greatness. in the blink of an eye dismissed by smog ridden darkness electric buzz of cars and the flight of Starbucks cups filled to the brim of nothing, caffeinated the rush go go go, swiftly toes graze over grass enticingly as elusive engine drones to forget the brilliance of the sky. -b.r.rivera 12 if 30, April 2012 #30in30

I remember he wanted to marry me enclosed spaces shared tiniest of details How I suddenly became the girl of "we." that was years ago. End of a tragic tale. Even a ring was placed on my finger as a reminder for a day to with no pizzaz somewhere absent church bells ring old, turn and chime Something new, now blue. He said he would be mine. -b.r.rivera A   Rispetto . #30in30 Poem 10 of 30, April 2012

Had I known. Had I simply known. Had I looked into a crystal ball, eyes glowing all ablaze see the fuzzy memories ahead the future in a tell tale haze- I would have run. Run. Run so fast and so sweet I would have become the breeze A whisper of what is to come, I would have shaped this earth into ease Run so fast and gliding to the soil A moment borrowed from the past Tell the future me it was all a mistake and dreams do not last. Had I known. If I simply known. -b.r.rivera

I must disrupt this. Put a ripple to cast a thousand waves shaken by a moment. A whirlpool if no other gratified by the less reasonable gods, my nod  to the pickers of the hung backs and perhaps  plumbers ass from seeking seed from cherry.  This is my moment.  My epic John Wayne blacker than soul, blacker than hell, blacker than night to create a internal struggle with my insomniac mind teetering between dusk and when  babies suckle at their pacifiers, greeting the infamous Sandman that alludes me.  I must disrupt this. Cup of black rain and indulge what my nerves do not necessitate. I dare hesitate sniffing and grinning, my own silent treatment of alone time that I  hoard over like the last piece of meat in a dog's bowl. Do I even begin to be a little less cowgirl and more Ice cream parlor patron, sprinkling unnecessary sweet on the heavy cold world that tries to screw me over? I won't even give a strong nod to the  reason why I must sugarco...

to be a kid again. to have dusty knees celebrated by mud pies and overgrown grass graciously gliding upon the white t-shirts that made mothers angry when scrubbing our stains. to have that look within the eyes when lights are strategically placed to endure the Christmas snow, blizzards within the northeast which one has grown up to adore. to fall with the leaves and dance with golden corn built with bonfires and pumpkins upon a rickety hayride to wonder in a tulip and gaze upon morning dew when flowers begin budding against the frozen ground which was replaced by a new season. to be a kid again. to have no worries, no care no idealizations of the first and fifteenth the gas and electrical energies the over plentiful but once barren pantries and warm socks adorned with special trimming. to be a kid again. to wonder in amazement and find pleasure in double dutch flying bubbles, bicycles, dolls and action figures, playing grown up with play make up; now a blur of ...