3 poems from “Lolo’s Mystic Visions Poetry Boutique” by Lorraine Moretti AKA Lolo, Gypsy Beatnik Priestess of Poetry

Moretti Willow Seasons (Must Be)On the Moon

She flashes an infectious full-beam

smile spins and chases the dream

her body is twisted around a rock

in which pomegranate seeds

are suspended and everything

ends up a startlingly deep red.

It’s sexy. It’s in her blood.

 

We like to explore the roles of her memoirs

females males combinations thereof.

“When I was born my name was

Pretty, Wine and Drama Queen a

fantasia covered with sea foam and

fresh flowers fruit trees and birds

and animals and all different things a

whirlwind as the caves formed and

all the rivers that run through them.”

 

When she was young she

moved to California for her adventures

she is Superglobal full

of longing to create a happiness

and/or a love life to take root (route)

as she gardens next to the tray of

shells mixing the powders

with wind-induced tears to

work It as a reality flow to the brain

that Mystery lurking around

all the corners of the blocks

as we emerge into

the streetlight night

and it’s alright

your mind is free

so luminously.
…and the names remained and multiplied throughout time.

…and it was really cool to be her.

 

 

The Ancient Magic of the Earth

On a woodland journey while

gliding upon mists roads bridges

It decides to show itself to them.

 

A chef and a filmmaker

gathered ingredients

on a round patch of sand

scattered with crystals

inside circles of air

inside circles of emerald

inside circles of gold

splitting a bone in half

they begin to see things

in the trick of space

next to a fallen tree

right at eye level

they make shameless

prehistoric love like porn

stars a leopard is watching

and you can see the elephant

these blessings from nature.

 

They stayed

filling the area

with their shapes

their shadows

for about two days

two seconds

two eons

finally burst out laughing.

They’d healed it.

They’d nailed it.

 

 

The Shift

Awoken by a cold sweat covered in morning dew

while the planet becomes torrid with volcanism

evening fogs now have the capability to plummet

to the seafloor bright storms hold court at dusk

but nobody knows what that means.

 

An angled shaft of sun just west of a winter of heavy snowfall

ran in the other direction and at the beginning of summer

a feeling of relief washes over gardens and waterfalls

It came driftin’ the women and men couldn’t believe in prophets anymore

but nobody knows what that means.

 

The vegetation is thicker here everything is alive with the Energy

we watch a slender green vine snake wind through the grass

with a voyeuristic glance that says o you again and

truly captivates in a single moment of thought-form

but nobody knows what that means and yet, is perfectly understood.

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