She’s a Chameleon

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motorcycle

 

She’s a chameleon,
the worst kind of drama queen —
beneath those jeans and high top boots
you’ll find silk lingerie.

She’s a champion
who’ll out cuss, drink and fight
outlaw bikers twice her size and weight
to come back for more.

A mouthwaterin’
straight razor totin’ mama
who won’t hesitate to cut you
if you do her wrong.

If you treat her right,
show her the respect,
she’s earned, battled for and deserves —
she’ll always have your back.

A chick with attitude.
black leather on the outside;
soft, sensuous and so smoldering
when the lights are dimmed.

Remove those high top boots
slide down her tight tattered jeans
there’s a devil in silk ready to pounce —
a chameleon, a seductive angel.

 
 
 

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Paradise

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couple2

 

paradise
our embrace
a timeless moment
never forgotten

cool water
laps our bodies
a fiery cauldron
burns our loins

forever
never enough
to experience
skin on skin

perfection
of appearance
the matching
of passion

our gaze
penetrating
as bodies
join

 
 
 

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Night Birds

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imgres

 

summer
sweet oceans
of silent surrender
cry with me
fly with me
birds of the night

soft is their serenade
lovely like lemonade
share with me
bare with me
into the light

high fly the night birds
coming to carry you
winging and singing
longing to life

 ever and never
and lifetimes together
tease with me
please with me
lasting the night

your soul
with my soul
was half
now is whole

 
 

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The Willow Guides My Way

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In China,
Kuan Yin (who represents compassion),
is sometimes portrayed holding a willow branch
symbolizing her capacity to bend
in the face of the most fierce storms
and winds of life
without being broken.
 

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I was lost, but now am found,
was fear, but now am love —
from sunrise to compassion,
the willow guides my way.

Sunlit days and starlit nights,
seasons change from green to gold.
Blackbirds perching row on row
await the winter’s chill.

Worrier to warrior,
completeness is my quest.
With each breath out I die,
breathe in, I’m born again.

I was lost, but now I’m found,
was fear, but now I’m love —
from sunrise to compassion,
the willow guides my way.

 
 

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Spirit

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floating

 

Sun shines through
a pickerel sky,
loons
rock on the water.

I feel a presence
by my side,
hear whispers
and some laughter.

I know that if
I turn my head
I’ll only see
the cedar.

My eyes I keep
on trails ahead
in hopes
that I might see her.

Spirit, you fill
my heart with love
yet, nowhere
can I see you.

A glimpse (perhaps),
or in my dreams.
I long so
just to touch you.

Your hand to take
within my own,
my lips
to brush your fingers.

Please grant to me
this simple wish.
I’ll remain
forever grateful.

 
 

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Now and Forever

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evening

 

lavender breeze
through lilac and lace
evensong, windsong
let’s find a place

just off the trail
look for an evergreen.
memories we’ll make,
beyond what we dream

soft on a blanket
from branches hang lanterns
raspberries, blackberries
shadows make patterns

stars in the night sky
just us together
kisses will find us
now and forever

 

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Black Lace and Lavender

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sunset

 

fly with me,
cry with me,
black lace and lavender.
hold me, enfold me,
long into the night

lay with me,
play with me,
rivers to oceans,
cedars and saplings,
such sweet summer sweat.

astound me,
surround me,
astonish me ever,
sweetest surrender,
for now and forever.

take of me,
taste of me,
succulent sorceress,
drown me with kisses
’till dawn’s early light.

 

 

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Lover Boy

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fabianperez09
 
 
I knocked softly
on her apartment door.
A sexy voice called out
“It’s open. Come on in!”
I entered the dimly lit room,
hazy with cigarette smoke
and incense.
“I would have greeted you in the hallway,
she said, “but, as you can see
I’m not dressed.”

I sat on the edge of her bed,
luxurious with gold
bedspread and pillow covers.
It was not a bed for sleeping.
She lay there languidly
in a black camisole
and black, thigh high,
fish-net stockings.

Between blowing puffs of smoke
she said, “So, what will it be, Lover Boy?
The usual, or do you want me
to add a little spice?
I think you should beg me.
Get down on your knees,
show me how much you want me.

“Did you bring me a gift?
You know how much I love sparkly things.
You did? How nice!
Do you think you deserve a reward?
Come closer, don’t be afraid,
Lay your head back.
I’m going to take away
all your troubles.”

 
 
 

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Lovers in Another Life

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forest

 

Lovers
in another life,
(separated by circumstance).
I was your sun, you my moon.
We vowed to meet again
in this life or the next,
We often met in dreams
now, on mortal plane.

Softly,
my moccasins
tread the forest trail
(you promised you’d be waiting).
Behind an evergreen
I hear you giggle,
(rustled branches part)
then your face is seen.

Your feet are bare,
eyes, dark and smiling.
The light of love is blinding,
rivals the sun in warmth and hue.
Twisted in your auburn hair,
fragrant blossoms
dripping dew.

With cries of joy
I’m welcomed back,
your open arms embrace,
while silent fall my tears.
Natures symphony
in harmony —
music to our ears.

The heady scent,
your delicate breath
(blackberries)
falls gently to my whiskered cheek.
A soft, tender, gentle kiss.
Our tongues touch —
a moment
of timeless bliss.
 
 
 

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Panhandling

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A woman waking up on a sidewalk in Bijapur, In...

A woman waking up on a sidewalk in Bijapur, India, under a Pepsi advertisement. (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


I sit on the sidewalk,
my upturned hat
in front of me,
hoping for spare change.
I’m forty years old.
I look older
because of the beard.
I’ve been on the streets
for twenty-two years.
I sleep on the sidewalk.

 

The sun is blinding.
My throat is parched.
I’m vaguely aware
of people walking past.
I feel disoriented,
light-headed.
I can’t remember
when I last ate.
I can’t remember
much of anything.
My life is a blur.

Occasionally,
someone will throw
a quarter
in my direction.

Some jerk just said,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I said.
That’s a joke!
Most people
won’t look at me,
let alone employ me.

If I sit here long enough
the cops may run me in.
At least, I’ll get to eat.
I’ll be safe
for one night.

.

 

Sleeping on the Sidewalk, Atlanta, Georgia

Sleeping on the Sidewalk, Atlanta, Georgia (Photo credit: Wikipedia)


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Familiar

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Ebernoe_Woodland_Path
 
Familiar words
echo through the woods.
I’ve committed them to memory,
of places far and deep —
places travelled
in my sleep.

Familiar dream,
fluttering poplar leaves,
yellow and green in noonday sun —
beautiful face behind a tree,
flirting, smiling
back at me.

Familiar voice
(a giggle sometimes)
startles me from reverie —
a sweet, fragrant, lakeside breeze,
and mournful singing
from the trees.

Familiar path,
in darkness I tread —
lifetimes (maybe more),
holding love within my heart,
whispering your name —
you lead me back
home again.

 
 
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hand in hand

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hands
 

we walk
hand in hand
beside wandering streams
towards the ancient caves
where we have gone
before in dreams.

the touch
of your delicate fingers
against mine is electrifying.
gently
I raise your hand
to my mouth,
sense the essence
that I have come to know.
take each finger
deep within,
taste the ecstasy
that is
your skin.

I hear
splashing sounds
of water spilling over rock
“Come,” I say, “Lay with me –
in love beneath the stars,
let’s live the dream –
the story
that is ours.”

 
 
 

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Black Capped Chickadees

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chicadees

 

chickadees
bounce as a pair
from branch to branch
they flit through the air

curious about us —
unable to fly
when their’s is the realm
of the endless sky

we hear them often
chick-a-dee-dee-dee —
so comforting
these little puff balls
so loving and free

 
 

 

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dandelions

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images-4

 

dandelions, dragonflies
soft summer evenings
skies so delicious
i reach for a spoon

whispers in cedars
voices in willows
blanket of stars
beneath the tall pine

puff balls and rune stones
tell me our future
forever home —
the welcome mat out

loves me, loves me not
words hide the answer
longing remains
the key to my dreams

.

 
 

 

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Steps of Stone

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“We planted you, we nurtured you, we protected you
until you became a mighty tree that spread through our
hunting grounds. With its branches you now lash us.”
– Mississauga Chief

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Steps used by the Rideau Lakes Mississauga
Band of the Ojibwe or Anishinaabe Nation , for
traditional Sun Dance and other ceremonies.

I sit on ancient steps of stone
by myself, but not alone.
The presence of ten thousand souls
imbues me with their joys and goals.

The steps lead to a sacred place;
for Mississauga prayers and grace.
They danced to celebrate the sun
before the white man and the gun.

I seek what they sought; love and peace ~
for wars around the world to cease.
To live a life of nature’s plan
in harmony with fellow man.

In harmony with living things
and everything that nature brings.
I sit on ancient steps of stone
with souls to guide me on my own.

 
 

 

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Squirrels in Winter

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Occasionally,
Antonio
joins me for coffee.
He tells me
the most wondrous stories.
Sometimes,
I think he makes them up
for my benefit.
In any case
I am honored.

 

images

 

Have you ever worried
about squirrels in winter?
I see them climb over snowdrifts
with their bare paws —
they have no winter boots.

I see them stop
to tuck their tiny front paws
into their armpits
for warmth —
they have no mitts.

When it rains
I see them huddle
under trees,
they still get soaked —
they have no raincoats.

They have no pants,
no dresses, no hats,
no warm winter coats,
no shelter or fires
to warm their bodies.

Even the homeless men
whose beds are the sidewalk
have sleeping bags
to keep them warm.
Squirrels have nothing.

Still they remain cheery,
hopping about
gathering nuts,
Who knew
it was such a hard life
for squirrels in winter?

 
 

 

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Danced with Angels

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images

 

I’ve danced with angels —
the horizon and my heart
smouldering and blazing with fire

I’ve heard songs of sirens
crooning, moaning, lamenting
orgasmic cries of ecstasy

I’ve followed woodland nymphs
into secret, sacred circles
of overwhelming abandonment

I’ve flown with the chimera
beyond the astral plane
felt her fire on my loins

Like butterflies, they dance
to each erect, expectant flower
coming with their love

 

 

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it is your song…

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song

 

unassailable circumstances
compel me to extend my reach
beyond the here and now
to the timeless eternity
of the cosmos

it is the fluttering of my heart
(the fluttering of your heart)
that leads me blindly
into the darkness
of the night

it is the sound of your sigh
(rustling spears of grass)
that urges my footsteps
along lonely lanes
to oblivion

it is your song — so haunting
(moan of the midnight breeze
sailing seas of wheat)
whispers my name
so melancholy

It is the dark thunderheads
of approaching storms
that bid me take you
to my heart, my soul,
forevermore…

 

 

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Prufrock

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prufrock23
 
 

While pondering Prufrock, and his unanswered, “overwhelming question”
I consider my world of insecurities,
the fourth dimension,
the meaning of life, of afterlife, how high the sky, how deep the sea.
A lot of questions; but, most of all, is that woman looking at me?
And if so, why? Is it admiration? Perhaps my fly is undone.
Is she smiling or snickering? Are my clothes too tight? I’ve just begun. I like to think I’m individualistic, independent;
not a slave to the crowd. My clothes suit me – rather vintage, resplendant.
Or, am I a joke?
Is my style inappropriate, my hair too long?
The words float in space and, in my head, I hear the music to a song.
I’ll admit some insecurity; a lot of insecurity —
more learning, more questions. I like to think of that as maturity. I openly seek, and appreciate, the approval of my peers.
I know that contradicts;
but that’s the way I’ve become throughout the years.
It is impossible to say just what I mean!
It is the sum of who I am, what I’ve done and where I’ve been.
I’ve had much more than my share of restless nights
in one-night cheap hotels.
Unlike Eliot, I consider myself more of a new age seeker. Yes, I have heard the mermaids singing
and no, they do not sing to me.
I have become the watcher, putting in my time, dreaming of the sea.
Infinite waves, at times lapping at the beach,
or crashing on the shore.
Sometimes, I think that life should have more meaning,
that I could be much more.
I have accomplished what I could – “cat will mew,
and dog will have his day.”(1)
As always, the beautiful women smile, and chatter, and walk away.

 
 
(1)[1600-1 Shakespeare Hamlet v. i. 286]

Phrases in italics are quoted from The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock by T.S.Eliot, one of my favorite poems. What I like most are the daily observances, recollections, distractions, insecurities and the questions.

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Fire for the Mind

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A House is not a home unless it contains food and fire
for the mind as well as the body. ~ Benjamin Franklin

Iceland’s earthquakes and volcanoes,
blackened skies, smothered crops, starved livestock
left already poor families
destitute, no means for survival
in a harsh unforgiving landscape
of glaciers, scarce arable land;
only rough terrain for the grazing
of sheep and tough Icelandic horses.

Canada invited immigrants
to settle its prairie provinces,
unite the country from sea to sea.
They needed farmers to break the land,
plant and harvest wheat, barley and rye.
They offered passage by sea and rail
and provided implements to farm,
tools and supplies to last the winter.

In 1900 they left their land
of fire and ice for Saskatchewan,
my Grampa, Magnus Ingimarsson,
and Gramma, Vilborg Gudmundsdottir.
In sea trunks their priceless possessions:
the Lutheran Bible, Prose Eddas,
writings of their distinguished authors
and poets. They had but little else:
household goods, language, culture, courage,
thirst for knowledge, fire in hearts and minds.

Their first shelter dug from prairie sod;
oiled paper, no glass for windows,
scarce logs supported sod for the roof.
The first winters were harsh with freezing
temperatures, driving snow, blizzards
so fierce they couldn’t see their hands
in front of their faces. Many died
walking from their farmhouses to their barns;
but, they persevered and made their home,
tilled the soil, planted, harvested crops
and, in time, became wealthy with food
and fire for mind as well as body.

 
 

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Heartache, Old Friend

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fire2

Heartache, old friend,
pull up a memory,
let’s sit by the fire,
drink a toast to the past.
Remind me of dreams
unfulfilled, unforgotten,
soul without substance
denied ’till the last.

She’ll blow me a kiss
as the train leaves the station;
twin silver rails
lead straight to the stars.
We’ll do a few orbits
buzz constellations,
perhaps a layover
at Venus or Mars.

Bring out the map
of trails untraveled,
of paths not pursued,
and deeds left undone.
The time’s growing short —
tomorrow comes early —
left the last sunset,
I’ve not yet begun.

 

 
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Dear Silver

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john

 

Dear Silver,

I miss you
(your cap on the sidewalk)
panning in front of Starbucks.
Your regulars miss you too.
Out of respect,
nobody’s using your spot —
Joy sees to that.

Eventually,
someone from the family,
(someone you’d approve of,
maybe Little Jake)
will carry on
where you left off —
serving ‘good mornings’
with a side
of smiles.

I miss
our conversations,
seated on storage boxes —
you’d light a cigarette,
sip your beer.
We’d discuss friends,
adventures from your past,
the Chateau Lafayette.

Some of the guys
were too upset
to attend your funeral.
I know you were there
as the group congregated
at noon, with the snow falling.
Albert still cries
at the mention of your name.

Sometimes,
you’d sit alone on the curb
as Shaggy barked.
I’m not going up there,
you’d say,
that damn dog
is barking her head off.

At those times
we’d wonder what you were thinking —
just staring off into space.
That’s just Silver, zoning out,
somebody would say,
He does that,
sometimes.

 

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The Happiest Guy Alive

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So, I’m panning
in my usual spot.
This suit walks by —
in passing he says,
“Get a job!”
“Hire me!” I say.
“Take a shower,” he says.
“I may sleep outside,
that doesn’t mean
I don’t wash —
I wash all over.”

“Hey,” I say,
“if you’re so successful,
why do you look
so unhappy?

“I’ve made the price
of my bottle.
I’ve got some smokes,
a little pot.

“Me, I’m the happiest guy alive.”

 
 

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My Name Is Hippo

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fatguy

 

My name is Hippo,
I’m an alcoholic.
Joy was the first
to call me Hippo.
My face swells
when I drink beer.
I guess, I look
like a Hippo.

Before that
they called me Farmboy.
I never lived on a farm,
but, I come from
a farming community.
I guess I looked
like a Farmboy.

Why do I drink?
Welfare asks me that
all the time —
I’m also homeless —
I don’t know why I drink.
I have bleeding ulcers;
I shit and puke blood.

I drink because
that’s who I am.
If I didn’t drink
I wouldn’t be me.
If I didn’t drink
I’d die…

 
 

 

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Morning Star

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Morning Star, Evening Star
North guides the sailors
count us our blessings
long into the night

weave me a blanket
made out of moments
dreams of discovery
adventures now past

will me, be still me
arms be my cradle
comfort and kindness
within your caress

sing me forever
that place far away
close as a heartbeat
our home where we’ll stay

 
 

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Betrayal

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images-3

 

I look into your eyes,
grey with tears and sorrow
from the Arctic Ocean.

I feel your hurt deep inside,
hear your thunder,
see your rain.

With your fist at your chest
you open your heart,
tell me of hardship,
betrayal and pain.

I listen
with my heart
as one who has been there.

With my arm around your shoulder,
as a brother,
I urge you, to act with patience
and with love —
to be LOVE.

.

Note: Alphonse took his life, by hanging, 21 October 2015.

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Lost Brave

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images

 

a lost brave
leans against a building
(tho he is unwelcome)
beside a busy walk.
everything he owns
fills a pack
upon his back

he is far
from his fishing boat,
an ocean teeming with fish,
from the majestic forest,
from his children,
his clan

his eyes reveal
a story of hurt and pain –
the uncertainty of the city.
a sidewalk for a bed,
charity of strangers
his only grace

a challenge
every day –
a new beginning.
beyond the fire
that tames his demons
the only plan that matters
is to survive

far from home
he can scarce remember.
a lost brave, fighting back tears,
pride in the knowledge
of his ancestry,
his place –
his blood

 
 

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When She Starts in Walking

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woman

.

When she starts in walking, guys they stop their talking.
Their minds are on just what they want to do.
They can dream, scheme and taste it coming true.

She’s got their attention, nothing left to mention.
She knows their minds; she’ll use that on them too.
She’ll lead the way and they will follow through.

She knows what she’s doin’, may lead some to ruin —
casualties, but what’s a girl to do.
Oh, my dear, such a pity, what to do.

Always calculating, lots of time for waiting;
a chump will come along, they always do.
I’m sure one’s coming now, maybe it’s you.

She knows to set her hook; she’ll do it with a look.
She knows he’ll take the bait and then he’s through.
He’s hooked now and squirming in the queue.

She has him on his knees, all he can say is please.
He’ll do her bidding, thinks he’s got her too,
but she’s casting her hook for someone new.

She’s got what she’s after; all that’s left is laughter.
She’s cruel and conniving through and through.
You watch out now, she’s coming straight for you.

.

 
 

Inspired by Bob Seger’s, “Her Strut”:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Oi6BESTbQT8

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Pileated Woodpecker

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Pileated Woodpecker

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while sitting at a table,
enjoying afternoon tea,
in the shade of a cedar,
a Pileated Woodpecker
dropped from the sky
to land in front of us.

his red crest, jaunty,
black, military uniform
with white piping —
a Sargent Major
standing at attention,
inspecting us,
looking back at him.

he paused,
reflected,
saw all there was to see,
found us wanting
then, flapped away,
leaving an after image
of black, white and red
against the pines.

 

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To My Wife

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married

 

How do I articulate our two and a half decades together?
How do I calculate the trust accumulating each day?
How do I enumerate the hugs that send me off and welcome me home?
How do I evaluate the warmth of your smile
and the treasure of your company?

The special things that give me ultimate enjoyment are
meals that you so lovingly prepare,
dreams and plans we create,
support we share in times of disappointment and tragedy,
enjoying nature, walks without speaking a word.

These are things that seem to defy pretty words and phrases.
No rhythm, rhyme, consonance or assonance could improve on these.
No amount of wealth, position or power could equal what we have.
More important is knowing you are here for me
with love in your heart.

 

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