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The angels' harps play a sacred tune,
while planets dance around the moon;
In subtle strains our spirits rise,
and leave us grateful and starry-eyed.

Recalling life as it once seemed,
this vision floated inside a dream;
In many days of endless chants,
the angels' harps cause us to dance.

When voices touch each other's hearts,
there's always a sign creating sparks;
And with that strong secure emotion,
then lives connect with pure devotion.

No longer chilled in fears of life,
all folks fly far away from strife;
The added wealth of kinship stands,
as children sing while holding hands.
Red & blue sage in remembrance of you
Gladiolus, carnations-
pink poppies too.

While foxglove protects
With larkspur and flax,
The windflowers wilt but always grow back.

White lilies for hope
And forget-me-nots true,
an innocence captured in their ambiguous blue.

Griefs Pink and white orchids,
Support’s crimson rose-
the healing of hyacinth,

flowers & prose.
written in  tribute, to the family of a good friend.
 Jun 2022 Kate Borlasa
Riz Mack
Be like the rain
unafraid to fall

Be like the sun
shining light upon all

Be like the wind
helping others take flight

Be the brave new dawn
after the dark stormy night
Be all you can be
See all you can see
D all you can D ;)
 May 2022 Kate Borlasa
Emma P
Sun
 May 2022 Kate Borlasa
Emma P
Sun
When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting
Twas dark outside on Christmas Eve,
alone he cried, betrayed, deceived.
Liars, hypocrites, backstabbing thieves,
alone he mourned, he was so alone.
Red jacket, white shirt, white gloves, red tie,
black pants, black boots, and a beard painted white.
Down, down the chimney, he slips out of sight
Was she hanging tinsel with some other guy?
He walked into the room his vision distorted,
each cough with blood his body contorted.
He dropped the bottle, then picked up the revolver;
it's time to decorate the Christmas tree.
JDMaraccini
2021

Merry Christmas
 Feb 2022 Kate Borlasa
emnabee
A philosophy
A daydream
A stream
A leap
A tiny thought
An observation
A declaration
An ode
A letter
A look
A light
A treat
A plea
Anything.
Just thinking.
 Feb 2022 Kate Borlasa
emnabee
Away
 Feb 2022 Kate Borlasa
emnabee
Lately
I don’t feel close
to poetry.

It feels elusive.
Unfamiliar.
Once it spoke to me.
But now it’s mute.

It sits back
and doesn’t look
at me.

If I call out
it doesn’t hear.

Lately poetry is
like that demon
I used to want
to reappear.
She stole my heart.

I found it
listed on eBay.
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