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BRILLIANT

Light of Life
                      Of love…
The brilliance of
YOUTHANDDARE
Magic
Twinkling
Vast ink
Cloak of Invisibly
Such visions in the dark
A lovely canvas
For the
Stars

Who shine
The Brilliance!
Of Love
Of Life
Of Love
Above

Youth & Airs!

Brilliant!
I wanted this poem to loop, to begin again at the end, brilliant.
 May 2018 Busbar Dancer
Mary-Eliz
She saw a flower, sensitive plant of my garden
She saw a flower, sensitive plant of my garden
it was the warmest, sunniest morning
it was the warmest, sunniest morning
Warmest of garden, it saw a flower in the morning
sensitive, she was my sunniest plant


The wind is blowing from west over the river
The wind is blowing from west over the river
The sky turns dark above the mountains
The sky turns dark above the mountains
The west wind turns, is blowing over the mountains
From the river above the dark sky


The city far away, the buildings tall
The city far away, the buildings tall
Disguise the green fields beyond the crowds
Disguise the green fields beyond the crowds
The tall fields, the green buildings
Disguise the crowds beyond the far away city                                  


The tall mountains, the fields, the sky above                              
saw a disguise of crowds over city buildings                                                        ­                
my morning, it was the sunniest beyond the west                                                             ­             
The green river she turns dark                                                             ­                               
The warmest wind is blowing from far away                      
Plant the sensitive flower in the garden
Paradelle: a form that was first presented by Billy Collins as an Old French form. He fessed up later that he had created the form. It is complicated but a good challenge!

When Collins first published the paradelle, it was with the footnote "The paradelle is one of the more demanding French fixed forms, first appearing in the langue d'oc love poetry of the eleventh century. It is a poem of four six-line stanzas in which the first and second lines, as well as the third and fourth lines of the first three stanzas, must be identical. The fifth and sixth lines, which traditionally resolve these stanzas, must use all the words from the preceding lines and only those words. Similarly, the final stanza must use every word from all the preceding stanzas and only these words."
We’ll steal their pensions and their land
Won’t that be amazing and grand?
And there’s not a stinking thing they can do.
We’ll blame it all on the opposition
Then take an outraged position.
They’ll elect our congress and governors too.

USA, USA
How many brown people
Did you **** today?
GOP, GOP
Which of your promises
Did you break today?

We’ll concoct a bunch of lies
And convince all the unwise
That everything we say is the truth.
We’ll fool the older Republicans
And win some undecided fans
Everything but the clever and the youth.

In no time at all, we’ll succeed
And underscored with greed
We’ll take this gullible country back.
The Democrats will help us to
Do everything we plan to do
Because the dummies chose to elect a black.

USA, USA
How many brown people
Did you **** today?
GOP, GOP
Which of your promises
Did you break today?

Our war against intelligence
Is really making a difference
In getting voters to not smell a rat.
The richest civilians are helping
With the lobbyists they’re buying
And we gratefully tip our MAGA hat.

They are letting us make laws
That defy any philanthropic cause
Except when we get our hefty share.
We deny them their health and aid
And needn’t be the least bit afraid
Republicans will ever become aware.

USA, USA
How many brown people
Did you **** today?
GOP, GOP
Which of your promises
Did you break today?
It's a teleological fantasy
This is getting out of hand
To love sweet Dis
Was all I could think

With purpose draining out of me
With purpled eyes that barely see.

Ah, purple! The color of royalty!
This fair spring air is choking me.

Each bead of magic,
Faetal symphony!
I lost this poem
Unto the sea

And you and I were just a dream
I'm self-defined,
Eternal reach.
The day
is the new ground
how should I tread
where's my joy to be found?

the day
is opportunity
but experience tells
there's deceit--to a high degree

the day
is the test
where's my wit?
how do I deal with the rest?

the day
has love grown stale?
where have I placed my heart?
have I lost my trail?

the day
is remnant of that before
the fine-tuning for the next
what's to follow--much, much more

the day
a new look at my self
what's the mirror hinting?
it says:  'delve, further delve!'

the day
why have some friends turned cold?
I have done no wrong
why have I been cheaply sold?

the day
my boss looks angry
I've given more than he asked for
do I deserve any acrimony?

the day
however upset or unhappy
I must revisit
the waiting garden of poetry

the day
it's sad but verily
its message is the same
where's the money?

the day
where's the morality?
your heart is your church
do you live kindly?

the day
mind your every word
and deed
they would be seen and heard

the day
the doing
that's right
is the true praying

the day
then the sunset
whom did you speak to
who were those you met?

the day
I've grown older
by a bit---night will set in
has it been a waste or wonder?
I met a girl once,
from some distant
antique land,
and she told me
that sometimes
Chicago winters burn brightly.

Her silent snows fell softly
on my sandy shores,
and her skies saw hues
that she hadn't known.

I wanted so badly
to take her hand,
but you can't really care for anyone...
until you've lost them.

I buzzed around her heart
for she had honey in her core
but it wasn't ready,
and when we said goodbye
I wondered if our paths would diverge
once more.
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