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Is this what old age
Is talking about
And why am I the last
To find all of this out
That my due North
Is heading straight  South
With all of my hair
And most my teeth falling out

For me gradually
Losing my sight
Saving me from
What I'd rather not find
The wrinkles to
My  drooping eyes
As the younger me
Dawn's an old age disguise

I seem to wheeze
More now than I breath
Check out my pants
Each time that I sneeze
When did my thoughts
Pack up and leave
Taking with them
My precious memory

Is this what old age
Is talking about
And why am I the last
To find all of this out
I used to be king
But somehow lost that crown
The only other thing....

Now what was I talking about?
Dear star, neighbor of my broken, but adamant  singing heart,
All I wished here in this life disguised as a journey man
Trekking through the meandering wild, forest paths,
Extended moors and misty, dangerous marshes,
Was rooted in the faith that we would meet and connect
With our inner fire and get to gather together our band
The cosmic adventurers at large,each in a disguise  willed.

I kept on searching for the parchment, the papyrus scroll,that has
The secret missions of our lives encrypted, in an ancient script.

Yesterday at night a thunderbolt told the truth,like in days of yore
In pouring rain standing on the river side,wonder in my eyes,I got
The glimpse of a cauldron, floating down in the surging current,
That has all the answers we seek all though this journey fantastic.

As if by magic, or is it a plan we never know the karmic reason,
The scroll of papyrus came flying and sat on my hand, like happened
To many before us, I am sure, and I guess, knew nothing to do with it .

Come home soon, let's learn from this scroll of man, who we are
And the cryptic code  will tell us our kinship with all lives around.
Part of us is in the realm of fantasy
I set my mind to random thoughts
Then held on tight as they took off
Didn't take them long to be out of here
As they sped across the atmosphere

Grabbing other thoughts along the way
For more to think and less to say
The random thoughts that I once had
Did all this on the day they left
We attempt rescue, unable to bear
the stardust-coated dragonfly
beat, beat, beating
frantic on the glass.

We entice him to perch
on our extended lifeline-broom
nurse him in a box, where he flutters
quivers, lies quietly blue.

My son cries bitterly
as we place a minute cross
upon the dragonfly grave
while intoning our final goodbyes:

We honor those who have fallen victim
to this fatal architectural trap, lured
by skylights of enticing white-light death
and the paned illusion of freedom.

In admiration of winged determination
and perseverance in the face of futility
we carefully tend the fragile, curved bodies
lay them here to rest under the mock orange.


years of gauze-weighted detritus
swept beneath these ponderous shrubs
a reminder - what seems like freedom
                                                         ­           often isn’t.
We lived in a house that had outdoor skylights.  Insects would be lured by the light and die trying to fly through the glass that imprisoned them.
I hated those skylights...

Hey lovely poets!  Thank you so much for being a supportive, amazing group of people.  I'm truly honored that you take the time to read my poems.  The Daily is just icing on an already sweet cake.
: )
Do you think she still loves me
Do you think she still cares
Do you think she remembers
That I was even there

Do you think that she misses
How things used to be
But above all do you think
That she thinks about me

Do you think we could ever
Get back together again
If we took it slowly
Starting over as friends

Do you think there's enough
That we could mend
Or is the fabric of forgotten love
Too tough to stitch

Do you think that I'm putting
Too much thought into this
Should I give up the ghost
Let go of the past

Do you think there's a chance
That I'll ever forget
What we once had
What do you think
She likes to blow up balloons
Matching the colors
to fit her mood
From envious greens
to the saddest of blues
Sits in a corner
blowing  balloons

From runaway yellows
to angry reds
All of the colors
leaving little left said
Blowing balloons
to the thoughts in her head
Till there are no feelings left
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