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 Mar 2019 Emeka Mokeme
Crow
we do not write poetry
we write mirrors
which are held up
to curious faces
who read
looking for their
own reflections
The harmonica that gets into you
and the tumbleweeds that roll
past you
when you know the West won't last
you
look East to find a future.

Cowpokes never or if they did they never told
and I'm too old to be a wondering now.
There she would be
Under a spruce tree
Wild and free
Like sand at sea
Holding the waves frenzy
Filled with so much spree
Scenic and capri
Down to earth to thee
The rain and sun give her glee
Moon and stars zzz
Her roots are key
The door to the tree
A foundation to the marque
It's branches and leaves agree
Knock on wood she be

Logan Robertson

1/03/2019
Applaud the efforts of the Audubon and other conservativation groups that save the forest and trees. This preservation preserves the carbon, which the lack of such, as we're seeing, contributes to climate change. The roots of the tree goes beyond majestic, myopic and metaphors it can make man moralize.
I have fought my demons
And hell to win my freedom
To discover me and to fall in
Love with who I found
My love for myself has not
come out of vanity
or a sense of entitlement
It came
because when I hit rock bottom
I was in so much pain
I could barely breathe
he would not allow me
to give up
I found him  
I fell in love with him
And
I’ll never  covering him up
or reducing him
to make others happy
I promise him
to always be his safe place
Without being his cage
For I am forevermore
In love with the man
I’m becoming!
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