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A crescent moon
creates sublime
mountain silhouettes

Against an unclouded
background dome
that is the Milky Way

Beneath which cool
vigorous breezes -
carrying scent of pine
and highlands river -

Drift over underbrush
where crickets sound off
in their perfect pitch
monotone.

And sitting here
on the wilderness threshold
I await
philosophical and literary
inspiration, but
- nothing.

So, simply a nod
in gratitude
to the unadulterated
vista.


- fr
Never feel you have to apologise for your faith, child,
it was my doing, I led you with bonds of love, into a seeming desert,
but you and I both know, this seeming desert is where we are increasingly , becoming one.
The inkwell black of night
holds its soft glove of evening
up against the window

as you open it
a gentle cool curls in around ones neck
and on ones face
soothing the wrinkles of day away
stilling the heart beat
silencing the mind
and plunges  your whole being
into its embracing void

the breath becomes slower
and sweet air fills the lungs
you sigh
and stand quite still
time stands still with you
it is your friend
your ally
your closest understanding

your present reason for existence
where more or less doesn't exist
nor up and down or sideways
all is whole
contained
yet there is no container
no form to this whole
it just is

Margaret Ann Waddicor 23rd March 2016
you have made it as a poet
- when the birds in the garden
ask for your autograph
Let me out I want to play, no I have to work today. Eighty hours this week alone, I am not sure when I will be back home. I fight with myself in this grown up rat race. All my inner self wants to do is play. At the end of a decade I see the wear and worry. Lines in my forehead and lines in my face. It is time for us to switch place. So I let the inner child come out and play. We get to work on time and leave early once in a while. I see the world in a different light that I used to do. I wonder why it took so long for me to let you back in control. If we let our inner selves out more often, perhaps it would be a better place to live and play.
 Mar 2016 Elisa Maria Argiro
Matt
What am I doing
On this planet?

Really?

I just spent a half an hour
Or so lounging
On a yoga mat

In a park

Like I always do

I didn't work last week
Maybe no jobs
This week either

I'm poor
Oh well

Put my long pants on
Because it was cold

One day,
I'm sure

All the big countries
Will start a big war
religion should be about hope
not putting fear in other people's souls
should be about about peace
not about starting wars
about forgiveness
not about punishing innocent hearts

imagine all the people living life in peace

but how can one do this when bombs are thrown
instead of love
when moms cry
and children die
peace is impossible to be seen
when music dies and we hear only desperate hearts
praying
begging
wondering why.

we have different Gods and rules
our prayers sound different
our holy books are not the same
and
there are many sins in our souls
but
you're not God, nor am I
and none of us should play
the game of washing sins away
with spilled blood
and shed tears.
I feel pain for all the victims of bomb attacks.
He pulls away, precariously balanced
above the raucous creek slicing through
the campground’s city-like togetherness

she protectively hovers, hands cupped
inches from his slender back, prepared to grab
honoring his need for independence

the crooked lodge pole leans
toward what little sun is bestowed
upon it by its larger brethren

a mother, a child
a tree, a stream
soft light.
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