Suspended moments between the lines,
  my mind now lost in space

Sublimated syntax buried deep,
  my spirit free to race

The light unfiltered, the sound of horns,
  my body starts to rise

The ink is calling, my pen in hand,
  new words at last—arrive

(Villanova Pennsylvania: March, 2017)

With the reception I'm getting from you
I might as well be in Timbuktu
It's a growing feeling of deja vu

All my words you misconstrue
I tried to explain till in the face I'm peacock blue
One of these days your gonna get whats due

And life, on you is gonna chew
And spit you out like rancid stew
Then maybe you will feel bad for what you do

Treating me like a pair of old brown shoes
Walking on me until your through
An apology is overdue
Don't give me that look you know it's true

With you every thing is a hullabaloo
I think I'll find someone new
With them I'll move to Kalamazoo
There my life you can't askew

©Pauline Russell

If you want to be an oak,
think like an oak,
not like an acorn.