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Jo Barber Jul 2018
I fell in love
down by the shore,
where the water was sweet,
and the air even more.

A field of sunflowers
stretched out before us.
You plucked one
and placed it in my hair.
You said I was beautiful,
and I believed you.

Lazy days of chain-smoking
and drinking too much
made me melt like butter.
I was lost and now I'm found.
I was alone and now I'm not.

I found myself at the end of myself
and forever continue to do so.
I stole the ending from a previous poem of mine, but I think that it works better here. Thoughts? It still needs some work, but I think the bones of it may have potential..?
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Charming and beautiful,
glowing with iridescent youth,
they swarm about me
in their languid days.
Some wear all black.
Others adorn themselves
with baubles
and rainbows of color.

No matter how fair their skin,
or clothes or speech -
no matter how rich
or poor they were born,
they are all the same.

The clock ticks for each
at an indifferent pace.
Jo Barber Jul 2018
I have as many flaws
as there are stars in the sky.
Mine are not nearly as beautiful,
yet I love them just the same.
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Roaring skyscrapers.
Businessmen shuffling papers.

Beautiful women with stilts for legs.
Maids making rich men's beds.

Runners swoosh by with grace.
Everybody a brand new face.

It's all too easy to leave no trace.
Dear God, what a place!
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Don't let it define you.
Wield it as a weapon -
as both sword and shield.
Be happy for no reason,
so that there will always
be cause for joy.

Don't let the noise of others
drown out the music that is you.
Jo Barber Jul 2018
Stars in sky,
Plane flys above.
Lightning thunders below,
Flashing and dancing
From cloud to cloud.
Silence and darkness,
Then an explosion
Of light and expression.
A Colorado summer night.
Jo Barber Jul 2018
A women boarded the same subway stop as me today.
She wore a white, flowing shawl with tiny purple flowers on it
that stretched down to her knees.
She reminded me of my childhood and of my mother in her thirties.
She held a grocery bag with daffodils in it,
and I felt she was something rather special.

Perhaps we had been joined in each other's lives
for these fifteen minutes,
for some strange reason,
much unbeknownst to the two of us.
I tried to figure it out,
but ran out of time,
and as we emerged from the station,
she walked north,
and I went east.
Maybe I'll never know.
Maybe she was just a woman
with a white shawl and purple flowers.
Prose-ish poetry. Thoughts?
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