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My need to pack a bag or two for an exciting trip 
supercedes the urge to spend this hour writing
doggerel in hopes someone will think I am a poet

I’m taking more than I will need. I do it every time
And bring back brand new clothes still neatly folded
Having never left the suitcase or tried on at all.

My poetry is over packed more often than I’d like.
The need to make my feelings clear approaches
Supercedence over litereary form and rhyming.

and the chorus:

A pair of jeans and 4 tee-shsirts is really all I need.
I wondere why I bring so much - it puzzles me indeed.
I wonder also why I write long verses you must read.

I’ll try to cut the wardrobe down, take just one duffle bag.
I’ll try to use far fewer words to raise my poet’s flag
If this should work out either way, I’ll be the one to brag.
Running out of time for playing. But I'm having so much fun with BLT"s Webster Word Game. I can make a poem from most any word, but I can make a GOOD poem from very, very few.
Dreams have flown like startled doves
In the dusk of summer’s longing.
There is nothing left on the ground below
Except a silver feather and the echo of their cries.

When dreams were kites that sailed the skies
On winds of hope and effort
There were no tall trees to snap the line
And send them whirling through the branches.

When dreams were streams meandering
Through the meadows of our youth
The bubbling song they sang brought peace
And the icy water was refreshing.

But now a dam’s been thrown upstream
To fill a swimming hole for others
And only a little trickle makes it past
The banks that once were lush and green

But now are brown and sere.
The wind has died that lofted
Mythological creations up and
Dancing on the end of twine.

There are no birds in this parched meadow-
Not a dove or Mocking Bird.
There is no breeze or wading pool
But only tombstones carved for dreams
That lived in hope and died in cold reality.
I  wrote this several years ago and never posted it.
It is my most sincere and humble wish

That my absence for 3 weeks will not

generate a large Hue and Cry among

Those who cannot exist without my

Daily words of Wisdom and Sagacity

On this site that has become refuge

To so many of us wayward souls.
Couldn't resist this one. "You set 'em up and I'll zing 'em in" favorite (quote from some forgotten improve star of yesteryear)
Another entry in BLT's  Websters Word Game

Next Tuesday we will  begin a 19 day
driving trip.  It will start with a 5-day
Laurel and Hardy Convention in
Sacramento, CA and go next to my home
town of Longview, Washington, where
there will be a big annual Jubilee on the
4th of July.  It’s called “Go Fourth” and
it's famous over the Pacific Northwest.
I’ll visit my rogue brother who still lives
there, and later move on to my water
totem, Long Beach - the longest sand
beach in the world and blessedly un-
modernized and citified. From there
we drive to Seattle to get rained on
and visit my sister. Then the long drive
home enjoying everything there is to see
in Oregon, Idaho, Utah and Nevada. I
don’t have a laptop, or e-mail on my
phone so I’ll be out of touch and
relishing it.  But I will be back on 7/14.
I’ll miss you all. Don’t go away.
This word couldn't have come at a more propitious time.
BLT's Websters Word Game.  Come jin in on the fun.
Funny how it seemed to work.
I got up every day and did
Everything on my mental list.
I chugged and huffed along at it
’Til it was time to pull the plug
And see what sleep could offer.

I made new friends along the way
And lost a few for things
I did and did not do.
I had success and failures too
With mostly humdrum in between
But I managed to leave a trace of me.

Funny how I wound up here at last
Life happened unbeknownst to me
With things that came and went by me
Devouring hours and days and months
That blurred the seasons and my goals
And left me here unwinding it.

Would I go back and rearrange
The way I made my daily choices
If that was somehow possible?
Too much is unbeknownst to me
to chance losing all the good there was
To possIbly erase the bad.
I’ll let the past remain the past.
Always loved that word.  I'm a  life-long time logophile.
The screech owl hoots
Sad lyrics to a song
Only he knows the words to,
While perched on a bent willow
Tree in a time no one can recall
Or know the way to find again.

He is not lost or injured,
Exiled or reclusive, but
Where he knows that he belongs.
He’s hooting out his message
To a wind that rumbles in
From another era never
Spoken of in history books.

What could he be saying-
This sadly hooting owl?
The caterpiller knows and tells
But the butterflies won’t listen
And the mushrooms are all deaf.

The wind hears pleas
From elsewhere and is gone.
The bent willow tree has heard
And understands the message
But it’s roots are deep and
It cannot pull them up to move.
So the owl hoots his song to silence
And the only one who knows about it
Happens to be me.
I wrote it but I can't explain it. Funny world I live in.
An honest and fair election loss will surely cause the red-hatted people of the USA to foment violence on the non-red-hatted people and the institutions they serve and believe in.

A dishonest and unfair election win will foment the end of constitutional democracy as the non-red-hatted people know it.  The pitchfork and banner market will experience sudden growth.
BLT'S Websters Word Game.  Still batting for a home run. Foul to left field bleachers. tTree and two and bases loaded.
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