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 Jun 2024 My Dear Poet
Marie
perfect
 Jun 2024 My Dear Poet
Marie
she was born a half formed thing
holes in her soul
not enough effort left over
to raise her better
in her gasping wet breaths
she tried to be smaller
but only swallowed more
becoming lovers with her failure
missing the eyes and ears to know
she reached for an absent future
only learning later
she was made in the perfect shape
of their shame
 Jun 2024 My Dear Poet
Chips
Harsh winds blew through,
In this cold, vast biosphere,
As I alone,
With none but my molted feather coat,
And these webbed pink feet,
Trudged across a paved way in snow,
To a place unknown.

Where lies my new colony,
With newfound friends,
And a family evermore,
Where I shall bear my soul!
Unjudged and beloved.

What an adventure this will be,
Surely not pleasant,
But one rough and obscure,
Where the malicious seals and skuas wait out to ambush.

Eager I was,
To be set free!
“The bright and bold”,
They’d say,
To us,
The youth,
The birds of times to come.
In the eerie hours half asleep
I heard my name in a soft voice.

It was a wake up call I couldn't resist
The jungle was in dark mist
The night ending but morning was still frail
The call was to tread on the fallen leaves trail.

The trees were shaded dark the sky was pale
Every bush was where the shadows fell
Quiet was the air our heart tautly tense
We tiptoed our best, and it made sense.

Tweet of early birds didn't sound sweet
Danger awaited at all sides to meet
We strained ears for the slightest sound
The jungle a romance on a perilous ground.

On the dry boulded river shapes were deep
Moving in a herd crawling to the steep
We stood frozen on this other side
To let the distance between grow wide.

Years have flown and whenever in the woods
I see my father's figure in jungle brood
He wakes me up and stretches his hand
We fly through the bushes in jungle land.
Humbly dedicated to my father who was an avid walker in the forest in the wee hours of the morning. It was on such a trip he met with an accident and died.
The humans didn't stop there
though the words did
circa 2520 AD.

They harmonized love
into a seamless pattern
of expressions.

Once they realised
words were only confining them
they wove patterns of smile
and wove them into faces
(lips were almost discarded)
sewing as many expressions
of joy, sorrow, happiness
and not the least
despair and disappointment
patterns for which were hard to make
as men had all along learned to hide
the brokenness of unattainment.

Freedom from the shackles of words
became the most manifest expression
on their faces.

One pattern was never woven.

Men had since made redundant
the emotion of hatred.
right
you like
her smile's bright
skin's tight
and she's chesty

Swipe
left
he's hefty
his nose, a balloon
like a Flintstone cartoon

Swipe
for a match
to land a catch
there's a rolling batch
of new pictures to

Swipe
like a line dance
to the left
to the right
did he use a filter
or is he a bodybuilder?

Swipe
your future is in your finger
Mary Ann or Ginger?
2
Humans became the dominant of every kind,
When they turned from muscle, to using the mind.
And to their apex, they started to reach,
Giving up instinct, and learning to Teach.
These notes may be the longest, thing I ever write on this site. This poem is dedicated to a teacher who got me interested in poetry. Ninth grade English class. MS Babttista had just on a Friday, announced we would begin a study on poetry, the following week. Our assignment was over the weekend, to write a poem. I was upset, I was a budding football player and poetry was for girls and sissies. There was still about 15 minutes left in class, so I wrote the poem #1 below and tossed it on her desk. When I arrived back on Monday, while she was picking up my fellow students poems, she handed mine back. On the top was an "A" with the note "Nice read, thanks for taking the time, to make it rhyme. See me after class. I was glad and surprised by the "A" but worried about meeting her. After class she asked how I was able to write it so fast, and did I just make it up. I told her I had never tried to write a poem in my life. She said I might just have a future. She then handed me a dog eared copy of the poems of Robert Frost, and told me it was one of her favorites, and she would like me to have it. He is my favorite to this day. As all of you know, I'm not and will never be a good poet, but she started me searching for good poetry. Poem #2 is my effort to thank her and all "Teachers". You will know now that my "tag line" on many of you fellow trying poets, was "plagiarized" from a former beloved teacher. But, I consider it the highest of praises! Please keep writing. Thanks for reading, Denny R. Allison.
 Jun 2024 My Dear Poet
ThePoet
They play tricks
to enslave me,
and seize me
by their vanity

I pray that God
will save me,
release me
from humanity

©
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