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I imagine us
collecting affections
like loose change

bits hidden everywhere

in couch cushions,
in strong, stitched
seams

pennies hoarded
in an old sweet
jar

cluttered coppers
at the bottom of
coffee cups

we count,
meaningless amounts

building neat piles
of insignificant coins

until they become
our fortune
 Aug 2016 Misty Meadows
r
Near morning
by the sea
where I tangle
with the shadows
like a cage of sad tigers
by a grave I find a rope ladder
left by a thief
as the tide steals my eyes,
prisoners of time
without a hammer
trying to drive a stake
in the ground
and this is my crime
living and dreaming.
 Aug 2016 Misty Meadows
nivek
why run when you can catch the bus
and both risk a heart attack
so why not stay in bed and be done with it
Please can I have
My America back
The one that I had
When I was a kid
The one that I pledged
Heart covered with hand
It was no secret kept
The day that she left

The one that I knew
In my days of youth
Where the flag proudly flew
Star Spangled Banner the tune
With historys proof
Never to lose
Now where did she move
The country that I once knew
This is the second poem in a 24 poems in 24 hours marathon I joined...one new poem per hour. Wish me luck!
They gathered by Williamson Road at sun-up
      from neighboring spreads across the Tioga valley.
They came with carts laden with lumber stacks -
      with saws, adzes, hammers and sundry tools.

They gathered with the homesteaders bond.
      to co-build their neighbor's' dreams.

Sweet music of community echoed off the hills.
     Chisels clanged into rock, shaping the foundation,
saws sang into boards to frame a timbered skeleton.
     The staccato syncopation of hammers fastened walls
that soon would shelter plowshares, stock and grain.
      A smithy leaned over his fire and forge -
chiming iron into sturdy latches and hinges.

     Children scurried about mixing squeals and laughter
with exuberant fetching and lifting whenever called.
    
In two short passings of the sun the deed was done
      and a handsome new barn, decked out in a wash of red
was silhouetted tall and proud against the fading light.

Homesteaders gathered at a celebration table
      to share a hearty meal adorned by the music
of fiddles, grateful smiles and easy laughter.
  
Then one by one they steered their wagons home
      gazing back at what their labors had wrought -
knowing to the depth of their communal souls
      that we are more together than we are apart

Listen up, America!  This is the music of community.
      We are more together than we are apart.

*© 2016 by Robert Charles Howard
 Jul 2016 Misty Meadows
K G
La Lune
 Jul 2016 Misty Meadows
K G
I've learned every moment holds no perfection
Bottomless pit seemingly becomes frondescent
Rinsing out the dark without a resembling sire
I hope my never-resting time will lead to an ephemeral desire
Clutching at the straws whilst clutching a hidden phase
Until denial will untangle on a pale misselling display
Apparently you must pity the world or it'll belittle you
Mask me please, it'll be easier to talk to you
I'm quick to deny that opulence can help with coping
I'll run through barricades of questioning and the whispers roaming
In a gaudy spring, pondering on what door to knock on
Only to figure out that what I find attractive isn't fond
*All my burdens and all my fears will not be gone

I don't want to be a drag but
*For the first time in my life, I don't know where I belong
The mirror is foggy; I can’t see my naked body.
I suppose that’s good, at least I don’t have to hate myself in the mirror this morning.
But when the mirror isn’t foggy anymore, I will have to turn around so I can’t see myself.  
I’m ugly, who could ever look at me and love me?
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