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At the center
of my being
I am
a soul
wrapped in precious time
I am
grateful
to know
the gift of life
is spirit
that matters
in the dust of stars
We are
in the middle
of a miracle
that never stops
giving
 Sep 2019 Sona Lachina
e reed
We count the same stars

We whisper to the same moon
    each night.

That is enough,
just knowing we’re in the same universe.

e.reed
A five-dollar garage-sale record player
A five-cent-piece Scotch-taped onto the arm
A plastic K-Mart special from long ago
A groovy thing for a junior high kid

But he was a thirty-something day-laborer
And in the silent cell of his solitude
Wanted to spin some tunes in the darkness
Just like he did when he was a junior high kid

A five-dollar garage-sale record player
Wagner, Sinatra, McKuen - and hope
Your ‘umble scrivener’s site is: Reactionarydrivel.blogspot.com

It’s not at all reactionary, tho’ it might be drivel.

Lawrence Hall’s vanity publications are available on amazon.com as Kindle and on bits of dead tree:  THE ROAD TO MAGDALENA, PALEO-HIPPIES AT WORK AND PLAY, LADY WITH A DEAD TURTLE, DON’T FORGET YOUR SHOES AND GRAPES, COFFEE AND A DEAD ALLIGATOR TO GO, and DISPATCHES FROM THE COLONIAL OFFICE.
 Sep 2019 Sona Lachina
rk
the scent of incense
hangs heavy in the air
the constant murmer of voices
comes crashing like waves
but your eyes meet mine
and the faces disappear
the voices die,
all that remains
is an unspoken invitation
from my lips
willing yours to kiss them
and yours happily
meet their request
leaving our love tasting
like oranges
tenderly plucked
from moonlight lips.
 Sep 2019 Sona Lachina
Jeff Lewis


              spilled          some
                                         words
        on                  the

Floor and
                                               as they lay
                    they
                                    ­  surmount
     all
I've    ever     written.



                                 ...and I lay down my pen for a broom.
 Sep 2019 Sona Lachina
Erian Rose
Fields flood high of corn stalks
As we drove along with the country roads
Leaves splattered pathways in a vibrant tint
Electrifying the crisp air around us
Pumpkins grinned softly
Nesting in beds of acorn heads

Fall couldn't be any better
Than watching out the window
And laying my eyes upon the setting sun
While apple cider and spice linger in the ether
Protected in your sweater
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