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**** I'm getting so frustrated with the short change.  I wake up in the morning with 15 or 20 posts to read on my home page but can only view about 6 or 7 of them because that's as far back as the scroll function will allow.  I go to peoples pages and I can only scroll back 4 or 5 posts into their past.  I go to my favorites or my comments same thing no more going way back into the past.  I want everyone to email Eliot at  eliot@hellopoetry.com  and complain.  Maybe that will move him to solve this problem for us.
(Fractured Fairytale #99)

beneath the bends of Barrymoor . . .

on the southwest winds she chants some more . .

the clouds scoot by beneath full moon . . .

some say she's crazy like a loon . . .

dressed in Black she cackles back while tossing ashes from a velvet sack . . .

then she throws her body down . . .

moans and sobs into the ground . . .

a dagger she does draw it forth . . .

holding high for all its worth . . .

she shrieks and damns her birth . . .

then plunges it into her heart . . .

. . . so ends the life of the young ****. . .


now the owls come fluttering in . . .

alighting next to still warm skin . . .

all walk around the disposed young beast . . .

only uttering "Who ?" to say the least . . .

then the Great Owl comes fluttering in . . .

he'd be a giant if he were made of men . . .

he collectively surveys the scene . . .

takes a few steps before he says a thing . . .

"Take her body to Evermore !" . . .

the great one does order and implores . . .

all all the owls take to wing . . .

holding the remains of the breathless thing . . .

and take her earthly shell away . . .

"To the sacred woods of Evermore ."

yes sacredness be in evermore .  . .
Traveler Oct 1
It didn’t look good
whatever it was,
a web of green goo
with a smidgen of ****!
That is…
The murderous regime
with genocidal lust..
TT

News of the day is more
war breaking out.
Deep state stupidity!

The resistance takes revenge.
  Oct 1 Traveler
bythesea
Spend this Summer too between your fingers.
corn-gold, combed hair.
Only your stains were left painted on the sand, where your body once stood like a Cypress.
But another time will come.
When the sea will postpone a crystal spring.
And the sea -- the Morning, ice cold, is buried alive under your foot

until Spring comes to bring warmth.

-GZ, 1986
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