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 Sep 2014 Anna Brown
Pax
Every Part
        *E
very Stroke
                  Every Line
                           Every Curve
                                    Every Shape
           to start somewhere
                   and everything else
                                        will follow.


*© Pax
http://www.writerscafe.org/writing/willyampax/985343/
 Sep 2014 Anna Brown
Adam Latham
Far over the mumbling Mountains of Moan
Where blazing hot Firebirds are nurtured and flown,
Through silver veined canyons and mines filled with gold
By Dwarves in their halls seeking riches untold.

There lives by the side of a babbling brook,
Buried deep in the earth, in it's own special nook,
Underneath a quite small yet conspicuous knoll,
Hidden from prying eyes is the home of a Troll.

Alone in his cavern of amethyst ore,
He sleeps undisturbed with a grunt and a snore,
And makes the ground tremble with dream induced growls
That fly up with spit from his thick flapping jowls.

The floor all around is a sea of gnawed bones
Stained pink by the light from those crystalline stones,
That shimmer and sparkle like miniature storms
Left raging for aeons in mineral forms.

His slow beating heart sounds a deep thumping boom
That scythes through the half light and twinkling gloom,
By which, if you look in the cold that persists,
The Troll's heavy breath funnels up into mists.

A great iron club with its spots of rust red
Stands upright and ready close by to his bed,
The Troll's hairy fingers draped over his prize
To ****** at the hilt should the instant arise.

One beady eye open, the other shut fast,
Only the foolhardy would dare to creep past,
Wake him at your peril, no need to surmise,
You will meet a brutal and violent demise.

A wrinkled behemoth with rings through his nose,
The truth of his origin, nobody knows,
Some say Trolls were spawned at the dawn of the world
When primeval magics and such swished and swirled.

While others less fanciful look to the West
Where dark Elvish wizards in black arts invest,
The wrong incantation performed on a man
Is rumoured to be how the Troll race began.
#Troll
 Sep 2014 Anna Brown
Adam Latham
Would that I could remember her face,
Her glorious smile and feminine grace,
And would that I could a memory stir
To recall the days that I spent with her.

Would that I could her sweet scent approve,
To wallow in each fragrant curve,
And would that I could feel kisses like rain
That she used to give me again and again.

Would that I could her gossamer hair
Upon my pillow find it there,
And would that I could time's barrier move
To once more have her as my love.
#love
 Sep 2014 Anna Brown
Adam Latham
Dance fairy, fairy bright,
What a truly happy sight,
Let those tiny feet away
To a place of fun and play.
Make your wings of silver hue
Take you to the lily zoo,
To the courts of croaking kings,
Where the handsome Frog Prince sings.

Dance dance fairy, fairy bright
Skip across the clouds so light,
Jump as far as skyward can,
Higher higher little man.
Glide upon the rush of air
With the birds that fly up there,
And when all the playing's done
Take those wings and fly back home.
#fairy
I didn't say a word
but it was a race,
     You know?
And on the path in the forest
Switzerland is Germany is Montreal is Home
     and that makes sense.
And the people smile and nod
Smile and say Bonjour
And who among us is fastest?
Who will make it to the top?
I arrive all alone
     and that makes sense.
And the city smiles and nods
Smiles and says Bonjour
And I know,
     You know?
I know how
     Switzerland is Germany is Montreal is Home
And nothing has ever been more clear
Than that fact, and the wind at the top of Mount Royal, and the diamond breath that left my lungs, and the diamond sweat that left my brow
So I smile and nod
Smile and say Bonjour
Because Home is Montreal
                           is Germany
                           is Switzerland
              and that makes sense.
 Sep 2014 Anna Brown
Lex Dacey
A derivative of caring too much
A blanket that actually kept her warm at night
A hand to hold when it all still seemed to matter
An excuse to mitigate pensive thought
A mask for the expressionless
Everything she no longer needed when she was with him
Yet, ironically, she had become *attached
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