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 Feb 2022 Arden
David P Carroll
On a warm summer's
Day I fell in love
With her today and
It was love at
First sight as my
Heart skips a beat
In the warm summer
Sunlight and I'm smiling
So bright and I'm in
Love tonight I'm
Watching the birds
Take flight and she
Was so magical and
So beautiful and
She was such a true beauty
Of Life.
Love In Summer 🥰🥰😍😍
 Feb 2022 Arden
My Dear Poet
Your apology was drowned out
by the noise in my mind

I’d have read your lips
but tears had me blind

I tried to feel your words
but I was numb at every line
 Feb 2022 Arden
Larry
It would be nice to know
that there's still time affordable
to etch-out some type of belonging.

I'm not quite my occupation,
neither am I my time-off, but
I hack it, on account,
for both occasions.
      
A "plan" would be nice,
but, an "A-plan" is ideal.
           .·°                      
Find the "A+ Plan," though, and
  we're rolling like orbed-steel.
 Feb 2022 Arden
Larry
After all
 Feb 2022 Arden
Larry
The inevitable
return
underground again
to ramble
to preamble
to lie alone.
A rock struck stone.
A lair of sorts
" a place "
where these words
get covered over
by cyber-dust
to be shelved-away
in makeshift chapters
that will pair well
w/ what happens
on a day-to-day.
Sometimes sporadic
sometimes enormous
sometimes nothing
&
just sometimes.
 Feb 2022 Arden
Charles Bukowski
some people never go crazy.
me, sometimes I'll lie down behind the couch
for 3 or 4 days.
they'll find me there.
it's Cherub, they'll say, and
they pour wine down my throat
rub my chest
sprinkle me with oils.
then, I'll rise with a roar,
rant, rage -
curse them and the universe
as I send them scattering over the
lawn.
I'll feel much better,
sit down to toast and eggs,
hum a little tune,
suddenly become as lovable as a
pink
overfed whale.
some people never go crazy.
what truly horrible lives
they must lead.
 Feb 2022 Arden
Charles Bukowski
I met a genius on the train
today
about 6 years old,
he sat beside me
and as the train
ran down along the coast
we came to the ocean
and then he looked at me
and said,
it's not pretty.

it was the first time I'd
realized
that.
 Feb 2022 Arden
May Sarton
True gardeners cannot bear a glove
Between the sure touch and the tender root,
Must let their hands grow knotted as they move
With a rough sensitivity about
Under the earth, between the rock and shoot,
Never to bruise or wound the hidden fruit.
And so I watched my mother's hands grow scarred,
She who could heal the wounded plant or friend
With the same vulnerable yet rigorous love;
I minded once to see her beauty gnarled,
But now her truth is given me to live,
As I learn for myself we must be hard
To move among the tender with an open hand,
And to stay sensitive up to the end
Pay with some toughness for a gentle world.
 Feb 2022 Arden
May Sarton
In the evening we came back
Into our yellow room,
For a moment taken aback
To find the light left on,
Falling on silent flowers,
Table, book, empty chair
While we had gone elsewhere,
Had been away for hours.

When we came home together
We found the inside weather.
All of our love unended
The quiet light demanded,
And we gave, in a look
At yellow walls and open book.
The deepest world we share
And do not talk about
But have to have, was there,
And by that light found out.
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