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  Feb 25 Brendan Roher
Goodnight Moe
It was good to know you,
found you in the rickety Virginia City
wooden shelter
alone, staring sadly out at the world
so small,
I guess you could call it a rescue.

Once the puppy stacking wild mustang poops on the front deck
Running wild with the coyotes
You always were a scrapper
When eye contact made,
Your half hour battle with Bingo on a frozen Nevada night
Slipping  on the snow and ice.

The night you walked by my side
When the blizzard came
Keeping me from falling down that hill
when I was sliding, how'd you know?
Goodbye Moe
It was good to know you.

Waking us up with the first light of dawn
Sticking your nose
Into my tears
Licking away my sorrows
Curled at our feet on a cold winter night
Chasing  the cougar
Up the Tamarack tree
When the wild purple onions were blooming
You always had that faster second speed.
Now your legs can hardly hold you
And when the puppy came
You were big daddy
Patient and teaching a young one how to be
As you taught me
Goodbye Moe it was good to know you.

Well, now that puppy is probably
Going to outlive me, outlive you,
And now that the volume of your hearing has been turned down
The thunder and July 4th no longer send you panting
You were always to big to be a lap dog.
Now silence is all you know

Far away from those Virginia City
Mountain days
Everything changes
Everything passes
Time spins around
Our days and our nights.

Now hobbling along Dry Lagoon
Where the big waves curl
You stand bewildered and confused
But when you see me you know which direction to go.

The night is coming
We know that
Better head on home

Goodnight Moe it was good to know you.
Seymour "Moe" Butts, a red tip Australian Shepherd, 16 years old, is still with us, but his days are counting down
Stars prickle the darkness
counterpoints to measure its vastness
they steal eyes and gift wonderment  
allow birth of dream and scientific torment
they witness and receive wishes,
they exist yet
many are no longer in existence
the closest is only seen in its loneliness
yearning to shed the veil of blue
Brendan Roher Feb 16
Words out my mouth
Are deadweight
And drop to the ground.
I think in tongues, whispering back and forth
Between ears, my conscience runs like a sewage,
Who owns the most hurtful guns?
Yet across the expansion, maybe
Home to reason why we some Straddle the Atlantic;
Staggering between notions
Which I don’t remember forming
Echoing in a chamber-
How do I discern truth from fallacy?
Make sure to take care of me also
Don’t band, don’t block me, out
Here is so cold, with all the dangers I’ve challenged alone
Dancing to fight a cold I face full-frontal
Is a weary stride all it takes to break the spell?;
Or maybe we’ll learn from the wounds
That leave scars we can see still
  Jul 2018 Brendan Roher
Valsa George
on a sea strand,
have you watched empty shells
mercilessly tossed from sea to shore
and from shore to sea?
often I shrink and reduce to such a shell,
with jagged and broken edges
colorless and empty

among many a debris cast on the shore,
i lie half buried under the sand
waiting for some mighty wave
to wash me away
all the way to the sea

how tedious is my voyage
shuttling from him to her
and from her to him
unable to openly confess
who weighs more
on the balance of preference

through how many alleys and by ways
I have wandered, questioning my identity!
am I a puffer fish, being toxic
the fisher men have discarded?
a jarring note in a discordant symphony?
I wonder....! I often ask myself!

destined to grow
in mercurial climes,
planted in arid shallow soil
with the tap root trimmed,
branches pruned,
growth denied,
I, a stunted bonsai!

still I dream to be a towering tree,
that in profusion gives fruits and shade!
a ****** aspiring to be a Goliath
a hollow reed,
longing at once to be the singer and the song!
When a divorce occurs, the threat of losing the home and losing the purpose of life confronts a child, especially in the younger age. Children of divorced parents experience a real trauma and they begin to doubt about their own identity!
Brendan Roher Jul 2018
In a window of time
We move together
Like rhyme and
Wither away with the fade and sounds of echoing beats.
In your hair is a little confetti strand
In your eye is a glimmer sitting upright
Like a toenail-moon, chilling on your pupil
Too shiny and alone to make itself so known.
You catch me stare a bit and
Take your other hand to my hip
With a nudge and pressure
I’m tilted over ship – wailing about and falling
Without grace.
Time is so presently stopped
So pretentiously nonexistent
I wonder what a brain you had to be here with me
On the floor, I wonder why I had a brain that trailed off
And broke my knee.
Yet, with a comforting glee, your hand and shoulders help me
My own personal spring
Maybe I could see this positive thing – a small dance gathering
Being more than just a little fling
  Jul 2018 Brendan Roher
grumpy thumb
a hook of a moon
hanging low
burying itself into the dark soil of night ploughing methodically
churning the folds of time unsympathetically
oblivious to the passing seeds
of thought
laboured over.
Should I expect more
from the ruts it rolls,
perhaps growth of understanding
or a crop of acknowledgment
for my wonderment of it?
Or is it simply a tool
to capture imaginations
of a fool who secretly belives
I have an intimate bond
with its silent magnificence,
perhaps wishing it looks at me
like a brother who shares this moment.
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