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there may be after effects
yet

nobody suggested a flock of pigeons

at 2pm that snowy afternoon

and that notes will be made

no one mentioned sleeping
later than usual

those chin tattoos
that come all beautiful
and trendy

noticed the birds several days ago
i do like the flocks even murmurations

which happen more mid wales
by the pier

you know
i haven’t been there in such a while

matt hancock

i have been staying at home now

11 months

in total
He said "please send nudes"
She just shook her head, chuckled
And sent him haikus
~4/27/2021
I had fallen in love with her at first sight
a six year old with eyes
moist with dewy tears
she stood among the other whining kids,
picked up from the compost heaps of life
her slight brown hair was tied
at the back into a ponytail.

in her torn pink frock and delicate frame,
she looked a fading rose.
on her face was the pain of desertion
with no Dad or Mom to kiss away the tears
or hold her close to the heart

the building with its cracked walls
had an aura of ruin about it.
everything, so shabby and stinking
and it was there that I met her

but among the many, locked up like caged birds
why did I single her out?
may be her cute look and seraphic innocence
made her so special!
even after I had left that place,
my thoughts kept returning to her
and I decided on making her happy somehow

the second time I went there,
i carried some knick knacks
and some sweets for the children to munch
also a parcel colorfully wrapped and tied with a ribbon
when I called her aloof
and handed that small gift,
i watched the twinkle in her little eyes

as she opened it with fumbling hands
curiosity peeked on her face and eyes
finally, when I took out the glossy frilled frock
she squealed in delight and clapped her hands.
saw her face aglow with excitement and joy.

into her bleak world I let out a flash of delight!
A personal experience.... the memory of which I still cherish.
~
In her sulking-place
alone and naked

framed in soft sepia
—the vintage, harlequin hue

at this supposed faded hour
she sits looking back on memory

she sits and stares
into the boudoir mirror

at herself
at her embonpoint

yes, at these *******
—at their landscape

how they fall
(like Niagara)

where they point
(like a compass)

what they tell (so fondly)
when pressed together

about their time
—their work and play

towers on the precipice
of judgment

both callous and
uncharitable

if the mirror
truly be her reflection

her vision is turned around
as illusion

—a study of tonality and tolerance
for one's own flesh

the room
an invitation

or perhaps
a lockaway

where she even keeps secrets
from herself

~
avenoir - n. the desire that memory could flow backward
California Girl
Born in the cold and wet
Of the Pacific Northwest
In a snotty little town
That never recognized her glow
And threw sawdust on her dreams.

California Girl
Went North and found her mojo;
Ricocheted from the
Peace Arch border
To the San Diego beaches
In the warming winter sun.

California Girl
Jumped to the brighter lights
Of a movie spangled city
And rode the waves of Possibility
Until the undertow appeared
And she stepped back to reconsider

California Girl
Found a sheltered harbor
By a lovely sandy shore
And started building fairy castles
Out of dreams and other efforts
As the seasons rolled and years flew by.

California Girl
Catapulted from her realm
By evils set against her,
Into a place of broken rocks and wind
To make herself a brand new life
Beneath an unrelenting sun.

California Girl
Adrift in crowds that cannot see her,
Who do not want the gift she gives.
Anchored far beyond escaping
In a place that starves her soul.
She takes the pen of contemplation
To write the denouement of her life.
              ljm
California is a color that you gradually turn and it never fades away.
The old stonework is as solid as it has ever been
Though cracks can now be seen
And chipping at the edges
Before, I looked up at this grand cathedral
In awe and wonder of its architecture
Its grand spires and arched doorways
Though now I look beyond it
West, to the rolling hills and meadows
The wind swept woods and quiet streams
Amid the fox dens and bird nests
There I long to rest; to close my eyes and dream
Until evening begins to fall and golden light gently slips
Between the leaves and branches of the canopy above
When the sky is is bathed in royal purple
Then will I awake and return to my home in peace
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