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 Apr 2017
South by Southwest
If dreams were monkeys
They would swing on the vines
Over a landscape covered in moon

If dreams were dinosaurs
They would be prehysteria
And have two ton funny bones

If dreamsssssssssssssssssss. . .
Were continuous
They would be exclusive as TV on reruns

No one dreams small
No one dreams medium
Everyone is in on the "BIG"

But at the end of the day
All of our dreams are
the ice creams we forgot to put away
 Apr 2017
Gidgette
You know who you are
Bruised Peaches
Those hit, hidden
Shamed
Belittled and bitten
By the very people we loved most
Mocked
For staying with the bearers of our
Bruises
We warrior spouses
Some of the peaches are lucky
we rolled from the pain baskets
Others have to stay for seedlings
This particular peach
After years of bruises
Nearly got squished between the fingers
of a bruise bearer
And I'm bitter mush
But I'm still whole
And all the while
He whispered,
I love you, I love you little peach
He gave me a seedling
She grew
and with her
My knowledge grew
It took the kingsmens axe
To cut me from that dead tree
But thank God
This peach, is free
~A
It's the hardest thing in the world to leave an abusive relationship. We're often made to believe it's our own fault. Even after one leaves, the lawyers, judges, counselors even, make you feel "less than".
I rarely write of my awful marriage. Even today I'm ashamed. And I know that it wasn't anything I did but that fact escapes me sometimes. My love to you all. Especially the Peaches.
 Apr 2017
nivek
I doubt I will be eaten by a Great White
I do not live in South Africa or Australia
and the two great water bodies just down the road
the North Sea and the Atlantic Ocean are too cold here for that kind of shark.
I doubt I will die of thirst, or from hunger.
No wife will have me killed for the insurance money.
I will not be killed in a failed space mission, or crash a plane into a mountain.
No, my death will be quite ordinary, run of the mill, nothing to write a poem about.
 Apr 2017
South by Southwest
Crystal thorns
Jade for stems
Mother of Pearl
for petals
that cracks in wind .
 Apr 2017
South by Southwest
Mute that blare
Swing that low
There's no room
for the old oboe

Slide on down
Make no bones
Oh ! Mercy !
Mr. Trombone

*** on keys
Sax done deed
Clairinet nukes
that reed

Going down real
Feeeeeeel !
Jazz and coffee
So surreal
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