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 Oct 2016
L B
This room—not his
nor the house, the yard
Though a placard bares his name
it slides out
at a moment’s notice
when the waiting ends
when his old hand stops—
twirling, mindless against the loving quilt

This house-- the same
but different
from a distance
He should be sitting in this still life
an old Sachem
on his lawn chair

This garage—where I stand
still his, strangely

Patient tools
Cherry Chevrolet wait
with work gloves resting...
Cannot bring myself to touch
where his hands last laid them
As if to move a thing
would **** the matrix of the man

His moment rushing toward me....

I can hear their whispers now
Leaves, once forbidden
have gathered in his absence
tangled in his hedges
nestled by the stairs
Chattering together—

“Man with the rake—no longer comes”
My father was not someone I could sit with to have a conversation.  That would be like heading into a storm.  I watched him and admired him from a distance.  I didn't truly appreciated him until he was the old man of this poem, sitting in the Soldier's Home, remembering fishing in the Connecticut River and longing to be hiking in the mountains above it.
Sachem is the word for chief or strong man from the northeastern American Abenaki tribes.
 Oct 2016
Scott F Hemingway
When I packed a spoon with lunch
this Indian summer afternoon
and lured adventure from a catacomb
to a lagoon by a river near a park thus my walk was absorptive

As a rainbow pen with fountain mist
while my imagination found her clouds that chose a fair weather friend now found in my arms just in time again...
 Oct 2016
nivek
there once was a great American tennis player(still alive and kicking)
who summed it up just fine, "You cannot be serious"
Wind. He brings desire
Everyone he can inspire
He knows tales untold
And legends forbidden
He is a freedom's friend
And very song's listener
He remembers it all
And ready to retell'em
To whoever will freedom understand
 Oct 2016
Victoria Jennings
Once again I believed
I had found love
Because I loved so strongly
I believed it could be enough
For the two of us
But as strong as my love may be
It cannot make them stay
They are destined to leave
They all are.
 Oct 2016
Keith Edward Baucum
Thank you for stalking me.  
You are my number one fan.
Thank you for stalking me and changing my poems on the internet.
Would you like my autograph?
Thank you Hacker you hack my poetry pages and change my poems around to let me know you're stalking me.  I feel so important.
A heart so pure -
but you are continuously rejected,

you give your all -
more than could ever be expected.

You have so much love to give -
but you are never accepted,

instead, you are gazed at scornfully -  
you are thoughtlessly neglected.

You are left feeling hopelessly broken,
left-out, and ever so badly dejected,

but, still you smile,
even though your soul is bruised;
your state of being has now been affected.

By Lady R.F ©2016
 Oct 2016
Onoma
There the window
to the world, if just
beyond it be from
me...rain droplets
cling to leaves
coloring their leave.
The rain droplets
come to heads of
light in all their
transparency...waiting
for a wind to weep
their only ecstasy,
down...up.
The quotient of blue in marriage with shimmering green , jasper plow land surrounded in eastern pine motifs and whitewashed barrier
The morning clang of 'smith , cooper and farrier
Days of black pig iron  , cured oak and strap leather
Messages that forever ride the backcountry Autumn zephyrs
Copyright October 8 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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