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 Oct 2016
Ramin Ara
Happy is a farmer
in the village
Of hope
 Oct 2016
Ja
I am a son
You are a daughter
We’re not related
But, it doesn’t matter

I am a father
You are a mother
We each have a child
Just, not with each other

I love and cherish mine
As I’m sure you do yours
And yet somehow
This hatred of others occurs

Love does not discriminate
We know that it endures
If, I can love a child of mine
I can also, love a child of yours
BOEMS BY JA 581
 Oct 2016
Elizabeth Squires
the rain constantly buckets down
this deluge being over the top
gallons of water cause a frown
there are no patches of dry hop

this deluge being over the top
drops falling with continual wet
there are no patches of dry hop
we're tiring of the weather's jet

drops falling with continual wet
mud puddles lying on the land
we're tiring of the weather's jet
the sun's fuller face we could stand

mud puddles lying on the land
everything drenches with dampness
the sun's fuller face we could stand
we're in a persistent dankness

everything drenches with dampness
there are no patches of dry hop
we're in a persistent dankness
this deluge being over the top
O , the talent of an October day to
thrill and delight , to correlate with the painted
pages in the wonderful volume of life* ...
Copyright October 6 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
I will make it back
to shore...

and when i do,
i will continue to survive,
i will live
and love my life;
some more.

By Lady R.F ©2016
So glad to be back! You can't possibly begin to imagine how glad I am to be back!
Missed you all!
Please re-invite me to your collections!
I searched
the deepest depths
of the vastest oceans,
I searched way up high,
past the clouds,
in the bluest of blue skies,

I searched
deep in the hearts
of nature's greenest forests...
It turns out,
that I was carrying it within me
all along - only now, do I realise.

By Lady R.F ©2016
Such a lovely surprise to receive the daily
for my first poem upon returning to HP.
Two dailys in total in my time here...I'm blown away! Thank you all soooooo much!
Such an honor and a privilege

I'm so glad to be back home, here at HP!
I missed this site and everyone soooo much!
I'm sorry I left unexpectedly,
I really missed you guys!
Rosalie ***
Pintos and cornbread with a dab of pepper jelly
Walt Whitman poetry from a favorite chair
Hazelnut coffee with rousing jazz guitar ,
eating Manzanilla olives straight out of the jar
Rhyme and verse , raising the daily bar of affection
for Mary Ellen , walking the wood-line at night
"Chillin' in the vehicle of quietude*" ....
Copyright October 1 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson *All Rights Reserved
 Oct 2016
Ma Cherie
Seems wrong
Every time
I learn how to love
find the strange things
unusually beautiful
in the smells
painting a picture
of soft soapy skin
that stinky cigarette
smoking in the air
smoldering in the dark
mysterious secrets
like wafting puffs
blowing me around
*like the curious circles

around your eyes
transporting me again
through the veins
in your hands
touching me
a beer gut laughing
merrily admiring me
after enjoying your dinner

memories they flood my mind

salt n pepper hair waving
and those lovely laugh lines
beautiful eyes of grey blue
deeply meaningful

I see every breath we took together

revealing problems
you're facing
my hands
are slowly retracing

endearing my heart
with the way
you look at me
and hear you say
how you love me
& just how much
realizing this is it
ship is in
contented & warmed
by the flames dancing
like a sultry voice
enticingly familiar  
in that safe fire...place
combustible
touched by the simplicities
accepting the way we are

as the momentum
is realized
at the precipice
when the log burning
collapses from heat
exhausted & wanting relief
when love finally
comes to fruition

then...
it is just gone
I am carried away

just like the wind

just like the wind

that took that fire out

Cherie Nolan © 2016
Inspired reflection...
 Sep 2016
Stephan

I draped you in passion,
found hope in your eyes
In a weathering fashion
neath October skies

When life once was showers,
love hidden from view
I collected the flowers
and gave them to you

In echoes I’ve listened,
alone in the shade
Where sunlight does glisten
on dreams now displayed

Today I stand weaving
this threaded design
Of smiles believing,
you’ll always be mine
I play the guitar and write poetry because I
have to , it's something I work my way through
each night , emptying my mind on paper , a few thoughts
committed to music , score books penciled in , erased ,
odd collaborations reaching logical conclusions , the first note
becoming the last , a forest fire of a past out of control ,
easing the conflagration with timely prose , ascending , descending
scale combinations , every memory both good and bad streaking
past , the mad writer with his muse on his lap , disclosing his
theory , some nights writing his own obituary , as if anyone understood ,
melody is chopping wood for the instrumentally inclined , something
to chip away the night , something to help you turn off the lights ,
to dream , revisit , reinvent , work your way through to write again* ...
Copyright September 28 , 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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