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 Jul 2018
Graff1980
He's a brawny brat
whose got bratwurst
for brains.
He talks ****
and complains
about less then
minor pains
while the whole
world is
going up in flames.
 Jul 2018
John Stevens
Stan is  ninety this date    
waiting still at Heaven’s gate
where his Love
went on before him.

Some day soon
he will join June
Where the light
will never dim.

Time has past
since he hugged her last
now, the pain
unreal at times.

He knows she lives
where God’s Love gives
us Peace and
love so sublime.

And now….

His mission fulfilled
In what God willed
the race will end
never more to roam.

He made the right choice
The Angels rejoice
God’s forever Love with June
Stan will be going home.

Never more to roam.

(C) 06-12-2018
John L Stevens
Stan is ninety now.
http://www.junebergalzheimers.com/
 Jul 2018
Graff1980
Silver streaks of starlight
come racing through the sky
causing tender tears to fall
briefly from my eyes.

Tiny drops of water
paint the cement walk
a darker shade,
as me and my grandpa
watch the chalk circles
that he made
become another color.

Warm wrinkled hands
hold me up to tickle
instead of accepting a hug,
yet still remind me I am loved.

A soldier’s flag
and five-rifle salute
sees someone I love
disappear permanently
from my view.

The shooting star
is gone before
I knew how much
I would miss it.
 Jul 2018
b e mccomb
maybe i'm just not used to
being kind to myself
not used to being
held or kissed or wanted

but something about the
way you touch me
makes me think that
years spent by myself
were preparation to
make me appreciate this

appreciate you
and the way your hands
fit around my legs
and settle on my back
how your lips run
down my neck and
our bodies just
fit together

"**** we make
a cute couple"
one of us says
every time we walk
hand in hand by a mirror
"where shall we go on
our next date to make
everyone jealous?"

and we laugh
and let sarcastic
comments run out word
by word between kisses

i'm not used to feeling
this way
part of a bigger picture
no longer a lone wolf
i'm not used to feeling
wanted

but something tells me
with you by my side
i could most certainly
learn to live with it
copyright 7/2/18 by b. e. mccomb
 Jul 2018
Graff1980
I seek peace
in observing
all things
that flourish
around me.

There are greens
and deeper greens
galvanized
by daylight
to a shimmering effect.

But every drop
of coolant,
or subtle variation of sound,
every unexpected vibration
makes me anxious,
because I am hyper aware
that my safety will disappear
because it is an illusion.

The earth beneath my feet
has been dried and bleached
to the lightest brown possible.

I am still seeking stillness
but my roommate’s presence
is a jagged intrusion,
with irregular outburst
of unpredictable rage.

There is the sound of birds
whistling all around me
unperturbed
by the train I heard
in the distance.

I make it to work,
in time to observe
smiling stranger’s
who want to converse
with me,
and despite all distraction
there is a certain satisfaction
to that human interaction.
It is a peaceful moment.
 Jun 2018
Graff1980
I project my heart
out into a universe
that does not reciprocate
said empathy.

Twilight falls, and I can see
stars twinkling in infinity.
Atomic explosions
push out plumes
of nuclear energy
but they don’t give
a **** for me.

The sun that shines
does not mind
if I live or die.
The buds that bloom
from the thin brown branch
will not be bothered
if I fall victim
to some horrible accident.

The massive mountain
with snowcapped tops
will not be moved
or stopped by the loss
of little old me

I am less than a flee
in the monsoon reality
 Jun 2018
Graff1980
I never liked the mud,
but I loved
the smoky mist
that was stirred up
when I crumbled dirt
into a dusty substance,

when the light would catch
the passing particles
and I would try to
hold my breath
as the mist moved in a
strangle swirl,
as if the earth
was smoking itself.

I enjoyed making
little smoke bombs
from handfuls of dirt.
I would toss them
on the ground
and disappear
like ninjas did.
Even though
everyone I knew
could see through
my trick dirt
to my dust covered jeans.

I like knowing
that if allowed,
if I’m not put in
some sable box
but left to rot
I will become
that silly dust stuff.
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