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 Oct 2016
betterdays
i stand in the shallows
of my memory
casting a spiderweb line
back into
the earlier years,
the murky depth
of the old brain pond
looking for that
elusive memory
of when......when.......when


life was simple,
somehow, more complete
with days of sunshine
and butterfly grace
that flew on by,

when grass smelt greener
skies were blue and
there was always much to do

the future was out there, past the horizon
a thing that was too far away to ponder on

they were the days,
the beautiful days
I know I  dream of.

to recapture my youth.....

but all I can now do,
is cast about in memories
and hope to find myself
an elusive rainbow trout....
 Oct 2016
Rapunzoll
my mother always said
"don't fall in love with a poet"
they pretend to love you
but what they really love
is writing about loving you
you are mere words to them
feelings cheapened by a page,
dusty grey typewriters,
and many unfinished drafts
of lovers both old and new,
you are the question mark,
but not the answer,
they are searching for ?
person unidentified: mystery
the page wanderer,
each poem a missing
person poster to cover their
bedroom walls.
they cannot love something
that is in their head
poets are the loneliest of
all people, my mother said.
they write to immortalize
what has long passed.
to live within their words,
but not reality,
lost souls writing suicide notes
and proclaiming it art.
© copyright

NOTE: i've noticed people sharing this to other sites without having spoken to me about it beforehand, I do not give permission for this and all poems are copyright, keep this in mind.

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my mother never actually said this to me, but i figure i'll probably end up saying it one day if i have children.

it's pessimistic yes, but i know there are exceptions. please don't take to heart. it's more a criticism of myself than all poets. :)
sweetheart, sweetheart
here we come
from the hill nearby the river
we will take your first-born son
we will take and will deliver

sweetheart, sweetheart
close your eyes
he'll be taken to a palace
where nothing ends or dies
shines aurora borealis

sweetheart, sweetheart
here we are
singing songs of constellations
he will be our shining star
our blessing or damnation
 Oct 2016
Jude kyrie
(I fell for him right away.
I have no idea why.
He is no George Clooney.
That's for sure.
My mom and best friend
Said are you sure honey
He's a bit funny looking.

And he has rough edged.
I said I will clean him up mom.
She gave me her told you so look
of disapproval.
But he made me laugh nothing ever bugged him.
He used to laugh at problems.
Nobody will give a **** in fifty years
He would say his rough edges sparkling like a diamond.

He would say on Sunday mornings
After he made love to me
I am smiling ear to ear honey..
I just made love with the sexiest woman alive.
He made me feel beautiful.
How the heck did he do that.

When the kids came
He told them they were beautiful and smart  just like your mom.
,they adored him.
Perhaps almost as much as me.

I got very sick
He carried me around nursed me back to health.
Even mom said he's not so bad.
He cried when it looked bad.
Don't you go and die me honey.
I am lost without you.

But he went and died on me.
And I did not know what to do.
He hid his sickness from me.
I am a bit run down
Need a tonic
A bit of vitamin F would good for me.
I laughed and we made love.
Until he couldn't any more
And I knew...I knew.

His last day he held me close and said
You know something honey.
If I had been offered another ten years but without you
I would say no thanks I will wait for her in heaven.

.I have tried dating again
But when I get home
I fall asleep and he's back in my dreams.
Boy oh boy it's good to hold you he says.
And I say
Its always you honey.
Only you.
And the sleep
is peaceful and deep once more.
Beauty is not always like an oil painting
It can be craggy and rough
Like mountains
Jude
 Oct 2016
Francie Lynch
She was here
Again last night,
She shows up
In my dreams;
She slipped her arm
In mine, held tight,
And called me
By my name.
I can't say for sure,
You know what dreams are like,
But I felt her here,
As if awake,
How I love the night.
 Oct 2016
CA Guilfoyle
On mornings like this, I have pressing things
on my mind - digging and weeding, uncovering things
I lay here thinking of that time last spring
wandering the green fields, or in the canyon lands
under a skyful of blue, and I can't seem to move
cannot rise from this bed, I play records
spinning round my head, I play records on repeat
the bittersweet of you and me.
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