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 Jul 2017
Ma Cherie
the morning dew
upon a blade
of grass beneath my feet
it slips between
as I walk on
my sun is here to greet

to greet me this early hour
as he receives the day
warming up the summer air
he sends me on my way

to tend to the lovely plants
an talk to all the flowers
to toil away the time,

an say hello to busy ants
to sing in summer showers
to write another rhyme,

"go" says my Natosi
"go an live some poetry
in the garden today"

Ma Cherie © 2017
Gratitude ; )
 Jul 2017
Hannah Jones
Hold me in the rain.
Press your warm back to me and guard me from the storm
as we watch mist turn to showers turn to torrents.
Watch the lightning streak the sky with all my favorite hues.
Let me breathe into your shoulder
and wish for an eternal moment.

Dance with me in the rain.
Take my hand and run into the street
as we embrace the heat of the summer sky.
Spin me, dip me, hold me
as we laugh and shout and splash
No cares for shoes or hair
in this moment.

Kiss me in the rain.
Let your hands cradle my face
and press your lips to my forehead, nose, cheeks,
lips.
Sweetly, sweetly, sweetly,
as if the storm around us was but fog
as if the lightning above was but a limelight
as if the puddles at our feet were but dry land.
As if nothing else matters outside this moment.

Love me in the rain.
Based on a dream I wish I could have stayed in. There's rain in the forecast this afternoon, but I'll be alone.
 Jul 2017
Autumn Rose
I saw the world through
eyes of glass.
Ghost, tall and thin.
What I can't see, please tell me.
- Little petals, white and rosy.
Flying in your garden
You really can't see the beauty
in everything,
I don't even think you can see me.
... But Cherry Blossom
on a moonlit night
 Jul 2017
Autumn Rose
Little red poppies,
all lined up by the wooden tracks

Little red poppies,
all stirred up by the passing Soviet train

Little red poppies,
all picked up by the children who carelessly played
 Jul 2017
CA Guilfoyle
In death, perhaps we are like water
making our way ever deeper from sand and sky.
Maybe we fly, linger and hover awhile
and the dream of becoming a bird is real.
Maybe we are stars, floating oceans of night skies
moving toward divine light in swooping waves
pushing upwards through embryonic waters
spilling over the soul
again and again.

— The End —