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 Aug 18
TOD HOWARD HAWKS
There will come a time
when time doesn't matter,
when all minutes and
millennia are but moments
when I look into your eyes.
There will come a time
when clinging things
will fall like desiccated
leaves, leaving us with
but one another. There
will come a time when
the external becomes eternal,
when holding you is to
embrace the universe.
There will come a time
when to be will no longer
be infinitive, but infinity,
and you and I are one

TOD HOWARD HAWKS
 Aug 17
Tanisha Jackland
we betray
our bodies
fluid in nature
despite our bones

when we ****
the pure
waters with
rubber oil speak

we are She
dancing in
the blood
giving us life

remember Her
for She is the silent
waters within us
sometimes raging
sometimes calming

be soft and
whisper to Her with
a sacred tongue
then you shall
be blessed
with favor
 Aug 17
Tanisha Jackland
when men are good, and women are seen
and atom bombs are peace
it is nice to do the right thing
but the fear is obscene
for there is no room to dream
i am nothing without you

when talk is serious, and actions are sincere
and feelings are grasped
there would be a global cheer
but children believe in flying reindeer
for it is the sky that is clear
you are nothing without me

when plants can speak, and trees can sing
and touch can bring the dead to life
it would be such a holy thing
but truth has quite a sting
for what these words can bring
we are nothing without each other
 Aug 17
badwords
.[Voice like broken glass in a silk sock].

In the beginning, there was grit and stubble,
And morning’s mirror, cracked in gospel light.
He shaved with steel, not for the look—
But ‘cause the world don’t treat the soft ones right.

He wears a scent distilled from job rejections,
And legal threats scrawled red on unpaid bills.
Top notes: divorce. Mid notes: eviction.
Base note? Charcoal. Regret. And sleeping pills.

Hard-Life™—a fragrance forged in fights you lost,
In bar tabs paid with teeth and bleeding pride.
It lingers long, like silence after news,
Or knowing you were right—when no one died.

No citrus here. No dreams of Tuscan beaches.
No musk of gods, or mountain air, or snow.
Just smoke and bootblack, diesel, final warnings—
The scent of men too stubborn not to show.


.
 Aug 17
Susie Clevenger
In my desk drawer
are broken things,
bits of what were,
hopes of what could be.

It’s a journal without words
where a red paper clip
holds nothing together,
and a tape measure
never reached the length
of a bookshelf.

Tucked in a corner
is a faded love letter from my husband,
a few words about roses, and
how beautiful I was at seventeen.  

Sticky notes lay scattered
in confetti colors of green,
pink, yellow, and blue
waiting for ink instead
of just taking up space.

I should clean it out…
send most of it to a waste basket,
but not every treasure box holds gold.

Mine is a cluttered drawer
filled with broken things, the
archaeological site of a dreamer
with a catalogue of stories to tell.
 Aug 17
guy scutellaro
I've walked your floor

sat beside you in candlelight
looking at photos
scattered across the floor.

you remembering names
and people and prayers
I had long forgotten.

you are the dancer
who glides this loner
through sorrows and the stars,
across the mist of moments
most treasured

where in the stillness between kisses
promises are kept
and the warmth of your hand on my cheek
felt in places to real to touch.

your love asks for nothing
and when you smile your quiet gift to me

tender one, every breath I take is loving you.
 Aug 17
Marshal Gebbie
My team out of Buttercup were carting hay for old Scruffy Turner.
Scruffy was sick so we offered to clear the airstrip hay for him.
Toward the end of the day someone drove up and told me they were letting a herd of black pol beef cattle out on to Taurewa strip ,up near the Chateau road.
I had my little Cherokee parked on the Taurewa strip. Black cattle have a propensity to rub themselves up against the fuselage of a parked aircraft....really does a lot of expensive damage, very quickly...
So I asked Scruffy to drop me onto the Taurewa strip to pick up the Cherokee. He obliged with his Cessna 172.

I found myself bare chested, clad in shorts and workboots, hay in my hair getting into the little Cherokee and going through my preflight checks.

Scruff took off and circled, I followed him off Taurewa.
At 80 ft above the treetops we levelled off and headed for the National Park strip, now clear of haybales.
Scruff, his wife, Anne and I were communicating, chatting on 121.3 megahertz when my aircraft's engine abruptly stopped!

There is something comical about sudden silence when airborne!

I set about checking fuel and ignition and attempted to restart the engine...several times. ....SILENCE!

Funny the things that race through your mind in an emergency.

Several week before this I had attended the funeral and the wake of an old chairlift company mate of mine, Marcus Leecher.
At the wake over a couple of good sized Scotch whiskeys I bumped into old Jimmy Johns, an engineer from neighboring Stratford, who used to own and operate the National Downhill ski operation on Mt Ruapehu,

Jimmy said to me, "They tell me you're a pilot now, Gebbie?"
"Yeah", I said. "Well, if ever you get into difficulty over big forest trees or a large expanse of water, THIS IS WHAT YOU DO!"

Jimmy's instruction exploded into my head like a time bomb!

Here I was, now 50 ft above a continuous forest of huge native trees, I had a dead engine and nowhere to put the aircraft down.
I gave Scruffy a quick mayday call....and of course, he panicked!
He started flying around in huge circles and promptly lost sight of my aircraft.

I went through my drills, fuel off, killed ignition, trim for glide, grab a knotch of flap, minimize airspeed........Look for a location to ditch.

Old Jimmy John's message came through loud and clear......
So I executed his instructions to the letter.

1. Located two ****** big rimu trees with sturdy vertical trunks.
2..Tree trunks separated by a gap large enough to fit the fuselage in between.
3. Brought the aircraft around in an arc so that I was lined up exactly with the gap.....Then dived the aircraft vertically downward.
Swept the foliage below with my wheels... then, with the momentum gained by the dive, climbed straight up into the sky.
4, Stalled the aircraft, actually stopped the aircraft in a vertical position....then aimed it at the gap as it fell out of the sky.
5 I took the impact with the wings, it actually sheared the left wing off the aircraft, broke the chord.....BUT IT SAVED THE FUSELAGE
6. Braced myself for the absolute unknown....hung on tight!!

The aircraft almost stayed up in the higher branches, then it crashed down through the foliage to the hard baked earth, 30 ft below.....BANG!

Momentarily, I took stock, no fire, airframe right way up, body wracked but OK. Aircraft wrecked!

I disentangled myself from the seat belts, sprung open the door and exited the aircraft at haste.

Located approximate position of Scruffy overhead and launched a parachute flare skyward to let him know I had survived. The flare almost hit his aircraft, it zoomed past him and continued skyward, he never ever got to see that flare....but all the skiers on the adjacent Whakapapa skifields did!

I fashioned a big arrow out of logs pointing in the direction of my intended exit....then walked 10 km out of the forest.

The very next day I purchase old Jimmy Johns a very special bottle of the best Irish whisky I could find and shook his hand hard....as a Brother aviator!

M@Foxglove,Taranaki.NZ
15 August 2025
 Aug 16
guy scutellaro
the wind moves my feet.
my eyes shining like the sun and the sea.

"your love brings me to my knees."

her sigh is a whisper
soft like autumn leaves
silently falling to the cold ground.

the shadow of a smile.
my heart misplaced
like a paper lantern in the rain.

my broken sky,

her soft sigh
and I was no longer hers.
one for those people who can't sleep
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