along with my useful lively self
i stroll the path of faceless crowds
they might not know me
I might not know them
but I'm glad as I watch
them do their story
and I on a steady phase
create the background
of my life,
the passerby...

She sits down in the chair,
And opens the tub ever so slowly.
Her hands shake a little as,
They gently remove the content.    

Each parcel is precious.
Perfectly wrapped in silver foil,
That shimmers in the rooms dimmed,
Lights. She stares at them with perceived admiration.

Or maybe she is just admiring herself?
Her brain refuses to remove their case,
She doesn't think she needs to,
Although she craves their warmth, the taste, everything is left unopened.

She can do without.

She is better than that.

Stronger.

The tub is thrown in the trash,
And she seeks satisfaction from the
Delayed reaction,
of her peers. Who's heads turn away
Before she,
Has taken a bite.

a presence here nearly palpable
where the always carefully accurate hand
has arranged this accidental meeting
of stilled nature
of fused extruded sand

the shadows oh the shadows
oblique shading of refracted light
imprint almost of seed heads’
satellites exploding towards
a once sun
a past sight

the rough shading of the wooden shelf
the slight join of the papered wall
the gathered impurities
of dust against the edge of shelf
and wall a desolation
brim full of loneliness
hard to fathom here its depth
so very very hard to bare . . .
and those final words rising
out of this morning’s tenderness
and a naked self
of shadows oh its shadows

I have a Friend
And he has Me
We met right here on HP
He is noble and strong
A good man, through and through
Humble, insightful and gentle too

Complex stories he does tell
From experience and diaries
kept so well
Extraordinary accounts, he shares
Creating poetic stories
that shows he cares
He's witty and charming
He is oh so brave
Many a life has he saved

He came to Hp
wondering if this
was a place for him
Safe to share his heart
and tender skin
At first, shy and tenuous
to learn his skill
Now he commands his work,
Weaving words at will
Our fascination he does hold
With gritty stories so well told
Epic adventures, first hand accounts
Alway a moral, insight abounds

Yes, I chose him
And he chose Me
Mark Cleavenger,
My Poetic Friend here on HP

        In resonse to Elliot's #HPfriend Challenge
                        (please read his latest Blog)
Mark Cleavenger was my very first friend here at HP.
Hello Poetry has opened my world to many fascinating
Poets, from all around the Globe. (How cool is that?)
I appreciate all of my Friends here at HP. I love being
a member of this amazing, supportive community.
                    ThankYou  to all my HP friends
                                ▪○●☆●♡♢♡●☆●○▪