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 Jan 2022 Danielle
Carlo C Gomez
~
Strange how
my feet won't touch
the ground.
Strange how
my bags are packed
with sadness.

Plight is
my fellow passenger
to Osaka sun,
or Artic chill,
or some volcanic
love nest.

Strange how
my jet-setting eyes,
they see paradise only
on satellite tv,
yet they see the once
beautiful people
and all their utter dismay,
as they pass through
the metal detectors.

So strange
that I can hear
their strife
their suffering
well above
the engine's roar.

~
 Jan 2022 Danielle
brian odongo
"what's your religion?"
he asked.

"love is my religion"
I replied.

"so, where is your church?"

"the earth is my church".
1764

The saddest noise, the sweetest noise,
  The maddest noise that grows,—
The birds, they make it in the spring,
  At night’s delicious close.

Between the March and April line—
  That magical frontier
Beyond which summer hesitates,
  Almost too heavenly near.

It makes us think of all the dead
  That sauntered with us here,
By separation’s sorcery
  Made cruelly more dear.

It makes us think of what we had,
  And what we now deplore.
We almost wish those siren throats
  Would go and sing no more.

An ear can break a human heart
  As quickly as a spear,
We wish the ear had not a heart
  So dangerously near.
3
3
I can set religion aside
Just live daily life
Grateful for my sons
Fearful for my wife

Quiet little room
Sleep, waking, sleep
In but out of the USA
Dreaming of the deep

Nothing lasts forever
Even the pain will fade
Help me appreciate
Basketball gets played

Help me be not afraid.
 Dec 2021 Danielle
sandra wyllie
has a spiky thorn
that’ll jab you
even shorn
so, beware child
beware
of sweet perfume
in the air

Every sky
has a rainy cloud
cloaking you in a gray shroud
so, beware child
beware
of cotton candy
high up there

Every ocean
has a rip
that’ll drag you
from shore
a trip that’ll **** you up
spit you out as an apple core
so, beware child
beware
of a watery
dancing flare

Every viper
has fangs
laying still
as parted bangs
so, beware child
beware
don’t trap yourself
in his snare
I don't like most intellectuals
Such an ugly word
They see through everything
Except their own Absurd

I do like friendly waitresses
Teachers and caring nurses
Yes, I wish that time
Had it's true reverses

Women are the mystery
That I could never solve
A little Irish history
A little firm resolve

            Small steps.
The basketball game was fun
Hustle, hit the boards
Green and yellow stands
Practice has rewards

I know I'll be forgotten
But I do not forget
My mother was kind caring
And when the sun does set

I pray I go down grateful
Not fearful of the night
Nothing lasts forever
Thank you for the light

     Stockholm: Pretty city sight.
 Dec 2021 Danielle
Bryan
All my best poems are at the bottom.
Like the best leaves from last autumn.

All the dark is in my keep,
But really, who digs that deep?

Is there anyone who knows,
How deep that pile goes?

I can proclaim, and can attest,
But you have to do the rest.
The visit

My mother and went to visit her uncle and his family
they lived in the outskirt of the town what we thought of as posh
we took the bus.
Mother’s uncle was a foreman at an abattoir, therefore middle-class
in his wife’s eye.
When he came home from work his family, had two children
They had dinner in the kitchen, we sat in the living room
mother was given a cup of coffee I got a glass of milk.
When dinner was over her uncle came into the living room
I thought his hands were dripping with blood,
I think he gave her some money when his wife did the dishes.
We left, I was feeling angry without knowing why in the hall,
I said, have you got cats, no, his wife said? Odd I can smell cat ****.
Outside mother, scolded me for being so rude, but she smiled.
I never saw her uncle again nor his snobbish wife.
They never visited us, we lived on the wrong side of the town.
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