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The mast
like I,
once touched the sky
and
sailed across horizons

now it's lower
like the Sun
and
this voyage of mine
is nearly done.
 Jul 2016 Daniel Ospina
wordvango
you **** sure ain't unconditional.
you ain't like my Labrador
who jumps up and down when I been
gone an hour.
or my cats who rub against my leg
whether or not
I want 'em to.
You are more like
work.
I gotta watch every step and word.
Always on guard
I can't relax.
It's not you its the situation.
I need to be content.
And you, I don't know anymore, I
thought I did,
know.
 Jul 2016 Daniel Ospina
r
Everything is asleep
and in pain, in love
and dreaming
about another life
I say to myself,
it is time I take my own
lookout, unfaithful
sailors know they can't
see a thing but they keep
their place on the prow
out there in the darkness
where boats are colliding,
oh yes, they are blind
or awake feeling the dark
like light, like those levels
of cold and heat underwater,
you know what I mean,
when you are dreaming
or in danger, that place
where fish live and sleep,
sometimes I think I understand
everything,  but I know that
I am wrong, and incredible
as it seems, the shadow I see
when I'm hung, I want to think
of hideouts in the mountains
where a man can go to die there.
 Jul 2016 Daniel Ospina
GaryFairy
harvesting parts from my garden of carnage
farming the darkness of my own catharsis
revealing the marks regarding the tarnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist

how many times have i died?
to show the "i" that i am inside
nothing to hide, i'm cut open wide
these lines of rhymes are my suicide

embarking on journeys to harness the farthest
charting the course that startles the smartest
imparting a sparkle with scars as a garnish
hitting the target, the heart of the artist
I came upon a parade of
Zinnias today...
lined along the pave-way,
wild and wily.
An infinite variety
of colorful heads
popping up and out,
like eyes of
wary prairie dogs,
on the lookout for action.

Thought of you...
the flower heads you gave me,
filled with seeds aplenty
to plant in the spring.
Knew just where they would go.
Imagined my hands in the
welcoming earth, sowing
them at just the right depth.

They would grow,
reaching with their
long thin frames.
Vigorously tall and full of
Summers' brightness.
Symmetrical flowers
filled with attitude
towards the sun.

Flourishing in cracks along  
sidewalks and driveways.
Finding comfort and feeling free
in the most limited of spaces.

Yet...I did not plant them.
Aware that I am
not able, just now, 
to make such a commitment.
To water and ****.
Ensuring that they
would reach their full potential.
A simple promise of one season.
To nourish a delicate,
perfect Zinnia.


~Christi Michaels~July 2015~

Copyright © 2015 Christi Michaels.
All Rights Reserved.
're-post'
for Scott, my "Walking Man"
Squeezed by society,
But not getting crushed.
Morals tested and despised,
Not appreciated,but degraded.
Deeply perplexed by nowadays,
But not in despair.
Therefore do not lose heart.
Nor grow weary of doing good.

Always be hopeful of what's to come.
2 Corinthians 4....
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