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sit still
just be
listen to
heart beating
breath flowing
i stand in the shallows
of my memory
casting a spiderweb line
back into
the earlier years,
the murky depth
of the old brain pond
looking for that
elusive memory
of when......when.......when


life was simple,
somehow, more complete
with days of sunshine
and butterfly grace
that flew on by,

when grass smelt greener
skies were blue and
there was always much to do

the future was out there, past the horizon
a thing that was too far away to ponder on

they were the days,
the beautiful days
I know I  dream of.

to recapture my youth.....

but all I can now do,
is cast about in memories
and hope to find myself
an elusive rainbow trout....
 Oct 2016 David Patrick O'C
r
Night, I call you
the sanctuary of the lost
and the no-good,
like the hawk down
in my pillow case
full of forgotten dreams
that old hound time
tears apart like bones
tossed under the table,
so I pull on my new boots
and walk in the dark
with no place to go
but the road that leads
to the ferry by the river,
because unlike lost friends
and dead family, the cold
water will always take me in.
what did he miss most?
the whip of wind on his face
the unbridled buck of life between his legs
the scent of the saddle
the lathered beast?

the fast pass of the satchel
to the next eager rider, the covenant
he carried in the saddle bags; the one he made
with the Almighty to keep him safe
from the red devils?  

a new century dawned, two score
years since the hot rides were quick
made obsolete by the iron horse, the poles
and lines that brought Morse's magic,
ticking time electric

what did he miss most?
perhaps the deep, unperturbed sleep
after the ride--slumber filled with liquid dreams,  
gifts bestowed by a condign contentment
from his brutish labor
(1901, in memory the Pony Express, 1860-1861)
cooler now,we have butter lumps,

goes on the toast in bumps

tweaking the crust.



will we then get thinner,

not die of fats, get ill with

some thing else? it will not

spread.



i have my first new cooker

ever; i shall make bread.



eat with a slice of butter.



there is a fan.



#october.



sbm.
It was when our eyes first met...the knowing look
the glance that locked on a breezy spring day
when April rain danced to the beat of life
and windy dark clouds music played

It was when you first whispered my name
your voice just a moment away
when the colors of a thousand flowers burst
when the summer sun smiled its winged rays

It was when you first held my hand
the tender touch in your warm hold
wrapping me in moonlit russet dreams
in a  world of scarlet autumn's gold

It was when we first danced
beside the fire that amber glowed
crimson steps with hearts  of bliss
as winter spread her cape of snow

It was at dawn, at noon, at dusk
I swept, lost, tossed and blown
you, my love, took my breath away
and a tiny seed of love was sown
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