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 Nov 2013 Frieda P
Mike Hauser
I dream often about the circus
A place I loved to go to as a child
Mesmerized by clowns and jugglers
Enthralled by animals from the wild

As the lights dim and the spot light shines
The ringmaster steps into its glow
"Welcome one, welcome all
to the Wilkie circus show! "

That's when things take a turn
As they always do in dreams
The spotlight finds me in the crowd
As the ringmaster calls my name

I find myself in the center ring
Dressed up just like a clown
Fuzzy yellow hair, big red nose
And grandma's paisley gown!

It turns even odder I'd say as the animals parade
With heads and bodies that are mismatched
Lions with the heads of monkey's
and zebras with the smiles of Cheshire cats
It doesn't get much stranger than that!

A flash of light and everything changes
I find myself on the high wire
My balance beam a giant matchstick
And "HELP" its been lit on fire!

That's when I start twirling it like a baton
As the crowd below chants my name
You never know what will happen next
In the circus of my dreams
Another fun collaboration with the wonderful poet and friend Fiona Crouch!
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
Mike Hauser
floating by in life
on a borrowed sea
Life is the prattle of an old lady.

She squawks either too loudly
or makes you crane to hear.

as she sits rocking,
her senile nonsense numbs your intelligence
until you sit bleary-
gaping at the air
like the fattest fish in the aquarium.

your every comment drowns
in the mush
of her tapioca voice.

you sit uncomfortably in her fishbowl world of
cottage cheese,
faded floral print- lace doilies
and contemplate your deft superiority
as her denture clicks gnaw on your sanity.

as soon as you think
a vague plotline surfaces in her mumbling
a new great aunt’s third cousin’s baby
weaves its way into the conversation,
and you are hopelessly thrown
like a reused dryer sheet
back into the colored load.

occasionally you attempt to establish a connection
between you and the venerable wrinkled smile
but she mishears and begins another
disconnected strain
featuring Bobby, the lad turned soldier.

but
just
as soon as you gain confidence
that you know how to handle this doddery senior-
she slams you with a small token
of sage advice
that shatters your naïve sphere
with its mind-wrenching validity.
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
H J St
It felt so real.
Late, late @ night, blissful and boreal.
I thought it was a dream.
Sent from a sweet moonbeam.

I was deep in dreams at around 3.
It was a  sweet sleep... just as you wished for me.
I felt a warm touch, like a soft whisper, slow across my cheek.
Not a straight line, but light, lofty, smooth and oblique.

A smile radiated to my right.
A light in my dark night.
It was you!
YOU!  
Celeste!
My light on the horizon from the northwest.
It was you!  
Brisk, fresh, strong with courage.
It was you!
Full of life and ready for your next voyage.

I absorbed your smile,
its radiance in the lunar cold.
I just felt
a waiting, a wanting
to behold.
I drifted back to sleep
at first into slumber.
Smiling
Breathing
Easing
Into a dream-like stupor.

I took your hand into mine
as I entered into sleep's dark fall.
I held you tight
to have your back
whenever you call.
I sought to receive you
through your celestial ray.
To be your sunshine
your warmth
your beau
on every day.

* * * * *

I reflect back on
my nights of empty dreams.
I held my thoughts,
as suspended in time,
to protect my heart,
and face my mean.

I sensed your presence and awoke to your signal
Your glow filled my dark room and tapped my soul.
Your distal touch tried its all
To awake me from my nocturnal stall.
It was your simple attention to your awakening it seemed
That simply tipped my trust
of feeling, of wanting,
for fate to create,
an existence
with a sweet moonbeam.

I now ease
into sweet sleep
and deep dreams
of my sweet moonbeam.
Written on the very early morning of 3/12/2013
after getting your picture on my iPhone at 3am.
At that time,
of our early circling,
orbiting around our
newly formed space.
I sought to trust a simple flow again,
of a signal, tho distant,
and to believe
in shine,
in glow,
in a belief,
that we can restore
by holding on
and letting go.
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
H J St
Droplet
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
H J St
Waiting.

Our fleeting moments in this bubble shimmer.

I see.

These subliminal and true moments we share.

Your voice.

I hear hints of your presence and scribble them dear.

Move light.

These words of our essence exists with me in here.

Flow bright.

Contained in a droplet that moves me near.
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
H J St
Trust
 Nov 2013 Frieda P
H J St
The blurred road a head is foggy
ourselves still unknown.
We yearn to feel and fear
each other's past journey.

Ride with me through the night's cool dark air.
Straddling the bluff line road high above the coast.
We ride it with speed and a deliberate abandon of care.
Perched forward and fast, staying tuned to our future's unknown ghosts.

To fear and hold.
To feel and pain.
To brace then release.
To trust then move.
Then simply behold
all that is atoned.
I live in a world
            full of people with your name
but not the way you articulate the consonants
            or the way your eyes dare
listeners to
            contradict your intricate intonation.

                      correction

I live in a world
           full of people who think they can have your name
without having your soul.
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