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If I had a dollar for every poem I ever wrote,
I wouldn’t even have a grand.
How on Earth would I pay the monthly rent,
buy our food,
survive
darling?

I guess a goat & a yurt
doesn’t sound so bad after all.
We could start a garden,
grow some tomatoes & drink
fresh unpasteurized raw milk,
We could even make soap.
Fixin’ a hole in the ceiling would
just take a needle and thread.
What a simple life we’d lead,
we could actually talk to each other.

And in the winter,
we could spoon,
snuggle underneath
a real buffalo rug.
It would be groovy.
You could tug on my ear lobe
with your pretty teeth
& whisper how much
you loved me.
We write endlessly
about the sensuous things in life,
it's ***-for-tat,
some rat-a-tat-tat,
for us
that's where it's at.

It ain't like chess,
gin rummy
or even go fish,
it's the real hot-deal
in penmanship.

We're restless souls,
dreaming & wishing,
confessing & bleeding
our ruptured-hearts out
in ******-like
steamy-words.

Hell no,
we ain't terse,
we're just darned
loose with the ****-verses....
read them & believe it,
kindred spirits!
Just having some poetic fun here!
We walk like vapor-genies
in old growth forests,
ghostlike & elegant,
we move
like true fairytales,
gnomes whittle the way
for us
past exploding ferns.

It’s true,
we have seen the rain
coming down in torrents
along blue ridge trails,
fallen logs strewn about
like matchsticks,
fungi licks our shins
while lightning cracks
thunder like bullwhips.
I love moments like that…….
I hear Creedence every time we go.

And didn’t you know dear friends,
it’s spiritual medicine
for restless souls,
like my fellow companions & me.
Tracing the outline of her face
On a photograph she’d given me once
What now seems like so very long ago
Smoothing out the torn corners
As I once smoothed out her wild hairs
Ignoring the fading colors
Trying to remember just the way she felt
Running a finger from her chin to her cheek
Examining the crease of her smile
Before gently pressing fingers to
The two small beauty marks beside her nose
You can barely notice the one
But I’ll never forget it
I can recall every detail so perfectly
As if we had never even been apart
But it’s been ages now and I’m not sure
If my memory still serves me right
That’s why so often these days
I pull this picture free
From the folds of my wallet
And gaze at it for hours
Photo paper so worn and glossless now
Grown thin from the countless times
I’ve sat and traced that beautiful face
Only to do it a thousand more
Until there’s holes in this photograph
And my memory of her is all that remains
 Feb 2014 Heather Moon
Chris
I just wanted to be the sunlight
that woke you up in the morning,
the warmth you wouldn’t mind
slipping through the curtains.
But I suppose it’s enough
for me to be
the memory
you hope to forget.
So many stars tonight,
No moon though.
What profound silence fills the December air.
I love it out here.
Just me and my thoughts.
With only the wind bearing judgment on my scatterbrained ideas.
Here I can run until my chest heaves with agony,
Here I can scream to the heavens with joy,
Here I can sing at the top of my lungs and wildly off tune,
Here I can cry on an old oak tree and ask God why.
This place is my everything.
My childhood, my memories, my comfort, my whole life.
This is the ground I run on barefoot all year,
The frozen rivers I learned to swim in,
The berries I pick every season,
The stars that made me wonder who I am.
Stars that will take me on adventures far from home,
Yet lead me back to those whom I love and to the place I call home,
The Adirondacks.
 Jan 2014 Heather Moon
G M Oliver
Oil
I want the oil of your fingertips
to be infused in my skin,

I'd like to discover strands of your hair
tangled in my clothes,

I want the taste of your sweet skin
to soak into my dry tongue,

I'd like-after a long night-for your scent
to stain every hair on my head,

I wish for you to always be a part of me in all the smallest ways possible.
Too lazy to be ambitious,
I let the world take care of itself.
Ten days' worth of rice in my bag;
a bundle of twigs by the fireplace.
Why chatter about delusion and enlightenment?
Listening to the night rain on my roof,
I sit comfortably, with both legs stretched out.
She wraps me in her  icy flow

and chills me 'til I'm warm

Soothes away the open space

With sand and pebbled shores

She tries to lull me downriver

Gently pulling, drowsing

Massaging the miles off me

Relaxing

I know she lies

I know she'd take me to the big river

Carrying me like an eddying breeze

But I want to lay back and dream

And slowly drift away
Bright angel river, bottom of the grand canyon
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