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 Mar 2015 Helen
betterdays
begetting
 Mar 2015 Helen
betterdays
love, begets love
in bundles big or small
love, begets love

joy, begets joy
bright dropping jewels
joy, begets joy

hope begets hope
ephemeral, shining light
hope, begets hope.

life, begets life
all encompassing life.
life, begets life

and so the cycle goes....
 Mar 2015 Helen
Rj
I to We
 Mar 2015 Helen
Rj
One day I will visit every mountain range,
I will jump out of a plane, parachute flying
I will sit and watch all the seasons change
And camp out on the beach, chicken frying
On day I will find someone to do it all with me
And the 'I' in each of these lines will turn to *we
 Mar 2015 Helen
Bruised Orange
She perches on the chair,
clink of ice croons in her ear;
a slippery gloss of memory froths her lips.

Here on dark waters
float glimmers of chance
while hope,
that slow gasping fish of dreams
slides near.

She raises her glass,
a spirited salute--
when the lights come on he swims clear.

Washed up, she spits,
and tugs her drink,
swallows scorn in one long gulp:

that bitter brine,
end of the line,
a barb,
stuck in her throat.
a revision of an earlier piece, titled 'Cheers'
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/165693/cheers/
 Mar 2015 Helen
Richard Riddle
They were emblematic of the times, those park benches. Carefully placed among the trees in front of the courthouse, some aligning with the concrete walkway leading up to the front doors.
Come mid-morning, they would begin to arrive, those "old timers." Taking what appeared to be their "favorite bench in their favorite place', as if it were assigned seating. They had been gathering for a long time, many on a first name basis with lawyers, judges, clerks, peace officers.
Most were veterans of the military, serving in World War II, and Korea. One was a veteran of World War I, which history called "The Great War." One had served with the French Foreign Legion, another a constable in the Yukon Territory of Canada. They were mesmerizing with their endless library of stories.
Several years ago, in a newspaper column, I read this quote, origin unknown: "When an elderly person dies, a history book is lost." That could not be more true. My wife, Karen, for several years worked at at a retirement facility. She would often, and intentionally, begin a  conversation with the residents to get them talking about their experiences. She described how their eyes would "light up" when they would begin recalling events in their lives, people they had known, or related to, places where they had been, etc.  All because someone
showed an interest -
in them.

Do I need to say more?

copyright: richard riddle March 04, 2015
 Mar 2015 Helen
Moksha
You are vile, cruel to women and callous,
This is not my country...this is not my home.


Your men fight battles over themselves
Cowards who wag tails for authority
and are not ashamed to beat up the weak
This is not my country...this is not my home

You who have silenced so many
On the topic of ****, ****** harassment and other crimes

You who have given me no choice as a woman
but to cleave my way through your vile judgments

Your insolence is all I can see, and I don't wish to return

I don't wish to be loyal to one who cannot hold any respect


For me or my fellow women


this is not my country.


this is not my home.
 Mar 2015 Helen
ryn
Serenade
 Mar 2015 Helen
ryn
.
............
o|        |o
o|        |o
o|........|o
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•play me a
tune of sweet serenade
•sing me a song of wistful
melody•recite me the words
you would            have said•
now whisper me your sighs
tenderly•paint me the
colours of night and day•write
me the poem of your heart•send me
your love on which I lay•make me the
end to all your starts•strum me the chord
of hopeful bliss•compose me a ballad that
sets my innermost free•so play me your
tune, the one that I would always miss
•and keep singing of us in a song,
so we'd be immortalised in
eternity•
.
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