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you smell like gun smoke and
i can see the shotgun you're holding behind your back and
i guess it's easy to crack jokes about dodging bullets when you're the one firing them
Remember the adventure girl you used to be?
The girl who lived in the woods on weekends and only came home for dinner? (But never on time)
The girl with flowers in her hair and a smile on her face?
The girl who believed she could control the wind and the sea?
The girl with scabbed knees and blonde bangs and curls?
The tree climber?
The blow-a-dandelion-and-make-a-wish girl?
The girl who jumped in mud puddles and didn't think twice that her skirt was *****?
The play-pretend cloud-watcher?
The girl who wanted to fly?
I wonder where she is now and if she would like me.
so soon, always so soon
as the last draft of floating wind
whispers through the blades of grass
picking feet through the gnarled roots
the rain puddling along the sand dunes,
wait, wait I say with gulps of quivering breath
as the tad poles skitter along the dappled light
and the thick greenery overcrowds the cerulean sky
the waning golden light falls behind the looming horizon
leaving my feet to pick its way in the its shadow,
my eyes adjusting to the dampness of the willows,
the silence is hushed, the leaves brush
like unwelcome notions of a broken friendship,
and as I stumble my way through, yearning
for the last flare of brilliant partnership
the moon careens high above my head, settling in
a gentle tug, pulling at the shadows and casting
the faintest silvery beam for my eyes to seize,
and I pick my feet to through the winding--
abruptly, beautifully, my with the most magnificent spur
the night erupts in a frenzy of piano keys as minuscule
bugs carrying the stomachs of fire swirl, swirling into
the potholes through the leafy ceiling, and smiling I ran,
sprinted, with ease of a swimming tadpole
skittering along the stardust and infinite life line
i wish to reveal a most precious thing
as Spring has begun
my dearest Daddy’s Birthday is done

he is not a man of celebrations
i want to disclose this personal’s manifest

as his blueprint, i am really beatific
i am very fortunate to be able to recollect
all and everything

to be your beloved daughter
is one most precious and delightful evidence

such a coziest feel to have you in my presence
you embody all that is calm and peaceful
no other impervious Daddy then you, my handsome sensitive

your BirthDay, dearest Daddy is never nebulous
the reputations you left us are all fabulous

you told me tales, they are in fact realities
you are one of a kind, your mind so sublime
you constantly cared and loved me, i am your prime

i love to tell superlatives about you
you deserve the most, dearest Daddy,

i am very proud of you, of your humor and your visions
your cartoons, drawings, and your fascinating paintings
you conjured magic in all your writings

C.C. was your weekly talkings
Charlie was your weekly walkings
in the world of Charlie Chan

i am very fond of you, my very talented Daddy
i know your world too, owned by you as a stage performer….
i remember everything, every detail hidden in my mind

i wish to reveal the most precious thing
last night i went to your place, i was wondering
you were not there, i started sobbing….

© Sylvia Frances Chan
21st March 2017
May he rest in Peace. May he have a Happy BirthDAY in Heaven on the 21st March on Tuesday....
He died too young too soon, my greatest grief on that day.
The Lord gives, the Lord takes at His Time....
for hummingbirds dine upon
fragrant vessels as dragonflies
fly haphazardly above
cattle ponds are filled with dancers
upon her surface
spring winds usher in the afternoon sun
leaves are returning to the cool earth
as young couples fall in love
brown hedgerows are filled with young flowers
gardens swell to dark green in summer showers* ...
Copyright May 4 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
Song Filled Hour ...


Magenta archangel
Answer this prayer with lantern fly
light , barn owl night call and whippoorwill
chantey
Sing to me
....
Copyright Randolph L Wilson
His sin sits heavy on his soul, an illicit lust the source of shame.
He’s registered offender now with no means to redeem his name.
Now as he walks the streets of town he studiously avoids all eyes;
those harsh accusing glances from the men and women passing by.
His work is menial and part time. He often moves from place to place.
He had once been a Catholic priest before he fell into disgrace.
I’ve seen him waiting there outside; his collar turned against the cold.
I’d often wondered what had caused his blue grey eyes to look so old.
People whisper; women talk.  A yellowed newspaper explains.
Invisible to all but him; his forehead bears the mark of Cain.


Some say the past does not exist. We cannot go there. It can’t be changed.
What would he say, I wonder, if he were asked?
He, whose life is burdened with regrets.
Does he still pray to the Carpenter’s Son,
whose sacrifice repays all debts?
A woman, working at a Christian soup kitchen, learns about the past of one of the men who visits the kitchen each Sunday for a bowl of soup and a crust of bread.
What is life?
I can no longer tell you.

I've discovered the darkest most secret corners,
Ones which I'm afraid of,
Yet I don't care about.

It's something I can't explain,
Being scared yet not caring.

I want it all to end.
The pain, the suffering,
I want peace,
That's all.
Maybe this can't be categorised as a poem; maybe it can. Sometimes life engulfs you and it leaves you senseless, breathless and lifeless. Depression and anxiety are horrible horrible places to be. When both are combined it is the most difficult challenge you have to face. I have good days; I have bad days. I guess this is a future note to myself. Don't look back, you can't change the past, but you sure as hell can change the future!
I have a feeling deep inside,
So horrible so powerful,
It rips me from inside.

I have a feeling deep inside,
So complex so painful
It tears me from inside.

I have a feeling deep inside,
So scary so morbid,
It kills me from inside.

I have a feeling deep inside,
So guilty so sinful,
It persecutes me from inside.

I have a feeling deep inside,
So alone so isolated,
It abandons me from inside.
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