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Pendulum swings, beckoning time
To move along and forget.
But it can’t.
It likes to linger in the green
Meadows where butterflies
Sip on sweet nectar while
Children play hide and seek
Among the tall trees.
Pendulum swings, yet time
Ignores it at the shores when
Waves and sun hold hands and
Conceive warm hues bathing
The couple immersed in love
Which spans an eternity.
Pendulum swings, but time
Sleeps at the campfire
Crackling, cackling at the
Jokes told by the witty
Grandfather who has
Seen it all, done it all.
Pendulum swings, coaxing
Time to be on its way.
But it can’t.
It’s unable to let go of those
Treasured, magical moments
Etched in the fabrics of the
Universe, painting all existence.
There are still
people in the
World
With
Clean eyes

The people
Who have
A pleasant
Profile

Their pure
Scent is
Another simile
For goodness

I've lost my
Bronze shiny
Anchor

Therefore
Anaforas in
Before spring
Blossoms do
Afloat

Me and you
Are a rolling
Records

Cosily unbound
Wraped around
The ancient aquamarine
Amphoras

As the numinous, dire
Paragraphs of our lifes
Know also of the succulent
Sweetness. Inspiration.
And everything.

I am. You.
Omnipresent

We collide with marvels.
Rainbowy bubble plops.
The world is back again.
Trickeling over tenderly
Undulated membranes.
Also the eyelid seas.

United in the ephemeral,
Ever changing images.

Desire and goodness.
The day and those nights.
Imagined by
ImpeccableSpace
Poetic writer
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
 Jan 2016 Anto MacRuairidh
Joyce
A friendly face.
From another place.
With such gentle eyes.
Words are spoken.
Conversations so delightful.
I can almost see you here.
Sitting next to me so touchable.
Always finding time
to talk to each other online.
So far away and still close by.
This beautiful friend.
I love his open mind.
No matter our long distance.
Just caring and sharing.
My thoughts of this moment.
Though your day is dark and troubling
Though your hours are filled with fear
Walk boldly into the fire
Always remember I am here

-Brian Patrick O'Connor SR.- 2016
-With all of my love to Kayce E. Moore-
-Brian P. O'Connor SR.
9

In the garden hard with frost
sits an old man with furrowed eyes
staring at old decorations
dangling from branches
overhung with snow.

His forced breath sinks into fog.
He cannot feel
the rising of a warmer wind
or the furrowed ground
beneath his feet
poised to ooze life.

I am afraid of his eyes.
I turn away when he looks up
at the waves of geese returning,
thawing the ground with their shadows.
You’re my favorite word.
And I could take you in endless combinations
Letters lining your spine like a poem you read as a child
The one where you had felt love for the first time
But had forgotten that this is what it sounded like.
You are like medicine
That I didn’t know I needed but needed.
Your warmth is like the summer air.
And I think you taste like the rain in the moonlight.
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