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Away, away
'til our souls embark on twilight's dreaming
to dance with the cunning dark.
 Apr 2016 Jack
cheryl love
Approaching May
As the time on this planet marches
Full steam ahead towards May
We should look around us
Appreciate what we have today,
The robin singing on the post
With his famous red jacket
Like a postman whistling
Posting his brown packet.
Then there is the rain
The usual April showers
Pouring down, brollys out
It goes on for hours.
Then we have the buds
Of our bluebells
Nature’s way of casting
Magical spells.
Enchanting our woods
With stars of blue and white
Oh to be in England in April
What a wonderful sight.
 Apr 2016 Jack
cheryl love
He needed a plan in which to inject
He knew his friend had become very hurt
So he has decided to treat him with respect
And buy him his favourite colour tee shirt.

That did not work so he’s bought a scouring pad
Well somewhere somehow one has to draw a line
And this thought he had made him feel really glad
Because it meant his friend could make his saucepans shine.

This friend was sinking into further depression
His whole being felt sort of broken.
He sat with his little face without expression
And what is more he had not spoken.

Friends these days have to be sort of thick skinned
Especially when you run out of hope.
Life is not like a a mad, mad whirlwind
But dwindling like soap on a rope.
 Apr 2016 Jack
Births and deaths
Debts and success
Floods and droughts
Cyclones and hurricanes
Earthquakes and tsunamis
Chaos and serenity

All in flux
Milling about
Constant movement
Constant din
Silence within
Raging against
the dry dry winds.

Another restless moment
in the universe
Stars are born
go cold and die
Galaxies collide
Black holes
no return
Super Novas
bring silence
to light years
eons wide

Another restless day
on the planet
in this our
moment of time
in this our place
in the universe.
 Apr 2016 Jack
cheryl love
It is his pride and joy
His one and only pleasure
His favourite toy
His hidden treasure.
It is the Duck’s saucepan cupboard
Where he keeps his stash
Like Old Mother Hubbard
Except it’s a duck’s trash.
Little bit of this and a bit of that
Where his secrets are hid
From anything to next door’s cat
And perhaps the odd saucepan lid.
It is where he hides when he’s in trouble
When he has gone off the rails.
Not being one to burst his bubble
And I am not the one to tell tales!
They knew he was  in there
Always with a smile on his fat face
And whilst the Duck is sat on a chair
They sat outside his door just in case.
Ramming the odd sandwich into his beak
Made weeks ago hence difficult to digest
The sandwich positively antique
And would fail a hygiene test
But he does not care he feels okay
He is in his cupboard and that is beyond measure
Because at the end of the day
It is his pride, pleasure and treasure.
We have one hour to spend together before you leave
let's make this hour worthwhile
Let's say all of the things we used to be afraid to say
without paying attention to the clock's ticking dials
Let's lie in each other's arms
reminiscing about the day we met
Let's be open and vulnerable until we cry
not giving a **** if our faces get wet
Let's hold each other close until the moment we say goodbye
comes to destroy our lives
If you only had one more hour to spend with the one you love
how would you spend your time?
WRITTEN BY: Mandie Michelle Sanders
WRITTEN ON: February. 22, 2016 Monday 8:08 PM
 Apr 2016 Jack
Randolph L Wilson
Petrichor and wisteria interlace at the empyrean .. Electric blue spatiality , brushed in sable waves , protracted shadows connect days end ..
Concertos of twilight mourn her passing .. The insatiable Harvest Moon shimmers afresh ...
Copyright March 31, 2016 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved
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