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  May 2016 jane taylor
Valsa George
In the coffin lay your body silent and still
As with wax, sealed were your eyes
Bared of all passion, pain and strain
You were at rest, tranquil was your face

When your body was lowered into the grave
Tears trickled from our eyes like streams of blood
We stood orphaned beside the newly dug up pit
Knowing quite well that the days of glory have fled!

When you left, leaving in us a contused wound
We hoped time would heal the **** quite soon
But with every passing day you’re sorely missed
Especially when our life goes out of tune

At times when I feel lonesome with none to care
In weariness I search you among the stars of the sky
When my heart twitches with an unknown pain
To your comforting presence, my mind does fly

Sometimes I envision you coming into my room
Smiling that sweet smile in the dead of the night
But soon I realize it is only a fleeting vision
And from my sight, you vanish like an ethereal sprite

Rambling through the avenues of vanished years
We remember your sweet assurance, tender care n’ love
But never will we have the joy of having them again
For you flew into the horizon like a gentle dove

Mom, your presence my tiny world once filled
With that old bygone past how I was content
A treasure of sweet memories still I do hold
Now your eternal absence, how deeply I lament

Oh Mother, though you are dead and gone
Our love for you is inscribed deep in our hearts
Which nothing can erase or erode and will last
Until finally from our body, life silently departs!
Mom.... you are sorely missed, though many years have gone by !
  May 2016 jane taylor
Fay Slimm
Summers of larks bred sun-torn
wilderness flowers all round my colourful home
and scented dialect of childhood
still utters recollections of well-trodden roaming.

In that haven of steep meadows
sheaves leaned roasting among searing hot fields
as hosts of moss roses fed nectar
to butterflies which still ghost my wistful dreams.

Autumn-red juiced my girlhood
when it etched its vermillion into each adventure
yet where could young fervour
find an entrance again to freedom's real treasure ?
  May 2016 jane taylor
ryn
.

How do we mend wavering pedestals...
When the ground beneath is parched dry.
Stemming off loose foundations that time had weathered wry.

How do we mend broken gazes...
When watchful eyes which were meant to see,
are blinded by the onslaught of half-truths and fallacy.

How do we mend burnt bridges...
When we never look back to trace heavy missteps.
We fail to admit to consciously springing obvious traps.

How do I mend ailing hearts...
When familiar corridors seem warped to a bend.
When my own is struggling and perpetually on the mend.
  May 2016 jane taylor
david mungoshi
your coming in with the rising sun
in soft morning light and glistening dew
made me think life could be  a huge smile
and that nothing about you could be a trifle

conversation with you was like lyrical poetry
full of measured tones and profound emotion
words are wholesome food when one is enamoured
you sip their oozing nectar at every sugary pause

your voice was like a heavenly harp magically played
by expert fingers dancing to an inspired melody
that only i and they could hear, and cherish like a dream
thus see me now with my face still ravaged by possibilities

but alas, you decided to take your leave with the dying day
and i knew my bewilderment would last the stretch of eternity
you walked away into the twilight and never once looked back
those who go away with the setting sun do not always rise with it
  May 2016 jane taylor
GaryFairy
The bass grow as long as your arm
down by mr thompson's farm
the flatrock river licks it's muddy ridge
underneath of a covered bridge

emerald shiners mirror the light
a grey heron takes to flight
catching crawdads for a hopeful cast
while the shoals of minnows pass
This is about my time when I lived in Rushville, Indiana. I used to fish under a very old covered bridge. It was the best fishing of my life, and I am pretty sure that I caught some record smallmouth bass. I never weighed them though.
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