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55.2k · Apr 2017
Touching
Jim Davis Apr 2017
In the last
three decades,
after we became one,
I touched
amazingly beautiful things,
horribly ugly things,  
unbelievably wondrous things

I touched nature's majesty;
hued walls of the Grand Canyon,              
crusty bark of the
Redwoods and Sequoias,
live corals of the
Great Barrier Reef,
dreamlike sandstone of the Wave

I touched magical and strange;
platypus, koalas and
kangaroos Down Under,
underwater alkali flies and
lacustrine tufa at Mono Lake,
astral glowing worms
in the Kawiti caves

I touched holy places;
Christianity's oldest churches,
the Pope's home in the Vatican,
Hindu and Sikh temples and
Moslem mosques in India,
Anasazi's kivas of Chaco canyon,
Aboriginal rocks of Uluru and Kata Tjuta

I touched glimmers of civilization;
uncovered roads of Pompeii,
fighting arenas of Rome,
terra cotta armies of Xian,
sharp stone points of the Apache,
pottery shards from the Navajo,
petroglyphs by the Jornada Mogollon

I touched fantastical things;
winds blowing on the
steppes of Patagonia,,
playas and craters of Death Valley,  
high peaks of the Continental Divide,
blazing white sands of the  
Land of Enchantment

I touched icons of liberty
and freedom;
the defended Alamo,
a fissured Liberty Bell,
an embracing Statue of Liberty,
the harbor of Checkpoints
Alpha, Bravo, and Charlie

I touched glorious things
made by man;
the monstrous Hoover Dam,
an exquisite Eiffel tower,
a soaring St Louis Arch,
an Art deco Empire State Building,
the sublime Golden Gate Bridge

I touched sparks from history;
the running path of an
Olympic flame just off Bourbon,
the last steps of Mohandas Ghandi
at Birla House before Godse,
******'s Eagle's nest and the
grounds over Der Führerbunker

I touched walls of power;
enclosed rings of the Pentagon,
steep steps of the
Great Wall of China,
untried bastions of
Peter and Paul's fortress,
fitted boulders of Machu Picchu

I touched strong hands;
of those conquering
Rommel's and ******'s hordes,
of cold warriors of
Chosin Reservoir,  
of forgotten soldiers of Vietnam,
of terrorist killers of today

I touched memories of war;
the somber Vietnam memorial,
the glorious Iwo Jima statue,
the cold slabs at Arlington,
the buried tomb of USS Arizonians,
Volgograd's Mother Russia  

I touched ugly things;
shreds of light in
Port Arthur's prison,
horrible smelly dust
in the streets from 9/11,
ash impregnated dirt
in the pits at Auschwitz

I touched oppressed freedom;
open ****** plazas
of Tiananmen Square,
smooth pipe and concrete
of the Berlin Wall,  
tall red brick walls
of the Moscow Kremlin

I touched constrained freedom;
heavy ankle and
wrist slave chains
in the South,
little windows
in Berlin's Stasi prison,
haunted cells in Alcatraz  

I touched remnants of madness;
wire and ovens of Auschwitz,
stacked chimneys and
wooden bunks of Birkenau,        
Ravensbruck, and Dachau,
the tomb of Lenin,
toppled Stalins

I touched hands of survivors;
of Leningrad's siege,
of German POWs and
of Russian fighters
of Stalingrad's battle,
of Cancer's scourges  

I touched grand things;
deep waters of the Pacific and Atlantic,
blue hills of Appalachia,
towering peaks of the Rockies,
high falls of Yosemite Valley,
bursting geysers of Yellowstone,
crashing glaciers of Antarctica and Alaska    

I touched times of adventure;
abseiling and zipping in Costa Rica,
packing Pecos wilds and Padre isles,
flying nap of earth Hueys to Meridian,
breaking arms in JRTC's box,
fighting Abu Sayyaf, and Jemaah
Islami in Zamboanga City

I touched through you;
wet sand beaches of  Mexico and Jamaica,
mysterious energy of the monoliths of Stonehenge,
rarefied air in front of the
Louvre's Mona Lisa,
ancient wonders of Giza,
Egypt's tombs and pyramids

We shared soft touches;
drifting in Bora Bora's
surreal waters,
joining hands camel trekking the
Outback's dry sands,
strolling along Tasmania's
eucalyptus forest trails

basking in swinging hammocks
under Fiji's bright sun,
scrambling in
Las Vegas' glittering and
red rock canyons,
kissing under the
Taj Mahal's symphony of arches

We shared touching deep waters;
propelled in gondolas
through the city of canals,
Drifting atop Uru cat boats on Lake Titticaca,
Swooping in jet boats
up a wild river in Talkeetna

Racing in speed boats
around Sydney's great harbour,
skimming in pangas in Puerto Ayora,
paddling the Kennebec for
East's best petroglyphs,
cruising Salzbergwerk's underwater lake

We touched scrumptious things;
Beignets and chicory coffee at DuMonde's in the Big Easy,
Hot *** with sesame sauce
in the walled city of Xian,
Peking duck, dimsum, scorpions,
snake and starfish on Wangfujing Snack Street

We touched delicious things
Crawfish heads and tails at JuJu's shack
and ten years at Jeanette's,
Langoustine at Poinciana's, Fjöruborðinus and Galapagos,
Cream cheese and loch bagels
at Ess-a' s in the Big Apple

I touched your hand riding;
hang loose waves of Waikiki,
a big green bus in Denali's awesomeness,
clip clopping carriages of Vienna, Paris,
Prague, New Orleans, Krakow,
Quebec City, and Zakopane,
the acapella sugar train of St Kitts

We shared touching on paths;
the highway 1 of Big Sur,
the Road of the Great Ocean,
the bahn to Buda and Pest,
the path to the North of Maine,
the trail of the Hoh rainforest,
and time after time, the way home

Yet,
I could spend
the next three decades,
in simple bliss,
having need for
touching nothing,
other than you!

©  2016 Jim Davis
A poem I wrote last year for my wife!  Posted now since it matches the HP' theme for today - "Places"
12.3k · Apr 2019
World’s Full (10w)
Jim Davis Apr 2019
World’s full...
of miserable people
Choose...
not to join them


©  2019 Jim Davis
If you can’t beat them, don’t join them!
12.2k · Apr 2019
A poet
Jim Davis Apr 2019
What
makes
A poet

Well
I think
Eventually

One will
just
know it

©  2019 Jim Davis
11.9k · May 2017
The Clubhouse
Jim Davis May 2017
Kevan Fuchs died today in his sleep
In a similar way as his father of one
And actually, also my father did too
Of those bitter, big cancer scourges
Which always come in unexpected
In this short enough life, a bit early

I've known him ever since first, when
We were knee high to Dad's shotgun
Throughout our small neighborhood
We would all roam to see and look
For ***** toads and such other fun
Without any known end in our sights

We often, came all together, at once
In his parent's, little Clovis back yard
In the under ground, in our deep dug
Wild little clubhouse of our new pride
Approved by our jealous Dad's stare
Made all by ourselves, with great care

Eight by eight, with three feet of deep
Shagged carpet floors, walls around
And places to hide stuff with those
**** magazines we wished to remain
Unseen by our parents, although they
Surely lived through similar wild times

Black lights , fluorescent mod posters
Fans to cool, while there in the deep
Kept the place comfy, from several
Hot summers in New Mexico's heat
Staying nights over, in conspiracy we
Came colluding, while hoping no fame

This place was our place, of known
Refuge from all of the big crazy, with
Frightening world still yet to come
Giving us our youngest freedoms
And also so much being in trouble
As kinda neighborhood hoodlums

Far up his Dad's, tall, two-way radio tower
One of us in care would climb
With binoculars to see the dark night
With our pair of walkie talkies held
Warn the others, carousing around
Of any plight, in appearing headlights

Kevan's brother, still alive,  Keith
My other brother by another,  Buddy
Also at first, a weird guy, named Chris
One other member, as second cousin
Who actually, was my very first kiss
When it was hard to aim, lips to miss

All bound as one, by made up signs
And part of something called PSO
Which, if you don't know well, what it
Truly means, then you were definitely
Not a part of the so very high bliss
Which we suffered through so often

Kevan's true nature is clearly proven
Finally, most completely, at his end
In the nature of his wonderful loving
All his family, who also so loved him
And all those other parties to trouble
Who also so loved, really all of him

©  2017 Jim Davis
Kevan passed away over a year ago.  I just wrote the poem recently.
11.3k · Aug 2018
How to poet
Jim Davis Aug 2018
How to poet a life away

Toss the trite learned

Skip grammar mostly too

Rhyme or not is all yours

Step to drummer unheard

Believe in life yet untold

Read a thousand times

More than you write

Live, so you will know

What you are talking about

Take wild leaps in mind

Without losing it too far

Write not only about love

Although that’s all there

Really is or really is not

Fall in some love also

More than simply once

With not only your words

But others in thought

Wishing to poet too



©  2017 Jim Davis
9.7k · Mar 2017
Psychedelic Mind
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Time frozen
Horns blaring
Heart thumping
Palms wetted
Words in whorls
Nebulous thinking
Thoughts in twirls
Spinning in circles
Gaze hypnotic
Moment surreal
Vision kaleidoscopic
Life chromatic
Living hallucinogenic
Gone tripping
Psychedelic eyes
In psychedelic mind
Once more
Loved again

©  2017 Jim Davis
Everyone talks about falling in Love
How bout that getting caught by Love
8.2k · Jun 2019
Harpoon Barry (a haibun)
Jim Davis Jun 2019
Scrounging local garage sales... near ten years past... I had found a flat, welded iron, rusty seahorse... 3 feet high... with a good seahorse shape and poise... edges welded and cut... after the haggle... twenty-five dollars..... perfectly added to my estate... covered rust in gold sheen... mounted upon a tree... to greet all comers... with a seahorse kiss!    
     Seller said it was made by the same artist... of the turtle lady statue... to be found in Corpus Christi!  Asked if I had seen it... my reply... No, but I liked the seahorse piece! He expounded... the artist... only had one leg... but was a surfer... well known for this trait... in Corpus Christi!  
     After I had mounted the seahorse... upon it's tree...I did an internet search... looking for anything about the one-legged surfer artist of Corpus Christi!  Found... nothing!  
     End of May, 2019... visiting my sister, Donna... we were wandering Corpus Christi!  She guided us to the surf museum... not knowing the story... of the one-legged surfer artist... creator of my mounted seahorse!  
     Girl at the front desk... Kyla... real nice and friendly... told her about the seahorse and questioned her... she didn’t know... she never heard of a surfer with one leg or the turtle lady statue!  Looking at us just a bit strangely... one legged surfer???
      Donna and I... started our stroll through the small museum!  Along the right side... stood a long row of surfboards... I’ve never surfed... but I was imagining trying it with just one leg!  
      Anyhow... I didn’t really stop to read or look in any detail at any of the exhibits until I reached the back... there was a glass case... which had a piece of simple letter paper...  8.5x11... taped to the front of the glass cabinet!  I started in reading the last paragraph...

     “Welch, 53, and his wife, Chelsea Louise, 23, died September 15, 2001, when their car plunged off the edge of South Padre Island’s Queen Isabella Causeway, which partially collapsed after a string of barges crashed into the bridge’s support pilings!

     Thought to myself... Wow... Who is this guy???  I jumped up to the middle paragraph...

     “Welch lost one of his lower legs in an auto accident in the 1970s, but he kept surfing with a prosthesis.  He wore a peg-like prosthesis at first, then got one with a foot.  He won the prosthesis division of the United States Surfing Championships on South Padre Island in 1998.”

     In the glass case was a welded metal sculpture of a beach scene... with waves, palm trees, and all!  The piece did have some resemblance in style to my seahorse sculpture!  Also, there was a picture on top of the case... of Harpoon Barry... striking a muscular, no shirt pose... in his tattoo shop... his torso covered in tattoos!  
    
     “It is said... he was on the verge of suicide after losing his leg. In one interview with the San Antonio Express News in 1992 he said;  "I may not make it to heaven, but you can be sure I made no deals with the devil to get where I'm at now, "  Looking down at his false leg stretched out in front of him, Welch said quietly: "It is a real empty feeling when you put one of these on for the first time, especially if you are an adult on your own. And your mama'a not there and your daddy's not there, and the people in the hospital tell you, 'This is the best it's going to get.  I made my first leg myself, out of Hi-C cans. I couldn't wait for my leg to get finished. I wanted to walk. I guess I got the idea from the Tin Woodsman in 'The Wizard of Oz.' That leg actually worked pretty well!”

     I had found my one-legged surfer artist!  I walked towards Donna... who was already half-way leaving the museum...  I hollered to her... she just had to come see this ... “I think I found the one-legged surfer!”  She had recently had partial knee replacement... and was hobbling!  She said if I was fooling her... she better not walk back all that way for nothing!! She came back to the glass case... we read through the letter in it’s entirety!  
     Then we went... and told Kyla at the front desk... she again looked at us again a bit strange... but then reluctantly left her post to go with us to take a look... she was then astounded!  Said she never knew about the one-legged surfer... although she had worked at the museum for several years!  Said there were also a couple metal sculptures... at the front of the museum... she thought were also done... by Harpoon Barry!  We took pictures of those also!  

In the letter we also read...

     “Welch had numerous tattoos and body piercings.  He wore a tiny 14 carrot gold harpoon through one ******.  That is how he got his nick name according to a friend, Scott Gangel.”  

     "I am a unique, self-made sensation!” he said matter-of-factly... in the interview with the Express News!  
    
     It's been 18 years since eight people died when South Padre Island's Queen Isabella Memorial Causeway collapsed... sending 11 people into the water below... four days after the 9/11 attacks!  A string of tow barges had struck the supporting pilings!  A section of the roadway had collapsed...
     I promised Kyla... I would donate my seahorse piece to the museum upon my death!  I only hope my death... is as grand as Harpoon Barry’s plunge into the Gulf of Mexico with his young wife!  Wonder what they were doing during the plunge... what was Barry doing... yelling Yippee Ki Yay... or Surf’s up... Dude!!!... maybe???  
    
Surfed waves on one leg
Young wife... crazy life... grand death
Harpooned by Barry

©  2019 Jim Davis
I doubt I could ever match his life!  !  Though...  someday... I might get a tattoo... or two... or a harpoon piercing... perhaps in a ******! Also... still looking for the turtle lady statue!
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Some -
thus not all. Not even the majority of all but the minority.
Not counting schools, where one has to,
and the poets themselves,
there might be two people per thousand.

Like -
but one also likes chicken soup with noodles,
one likes compliments and the color blue,
one likes an old scarf,
one likes having the upper hand,
one likes stroking a dog.

Poetry -
but what is poetry.
Many shaky answers
have been given to this question.
But I don't know and don't know and hold on to it
like to a sustaining railing.

Translated by Regina Grol
Wislawa Szymborska
Wisława Szymborska
From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia
Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska
Szymborska 2011 (1).jpg
Wisława Szymborska, Kraków, Poland 2011
Born 2 July 1923
Prowent, Poland (now Kórnik, Poland)
Died 1 February 2012 (aged 88)
Kraków, Poland
Occupation
Poet essayist translator
Nationality Polish
Notable awards
Goethe Prize (1991)
Herder Prize (1995)
Nobel Prize in Literature (1996)
Order of the White Eagle (2011)
Spouse Adam Włodek (1948–1954; divorced)
Maria Wisława Anna Szymborska[1][2] [viˈswava ʂɨmˈbɔrska] (2 July 1923 – 1 February 2012) was a Polish poet, essayist, translator and recipient of the 1996 Nobel Prize in Literature. Born in Prowent, which has since become part of Kórnik, she later resided in Kraków until the end of her life.[3][4] In Poland, Szymborska's books have reached sales rivaling prominent prose authors: although she once remarked in a poem, "Some Like Poetry" ("Niektórzy lubią poezję"), that no more than two out of a thousand people care for the art.[5]
.....
Her reputation rests on a relatively small body of work, fewer than 350 poems. When asked why she had published so few poems, she said: "I have a trash can in my home".[3]
3.3k · Mar 2017
Believe in Ripples
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Take this flat, round, stone
I told my son, and daughter too
Throw it hard, spinning it
Across the stilled pond
Count your big splashes
Watch the ripples grow

First stones they threw
Only singular sets of ripples
Then two, then three, then more
Eventually, their stones, with mine
Easily reached the other shore
Splashes, into ripples galore

Ripples formed by casted rocks
Have they lasting print upon
Hearts of those I've loved
Standing now on faraway shores
Gleefully leaping, dancing, tossing
Skipping stones hid in their pockets

Are my stones, living on in ripples
Marked indelible in memories
Cast in mind's marble and stone
A forever legacy or merely
A dimly lit fading thought
In minds and hearts forlorn

Once, when I was young
I knew, I could ripple the world
Now, I only hope a weary rest  
To lay burden upon the shore
Enfeebled arm, for slinging stones
Pond's winter death, comes nigh

A bit of time left, of sweet life
To cast a few more stones
Boulders, to toss into the river
Giving the biggest splash
Heavy to lift, except with help
From other believers in ripples

©  2017 Jim Davis
Ok, fellow believers, here is my pitiful effort following my recently posted short stanza "Ripples".  Playing with the word "ripple" and  thinking about the idea of the "butterfly effect'.  Keep believing!  "I alone cannot change the world, but I can cast a stone across the water to create many ripples." -Mother Teresa
3.0k · Nov 2018
Sardines
Jim Davis Nov 2018
Our eyes filled with wonder
Our minds twisted in change
Much like hobbits going afar
Then returning to sweet home
Our lives were changed forever

We rode slow and flew so fast
In tin cans from here and to there
Never taking off our shoes
Hardly touching the ground
Hardly touching Africa

Hiding behind camera lens
Wearing our face in masks
As a people not African black
Who worry not the future
Living easily in time’s moment

Like sardines aligned in tight
Wild creatures within confines
Electricity, steel, and wire
Tall fences stopping escape
To other worlds and realms afar

Except the leopards of night
Who easily roam across
All defined or artificial borders
Escaping cramped tin cans
Basking in Africa’s buttery light

Except for our African guide
With Christian name of Dexter
But named actually as
Tichayambuka Nekutenda
Nenyasha Chikerema

More comfortable sleeping in
Deep bush amongst beasts
Without down comforters,
perfumes, socks, or shoes
Living life in happy quiet freedom

A man raised speaking Bantu
in a small Shona tribe
Born in the Zimababwan village
Of Mutekedza in Mashonaland
East in the Chivhu Area.

From his father’s family
Given a totem of Zebra Brown
Then recited in love poem daily
by his proud mother
To affirm him as a man

Although he must also
be like the leopard
Unconfined in simple borders
Or tin can walls all around
Able to traverse the world

We as tourists were and are
Salty, smelly, near rotten sardines
I see him smile
And I laugh, and I know
Ndino ziva anorarama se  mbada


©  2017 Jim Davis
Notes:  The last line in Shona language means “I know he lives as a Leopard”
2.8k · Aug 2019
Hummingbird Classifieds
Jim Davis Aug 2019
hummingbird boy
seeking
hummingbird girl
(seeking only a long summertime of hum
sipping dark red flowers and then some)

summer hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
hummingbird unfurls
hummingbird whirs
hummingbird twirls
twirling hummingbird
twirl twirl hummingbird
hummingbird whirls
whirling hummingbird
whirl whirl hummingbird
hummingbird pearls
pearls of hummingbird
pearl hummingbird pearl
humming hummingbird
hum hum hummingbird
hummingbird hummingbird
humming hummingbird
hummingbird bird hums
hum hummingbird hum
fuming hummingbird
fume fume hummingbird
hummingbird fumes
watching... waiting
for any hummingbird girl
humming hummingbird
hummingbird summer

Heard hummingbird’s whir
Within a bright summer day
A whir... now... heart beats

©  2019 Jim Davis
An experiment now - posting the poem again!   I posted this poem yesterday / did not get any likes/loves/comments - nothing?  Didn’t think it was that bad... but beauty is in the eyes of the beholder!  Just sorta strange that my last few poems have trended... but this one - nothing!  Anybody out there??
2.8k · May 2019
JuJu’s Crawfish Shak
Jim Davis May 2019
Look what the cat done drug in
Slow on down... darlin’!
Hol’ yo horses!
Don’t go get’n a conniption fit
Or get’n your knickers in a knot!
Hush up
Or’n I’m a goin **** a knot in yo tail!


I’m busy as a one legged cat in a sandbox,  
but I’m fixin tell what we got here at JuJu’s

Now lookie here...

we got
crawfish mild spicy
crawfish medium spicy
crawfish spicy spicy

we got
crawfish with corn
crawfish with sausage
crawfish with potatoes

we got
crawfish with red sauce
crawfish with pink sauce
crawfish with melted butter

If y’all a bit dry...
we got
crawfish with canned soda
crawfish with bottled water
crawfish with beer
crawfish with BYOB

Or we gots
jus’ crawfish

Go on an pick how yo’ want yo’ crawfish spiced, then go on an decide what yo’ wanna add!  I reckon we gots dang near 362,888 ways to eat these here mudbugs

You might could get
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage
spicy spicy crawfish with corn
spicy spicy crawfish with potatoes
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage and corn
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage and potatoes
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage, corn and potatoes
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage and beer
spicy spicy crawfish with corn and beer
spicy spicy crawfish with potatoes and beer
spicy spicy crawfish with
Zummo’s sausage, corn, potatoes
and beer

I could go on...
till I’m plum tuckered out... but...

Got it?  You good??
You want mushrooms
Well, I’ll be
Don’t go axin... what we ain’t got
No siree bob, no mushrooms

We also ain’t got tea, sweet or unsweet
But sweet’s the only way to have tea sweetie

If you want soda, you can get
Coke, Diet Coke, Sprite, Dr Pepper
Diet Dr Pepper, Hawaiian Punch, Brisk Tea
Or Root Beer

We also got shrimp... just boiled

We also got gloves... half a dollar

Well, I’m worn slap out!

Watcha have a hankerin for?   

Take your own sweet time!  

Sit a spell

You’ll soon be full as a tick on a big dog!

Happy as a dead pig in sunshine!

You’ll wanna slap yer mama!

Can’t decide hon?

I do declare!

Aren’t you precious?

(now... he startin get on my last nerve)

Still...can’t make up your mind?

Well... I can’t do it fer ya!

(bout aggravatin as a rock)

You picky?  

(Lawd have mercy!)

Bless your heart!  

©  2019 Jim Davis
It’s a Southern thing! Had 3 pounds of mudbugs for lunch today at JuJu’s Crawfish Shak in Fannet!  Be sure and stop by if you’ve got time!
I swear this is word for word!
2.6k · Apr 2017
5 word poem
Jim Davis Apr 2017
Every one
Looks for two

©  2017 Jim Davis
2.5k · Mar 2017
Azurite Flame
Jim Davis Mar 2017
We have a peacock
Grand Azurite the third
Even his name a flame
He fans his blaze of shine
To ladies throughout his realm

Whether cat, dog,
Rooster, mare or hen
Or his sweet dame the same
He only wishes from all
A little bit of aloof admiration

Starts his day with a strut
Goes all day long looking
For a fawning long gaze
Ends every given long day
In mostly similar ways

He and his dame
Blissfully life spent thus far
Patiently eagerly waiting
For a brood of little ones
To teach to fan their flame

©  2017 Jim Davis
Peacocks and chickens grace our place
2.1k · Oct 2022
Clouds
Jim Davis Oct 2022
A chance… finally
to hide… from the moon’s bright eye
to glow… on my own

© 2022 Jim Davis
Playing with one of Basho’s haikus

Clouds -
a chance to dodge
moon-viewing

Matsuo Basho
1.9k · Apr 2017
Desert Haiku
Jim Davis Apr 2017
Walking in dry sands
Time without rain to quench thirst
Hope one drop of love
1.9k · May 2017
You Can
Jim Davis May 2017
Today is
Not just
Another day
Wake up
Get going
Live today
As if you've
Never lived
Ever before!  
Just because
You can!  

©  2017 Jim Davis
Inspired by a friend of mine, James A. McBride, who had a heart transplant!
His words below;

"Not everybody gets a do-over.  Life has a certain inevitability to it that is unavoidable.  It ends.  There will always be a mark on our headstones that says Lived 1952-2014.  But, it’s the decisions we make that can make that time between the dashes, that time that we are alive more significant.  Hell, a decision you make may even change the date that is after someone else’s dash.  It did for me.  That was the date my headstone was destined to bear until a young man, a total stranger, made his decision to be an ***** donor.  Every day I think about him and his family, about the hurt that they felt, and still feel today.  They mourn the anniversary of their young son, their brother and their kin on the same day my family and I celebrate my do-over.  
     My whole life I have been trained, as a Marine, as a Police Officer, to put my life in front of others.  I am truly humbled to recognize that sacrifice someone made when they put their life in front of mine.  I will not find the cure for cancer; I will not bring peace to the world.  I will, instead, get to continue to be me.  Celebrating every beat of his heart by trying to be the best me, to make people laugh, to remind a stranger that they are beautiful and to share his gift the best way I can.
     My young niece asked my sister shortly after the transplant, “Will Uncle Jim still love us since he has a new heart?”  I told her that when they took my heart out, they poured all the love I had for my family into the new one, and they left all the love he had for his inside.  My heart was filled with love for people I had never met.  It made her smile, and it still makes me smile as well."
1.6k · Mar 2017
Sticks and Stones
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Can words
Slice thoughts
Like a razor
Like a knife
Stab flesh
And blood
Throw a blow
Impale the heart
Destroy Love
Twist the brain
To wish a death

Careful of words
You throw
Deadly weapons
In a mind's world

©  2017 Jim Davis
Nothing serious here, except for some.  Just playing with a thought!
1.6k · Aug 2018
A Mile
Jim Davis Aug 2018
Your life, is all you can really know
But what of other lives, other worlds

Take a piece, of the unknown world
Know life in details, the other knows

Walk a mile, in any other’s shoes
Hold to hope, while in deep blues

Drift across blue seas in their boat
Sense the slaughter of a meal goat

Ride their camel across the sands
Run from danger with waving hands

Take a look into stranger places
Feel rain striking all uplifted faces

Face the death of daughter or son
Or face the death of any loved one

Know all the agony and despair
Of a life without hope of breath’s air

Suffer the pain of the torn mind
Feel the want of the unloved kind

Glory in the love of the lost forlorn
Cherish thoughts of the freshly born

Take the mind of the loving divine
Love all, knowing all love is mine



©  2017 Jim Davis
Of course it’s been said “walk a mile in his shoes”. Then you have his shoes and have a head start!  
1.6k · Apr 2017
Seriously (10w)
Jim Davis Apr 2017
Sad in heart
Poets should keep
Laughter still
Between lines

©  2017 Jim Davis
1.5k · May 2017
Hidden Regrets
Jim Davis May 2017
Why would you say
Such a mean thing, as that
Blows my mind totally
A little,
Every time, you do that

And I know, as usual
What you said, in haste
You can't very easily
Regret,
To take, much of it all back

You know sometimes
Actually, you say, you
Are not really
Sure,
Of anything, much true

Of course,
I do so much, love you
And I can't in no earthly way
Take,
Any part, of that much back

And, not much, in doubt
Is my much love of you
My dear, you know I write
Long,
Love poetry, only of you

You see our love is one special, unlike
All those other loves not,
Lasting for all
Time
Surely you love, all of me too!  


©  2017 Jim Davis
The hidden is all the 4th lines combined.
A little
regret
sure
take
long
time
1.5k · May 2017
Blazing Sun Haiku
Jim Davis May 2017
Blazing sun awakes
Still in dreams of long nightmare
Love died, I still lived

©  2017 Jim Davis
1.4k · Oct 2019
Surrender (10w)
Jim Davis Oct 2019
Stop fighting against
The brightening light
Surrender all to love

©  2019 Jim Davis
1.3k · May 2017
Lazy Day Haiku
Jim Davis May 2017
Should I not cut grass
or ****, taking lives only
trying to get sun?

©  2017 Jim Davis
Any good excuse
1.2k · May 2017
Mind Poetic
Jim Davis May 2017
What does it take to poem
Is doing such, a real verb?

To make words clang or chime
To bring out what in time has always
Been there, but lived a quiet life
in our known world, waiting unseen

As any artist does to live on
Oft not for gold or silver
Which tarnishes with time
But for pure love, rewarded indeed

Very rare, for one's words to match
Another's words, close in space, time
Even rarer, for a ******* of minds
Like many inventions throughout time

Words for worlds, from a mind's time
Laid in neat or no order, posed this way
and all that, to last long in time
Give light to a world, waiting for next

©  2017 Jim Davis
1.2k · Mar 2017
Twilight Zone
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Spiral of fate foreseen
A Vegas winning sure thing
A journey to realms beyond
Where those already gone
Traveled before I
With letters sent home
still left unseen
Wait, I'm not ready!
Is there another?
This train came too soon!
Excuse me,
I'll wait for the slow train!
Can I exchange my ticket?
For a later departure?
Perhaps tomorrow?
Of course tomorrow,  
Can never be!  
Round trip ticket please!
I wish to not be gone long!
I must return, otherwise,
who will care for the wee ones!  
Wait, I still must pack!
All my silver and gold
Can I bring?  
Is First Class an option?
A sleeper car?
Bring any friends?
My loved ones
should meet me
after reaching the end!
Must I board,
This train?
An evil angel at the controls
in the locomotive's cab
steam billowing all around
conductor in a ghastly robe
bearing the cutting scythe
leaning out the door
shouting out
to the platform crowd
"All aboard!"
"All aboard!"
this train
always runs on time
and no one ever
gets left behind
except perhaps a few
entering heaven alive
first stop is Sh'eol
all disembarking to wait
then chugging on to the
station with pearly gates  
those remaining aboard
catching a glimpse
then fast downhill all the way
to the end of the line
the last stop of Abaddon

©  2017 Jim Davis
Had fun with this one!

From Wikipedia
"She'ol (/ˈʃiːoʊl/ shee-ohl or /ˈʃiːəl/ shee-əl; Hebrew שְׁאוֹל‎ Šʾôl), in the Hebrew Bible, is a place of darkness to which all the dead go, both the righteous and the unrighteous, regardless of the moral choices made in life, a place of stillness and darkness cut off from life and from the Hebrew God.[1]"

Abaddon
"The Hebrew term Abaddon (Hebrew: אֲבַדּוֹן‎‎, 'Ǎḇaddōn), and its Greek equivalent Apollyon (Greek: Ἀπολλύων, Apollyon), appears in the Bible as a place of destruction. "
1.2k · May 2017
Binary Love (10w)
Jim Davis May 2017
Like zero
or one
Love comes
To one
Or not

©  2017 Jim Davis
1.2k · Nov 2017
Sky Thoughts
Jim Davis Nov 2017
Sky I  see, in blue, in sky, in white, in cloud
Bits of grey, scattered within, also in there
Scattered thoughts, perhaps soft pattering rain
Sounds unexpected, echo in my ears

Buzzards drift, uplifting, to warm east winds
Dragons as flies, butter as flies too
Peacock in azurite, fanned out to full
Littles aflutter, in all branches near

Winds catch soft breeze, just right, a good cool feel
Deer strolling into verdant far land
Crows with caw of a disturbed picnic lunch
Minnows dappling pond's water,  glass clear

This is sacred sight, which when I turn old
All blind, I expect, I will too soon miss
Unable to gaze, upon peace
with my squinting pair, of sky hazed blue eyes

©  2017 Jim Davis
For my father, whose eyes were beautifully blue!
1.2k · Mar 2019
Listen
Jim Davis Mar 2019
Standing at the lookout of Mt Scopus
We heard our loved begotten say “I do”
As they joined in love as one
For none to put asunder

Gazing upon the Shepherd’s field
We heard the angels saying
There is a new King born to rule
Who is the prophet’s Messiah

Treading carefully in Bethlehem
We heard a baby’s wailing cry
And his ****** mother in a lullaby
Knowing he was the chosen one

Discovering Magdala’s uncovered ruins
We heard the broken bleeding woman say
If I may but touch the hem of his garmet
Our Saviour saying  “who touched me”

In flowered repose at the hillside cave
We heard his voice teaching
Chosen apostles and us only hoping
A mustard seed’s weight of faith

Walking the Via Delarosa alleyway
We heard wood scraping stones
And heavy, exhausted breaths
Jesus bearing our burdens

Sitting beneath Christ's Thorn Jujube
We heard blood dripping to the ground
And a loud cry of mortal agony
Why have thou forsaken me

In sight of the ground near Golgotha
We heard heckles of laughter, lots cast
Time standing still
And finally the words “It is finished”

Near the rich man’s guarded tomb
We heard the stone roll back
For use as an angel’s seat
Revealing only the linen cloth left behind

Sitting near the Garden tomb
We heard our most innocent one say
I am the only way, to enter the gates
You must become like me

Buried in the flowing Jordan River
We heard the Lord say
You are now mine, arisen anew
We heard the angels singing

Gazing upon the Golden Dome
We heard the Lord say
Forgive them
For they know not what they do

Standing upon the heart stones
We heard the Lord say
Upon this rock I will build my church
Beginning the new covenant way

Standing close to Peter’s hiding place
We heard the denial thrice
Then heard the loud **** crow
Hoping for us it would not crow twice

At the second century baptismal
We heard bells ringing
Proclaiming the salvation we
And early Jews found in his blood

In the synogogue
We heard the sound of his voice
With those in amazement saying
Is this not Joseph’s son?

Stumbling the stones of Korazim
We heard the voice of Jesus saying
Woe unto you, your fate
is worse than ***** or Gomorrah

Wandering a Roman cardo Maximus
We heard the voice of a Christian
Singing Something About a Mountain
And heard us and angels in applause

Walking the obstacle maze of memories
We heard the voices of 6 million saying
From the ovens and chambers
Never again, Never again

Sailing on the Sea of Galilee
We heard the red, white, and blue say
As it flew with the blue and white star
We are your friend, Oh Israel

Scaling the heights of Masada
We heard the rebels shouting
To the assaulting Roman Legion
You cannot take our freedom

Sitting in stillness under the olive tree
We heard the voice of God
Saying “I am”
There is no other

Strolling the seashell shores of Galilee
We heard waves lapping at eternity’s silence
Knowing we will live wearing the crown
Sitting next to the throne

Looking within our hearts
We heard ourselves saying
Forgive me Lord, I have sinned
But have found Victory in Jesus

©  2019 Jim Davis
Driving in to TelAviv right now to fly back home!  First time in the Holy Land!  Our daughter had a destination wedding in Jerusalem!
1.2k · Aug 2017
A Tiger Comes
Jim Davis Aug 2017
We thought we
had all the time
In the world
Then time's end came

Jumping on us like
A tiger in the dark
Consuming all
Taking all our life

Gnawing on the
Raw flesh and bone
Gorging on all
We thought we knew

©  2017 Jim Davis
The idea is coming from thinking about the unexpected end of a serious relationship.  Although of course, easily could be death itself!
1.1k · May 2017
Got it Good
Jim Davis May 2017
Seems when poets start
Writing a bit of poetry
They also write
about writing poetry
They also often write
about not writing poetry
No other artist, has it so good

©  2017 Jim Davis
Poetry poets writing
1.1k · Nov 2018
Hello Jumbo
Jim Davis Nov 2018
He came as an orphan
June 26th, 1865
Having seen
the death of his mother
Chased and speared by a hunter

First African elephant
in Europe
At the London Zoo
All alone
in all of Europe

How he broke and wore his tusks
In the iron of his enclosure
In night pain from toothaches
From many rotten teeth
Caused by his only grass hay diet

Given whiskey and beer to calm
Shared with his keeper
Matthew Scott, a difficult man
With no close friends
But with a deep empathy for animals

Who drank whiskey
with Jumbo
Into the late, lonely night
Jumbo liked whiskey, beer
and lots of sticky buns

A problematic elephant
With a Jekyll and Hyde character
Sold for 2,000 pounds
To PT Barnum
as a star attraction

Jumbo tearing his chains away
Then sitting like a mule
Until he knew his keeper
Would also ride the boat
Across the big pond

Barnum’s Scott
Made a deal
Queen Victoria wasn’t happy
Her children had sat
And rode upon his back

Jumbomania in America
Accompanied his arrival
20 million saw him alive
Brooklyn bridge opened in 1882
A year before Jumbo arrived

Then 17 May, 1884
Twenty elephants
marched across
All the way to Brooklyn
led by Jumbo

The bridge vibrated and rebounded

In St Thomas, Ontario, Canada
was his suffering demise
The day the circus train came to town
Tom Thumb and Jumbo
Were waiting to get loaded

Perhaps bumped in the ****
By the speeding freight locomotive
Internal bleeding
and a slow death
Tom Thumb only a broken leg

Jumbo in a slow death
Scott in a slow death afterwards
Having witnessed
the last breath
Of his best friend

Photographed (a recent novelty)
just after his death in B&W
Poor dead Jumbo
Scott at his head
Weeping inconsolably

Although PT Barnum
In pure PT Barnum invention
Says Jumbo ran headfirst
Into the freight locomotive
To save his keeper and Tom Thumb

Jumbo died
at twenty-four
still young
and growing
in size and girth

His stuffed mounted skin
burned at Tufts University
except the unbroken bones
plus the end of his tail
“And this is what remains of Jumbo”

Yesterday, I saw wild elephants on the banks of the Zambezi river
near Victoria Falls
Tomorrow I’m hoping to touch Jumbo’s bones in New York City
And walk the Brooklyn Bridge

©  2017 Jim Davis
Jumbo in Swahili means Hello

Written on an UAE Emirates flight from South Africa to New York.  With all credit due for words and most phrasing to David Attenborough’s documentary.  
“Attenborough and the Giant Elephant”

A few years ago, I heard Barnum and Bailey stopped having elephants as part of their shows!
I really wondered why!
Now I really know!
Jim Davis Oct 2019
The Moving Finger writes;
and, having writ
Moves on:
nor all thy Piety nor Wit
Shall lure it back to
cancel half a line
Nor all thy tears
wash out a word of it.
Apropos for our profession of poetry I believe!  

From Wikipedia:  Omar Khayyam (/kaɪˈjɑːm/; Persian: عمر خیّام‎ [oˈmæɾ xæjˈjɒːm]; 18 May 1048 – 4 December 1131) was a Persian mathematician, astronomer, and poet.[3][4][5] He was born in Nishapur, in northeastern Iran, and spent most of his life near the court of the Karakhanid and Seljuq rulers in the period which witnessed the First Crusade.

The Princeton Encyclopedia of Poetry and Poetics quotes the tradition that the Persian quatrain-form, the ruba'i, originated in the gleeful shouts of a child, overheard and imitated by a passing poet.
1.1k · Nov 2017
Leaf Haiku
Jim Davis Nov 2017
Leaf spinning in air
It’s time to live, now is gone
The still tree stands tall

©  2017 Jim Davis
1.1k · May 2017
Badger Haiku
Jim Davis May 2017
Corner a badger
Face hell's beast in blind fury
Like love done a wrong

©  2017 Jim Davis
To read more about the nature of badgers read - John Clare's "Badger" on HP

From Wikipedis
John Clare (13 July 1793 – 20 May 1864) was an English poet, the son of a farm labourer, who became known for his celebrations of the English countryside and sorrows at its disruption.[1] His poetry underwent major re-evaluation in the late 20th century: he is now often seen as one of the major 19th-century poets.[2] His biographer Jonathan Bate states that Clare was "the greatest labouring-class poet that England has ever produced. No one has ever written more powerfully of nature, of a rural childhood, and of the alienated and unstable self."[3]
1.1k · Aug 2019
The Rising Sun
Jim Davis Aug 2019
Supposing I were to die
With the rising sun
of tomorrow’s day
Would you know
Would you care
Probably not
It’s not you dying

©  2019 Jim Davis
993 · Mar 2017
Button Tree
Jim Davis Mar 2017
I have a small framed
Branching tree made
Of mother's shiny buttons
On the wall hanging
In my room of long dreams

Made by one sister with love
Similar one given to another
Hung as reminders
That life can live on
As an unforgotten tree

Different makes and hues
Varied shapes and sizes
All laced intertwined to a
Strong main trunk
By colored slim threads

Each button someone
I can always quickly name
Someone with some
Of my given red hot blood
In their pulsing veins

I never hope the days
When each button
Begins fading away
With the shine gone now
To grace heaven's dreams


©  2017 Jim Davis
980 · Aug 2019
No (5w)
Jim Davis Aug 2019
Small words can slice deep

©  2019 Jim Davis
961 · May 2017
World
Jim Davis May 2017
Take a large map
Of your world
Hold it where
You see clearly
Take a pencil
Point to the place
You want to be
Go ahead
Make your mark
Make your world
How it should be

©  2017 Jim Davis
936 · Apr 2017
Existential (5w)
Jim Davis Apr 2017
Mommy loved Daddy
Then me

©  2017 Jim Davis
921 · Oct 2018
THE POET
Jim Davis Oct 2018
Aleksandr Pushkin

The Poet
1827
While still Apollo isn’t demanding
Bard at the sacred sacrifice,
Through troubles of the worldly muddling
He wretchedly and blindly shuffles;
His holly lyre is quite silent;
His soul’s in the sleeping, soft,
And mid the dwarves of the world-giant,
He, perhaps, is the shortest dwarf.

But when a word of god’s commands,
Touches his ear, always attentive,
It starts – the heart of the Bard native –
As a waked eagle ever starts.
He’s sad in earthly frolics, idle,
Avoids folks’ gossips, always spread,
At feet of the all-peoples’ idol
He does not bend his proud head;
He runs – the wild, severe, stunned,
Full of confusion, full of noise –
To the deserted waters’ shores,
To woods, widespread and humming loud…  


Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, November 13, 2003
Pushkin is not listed under the Classics tab here in HP, thus I am posting this from https://www.poetryloverspage.com/yevgeny/pushkin/poet.html
920 · Mar 2017
Rest Day
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Lean
Lean in
To work
To love
To life
But once
Every while
Lean back
Rest
Muscle
Heart
Soul
Even God
Took rest
Although never
From love

©  2017 Jim Davis.
874 · Mar 2017
New Colors
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Blue is the best color
The water of the ocean
The water of the sky
Why in this world
Should I have to lie

Blues in all hues
Coloring waters
Coloring sad souls
Creating music
When feeling like dying
Although never more alive

However, what of the next
World that will come
Colors of sky
Colors of sea
Can you imagine
What they will be

Kalish perhaps, or ******
Or hooloovoo all the lot
Or another color
I'm sure it will be
Unknown to now, although
A color of astonishment to see

The streets are of gold
The light always shines
God's glory fills all space
But still left to wondering
What color of the heavens
And oceans deep for pondering

Is the grass grue or bleen
Or made of little blades
Of rainbows all around
Once twirled upon
Sparkling like jewels
In the most lavish of crowns

Wondering now,
Imaginings now
Finding out soon enough
Once we die and then rise
Blinded by God's colors
Through all of his eternity

© 2016 Jim Davis
From Wikipedia:
  "Kalish, a color in the ultraviolet range seen by Klingons in the Star Trek novel Pawns and Symbols"

****** is "every color of the rainbow, all at once" in the book The Last of the Really Great Whangdoodles by Julie Andrews Edwards.[4]

Hooloovoo – a superintelligent shade of the color blue in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series by Douglas Adams.

Grue and bleen – colors that change after an arbitrary, but fixed time; coined by philosopher Nelson Goodman to illustrate what he calls "the new riddle of induction."[1]
871 · Mar 2017
Untitled
Jim Davis Mar 2017
When black swans sleeping
After the dark, lonely night
Awake to the light

© 2017 Jim Davis
My first attempt at a Haiku. After I wrote it, and then researching swans and their symbolism I found this;

"Swan Color Meanings
White swans in dreams are symbolic of cleansing and purifying ourselves and our lives. Black swans indicate deep mysteries within us that are longing to be set free to express themselves creatively - perhaps as Bridgid would have us do, in poetry or music."
Link not allowed

There is also the "Black swan Theory"; "A  event or occurrence that deviates beyond what is normally expected of a situation and is extremely difficult to predict; the term was popularized by Nassim Nicholas Taleb, a finance professor, writer and former Wall Street trader. Black swan events are typically random and are unexpected."
870 · Mar 2017
Water for the Soul
Jim Davis Mar 2017
I'm done
The words not there
The well is dry
What to do
What to do

Do all know,
the agony of,
the parched soul,
of the time,
of never raining

Where does,
the rain abide,
released by storms,
deluges bringing,
undesired by many

Hope for rain,
dance for rain,
leaping into clouds,
ascending, grasping,
for the rain

Please Lord,
Send a gentle rain,
water for the flowers,
of the soul
Pray for rain
Pray for rain

© 2017 Jim Davis
Reading other laments, I know I'm not the only one who hopes for rain!
863 · Mar 2017
Have You Ever
Jim Davis Mar 2017
Have you helped a butterfly ever
Fragile, delicate, creatures are they
Fluttering bravely, through tempest
Hoping life, til morrow's winds

Entrance to life as tiny things
Growth to most ugly well defined
(During those caterpillar days)
Morphed to beautiful in wonders

Sometimes, passing by, our lives
With barely, hardly, any notice
Although, if we stop, to closely look
Discover, they are the coolest

Searching woods, field, prairie
For life's, delicate, bright, flowers
Giving sustenance, as sweet nectar
For life's wing, and heart beats

Mostly, their life is some shorter
Than the average span of time
Although, some, like some of us
Live only no more, of a moment

Knocked out of the world's air
Often, by hard blows unseen
Without care, we remark
They're just lying there, still

Whilst some soar, as eagles
Or buzz, like bees and wasps
Some of us, are blissfully happy
Simply butterflies, floating through

Pause,,, your hectic busy days
Take a moment, be a flower today
Give out a bit of life's sweet nectar
To butterflies, aloft in the winds

©  2017 Jim Davis
“What lies before us and what lies behind us are small matters compared to what lies within us. And when you bring what is within out into the world, miracles happen.” – Henry David Thoreau
862 · May 2017
Untitled
Jim Davis May 2017
A flower's beauty
Lives not within earthly realms
Only within dreams

Also love, as things unseen
Lives forever, floating me

©  2017 Jim Davis
First waka
841 · Apr 2017
Sleeping Poets
Jim Davis Apr 2017
When sleeping poets do dream
Do they dream at certain times
the same dreams as us, you, or I
Long love dreams without an end

Spiders winding and toads weaving
Tiny cockle shells or huge daffodils
Cold hearts melted or fried ones too
Loves not gone the other way again

Falling off, falling in, falling down
Purpled eyed women and wiggly men
Nightmares arriving never in time
Time speeding up to stand still again

Summer nights in dripping red clouds
Rain falling up or tasting sour winds
Chased once around the world twice
Losing anyway the long way back in

Winning big green coins for jumping
slow trains to nowhere, now there anywhere,
and everywhere not here,
running on tilted electrified blue time

Inhaling the soft touch of perfect love
including all the ugly ingrown warts
Coughing up butterflies into the pool
with the squishy muddy zombie eyes

Echoes heard louder with both eyes
Coloring skies without knowing why
Flights to there with wings of flame
Swallowing rainbows to taste the gold

Colors amongst us walking, talking
Phantasmal fast riding beasts
sinuously moaning oh white *******
drifting with silver temptation winds

Tripping over sounds under tall feet
blowing them in retort not too,
but three, five and one dime more
Fantastical things, ordinary for all

Then perhaps, they maybe dream
Mostly all the same as us, you or I
Of course, that may mean, we,
Could someday be real poets, three

Yet we know the biggest difference
Between a real poet or not, must be
not so much in sleeping dreams
but in those precious awakening dreams

©  2017 Jim Davis
Actually posted this the day before (22 April) HP theme of today (23 April) as "dreams", thus a truly prescient dreaming! , #npmdream
833 · May 2019
Yoda on Chuck (5w)
Jim Davis May 2019
Chuck needs not
Chuck gets

©  2019 Jim Davis
Love Chuck Norris facts! And Yoda!
831 · Mar 2017
Butterfly Brain
Jim Davis Mar 2017
What life does
A butterfly see
Pretty black
Fleeting eyes

Butterfly vision
Unquenched love
For flower's colored vista
Though I expect

They often think
They are solely
Living a short life
Only eating and pooping

Defined as
Caterpillar forever
Or, does their mind
Metamorph also

Now, it's little brain
Like the angel's
Holds thought to fly
Released to drift free

Astonished to rise
Chasing flower's nectar
Until too dark to see
Or bloom unrevealed

Anyway, as it is
Seen by you and me
A soaring glory
Of handiwork divine

Absolutely
A life sublimed

©  2017 Jim Davis

.
From the web
Metamorphosis
a change of the form or nature of a thing or person into a completely different one, by natural or supernatural means.

Sublime
1. CHEMISTRY
(of a solid substance) change directly into vapor when heated, typically forming a solid deposit again on cooling.

2. 
(archaic) elevate to a high degree of moral or spiritual purity or excellencei
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