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Breathing the night air,
Freshly cerise.
As if summer cherries creased abundantly throughout the sky before the eyes of the beauty they beheld.
Oh for summers' evenings so to shine.
Divine to dine on such sunset's delights.
Dining only with thine eyes.
Oh to dream of wonderful summer nights.
(c) Livvi
I
wonder what fire
tastes like.
.
Times tackle on the threads.
We beat the strand seahorse
Dashed, unfurl the curling
Toes, your body twists
In the boat, only ribs
From the spirit waters.  
Your fish fins from the net,
My rod pins on the pine
And the hooked meat, your barb,
Reels as it plays the swampy
Moan of the gutted bait.
---

keening sound
as curious kites
catch creation
in their
claws

fallen leaves
lie fallow
o'r fulsome
fields
of futility

iccarus lost in
ivory and ecru
iconoclastic
images of
idolatry

hubris hurtling
hewn at the hands
of his heart and
humbling
humanity

celestial
celebrations
assuaged
spread
sil­ence
seeking the
solaces
of

self destruction


soulsurvivor
6/26/2015
all allusions alliterative angst

---
the number one rule
Never telleth a poet how to write!!!!!
Cast a glance to the comet up high
with a name sounding awkward and dry
          (in the stellar marquee
          it's marked 'six-seven-P')
and a motion that's hard to descry.

As the comet continues to fly,
caught in gravity none can defy
         (yes, it traces ellipses
         through solar eclipses),
we ask 'does dark matter comply'.

So, we sent the Rosetta to pry
and I can't help but wondering why
          (once in orbit) we spun it
          so close to the sun, it
is likely to sizzle and fry…

But before, we may soon verify
that the comet's a custard cream pie
          made of  green cheddar cheese,
          like the moon, if you please
(though that's gospel the savants deny).

When receivers no longer reply
(at the end of their solar supply),
          we won't seek to debug 'em,
          instead we'll we unplug 'em
and turn off our spy in the sky.

If it's certain Rosetta will die
then, oh lordy, I surely will cry
          if we land it like Philae
          behind the sun, shyly,  
before I can whisper goodbye.
\"""/,,,,,\"""/,,,,,\"""/

the world has made us pregnant
with words


WORDS
which we birthe

ONE
by

ONE

for we are female
as a
mare
as a
plain brown sparrow

~~~

nature has endowed
us with the ability

~~< to write >~~

of the blood which
comes every
month

of the pain a male
would never
understand

the agony of birthing
the

~~~<《 WORDS 》>~~~

that's why Diana is goddess
of moon and hunt
Demeter
the goddess of
fertility and harvest
and Venus is the

~~~<( MORNING STAR )>~~~

she wakes us up

and her beautiful son
Cupid
speaks the language
of

~~~<♡( £♡¥€)♡>~~~


SoulSurvivor
(C) 3/12/2001
I wrote this poem many years ago
This is for all of us ladies!

POETESS you RULE!!!

~~~<♡>~~~
Hey Kid
Anne says

Benny follows
to where
she calls him

what is it?
he asks

go get my chair

your wheel chair?

yes my wheel chair
what other kind
of chair do I have

ok
he says
and goes off
over the green lawn

passing kids
on the swing and slide

pass the skinny nun
who has just come
whom Anne says
looks like a clarinet
she's so thin

in through
the French windows
passing a girl
who has ****** burns
but who manages
to smile at him

in down the hall
into the girl's dormitory
and takes hold
of Anne's wheel chair
and is just about he
to wheel it out

when Sister Blaise
stops him
where are you going
with that Benny?
she asks

he looks at the nun
with her stern features
and icy blue eyes

it's for Anne
he says

did she ask you
to get it?

he looks at
the crucifix
on the wall
behind the nun's head

no I saw she was
struggling
and thought it best
to bring it to her
he says

taking in
the Crucified's head
leaning to one side
eyes half open
as if He were
looking at him

is that the truth?
the nun asks

he nods
and puts on
his Mr Innocent face

all right off you go
she says
eyeing him
as he wheels the chair
along the passageway

and out through
the French windows
and across the lawn
at full belt

until he comes
to where Anne stands
propped painfully
on her crutches
any problems?
she asks

no
he replies
trying to get
the nun's
icy blue stare
out of his eyes.
A BOY IN A NURSING HOME IN 1959.
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