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John Gallant Sep 4
Tiny stars appear at the windowsill;
fragments of creation.

Floating flying,
gravity defying,
twinkling in the sunbeam rays.

Swimming swirling,
colliding whirling,
forming a new constellation.

Repulsion attraction,
whole or fraction,
reacting as my hand waves.

An atom a feather,
a pirates treasure,
insert anything you whim.

A millimeter tic,
a parsec a klick,
measure distance as you elect.

Does the space between,
the dust and the star,
separate or connect them?
John Gallant Sep 4
Oh to have the courage of the orange blossom.
To emerge with the strength of tenderness,
blooming with majesty unguarded.
Scenting the air with fragrance that welcomes,
sweetening honey with free flowing nectar.

To retain that wondrous sparkle, held in childhood eyes.
Gleefully chase the fluttering butterflies.
Stalk buzzing bees, with curiosity,
from soft open petal to hive of filled cells.
Fearlessly licking golden syrup from sticky fingers.

Globes of Sun now pull the branches low.
Perfumed smell still permeates the grove.
Cells are now vacant, and the hive is dry.
Honey's sweetness still lingers.
My path guided by delicate flowers of white.
John Gallant Sep 3
A fuse is lit
Push the plunger
Up then down
The cherry bomb
Sinks in the effluent
White bowl
Tarnished by affluence
Overflowing toilet
Cracks can’t be cleaned
By broken bidets
John Gallant Aug 29
Bone girders bolted
on tibia pilings.
Heel to toe footing
bedrock anchored.

Craning arms swivel
'round elbow hinges.
Bungee cord tendons retract
wire rope muscle slack.
Columnar spine shaking.

Penthouse hoard bursts
maximum capacity.
Shoulder beam flexing
under Titanic weight.
John Gallant Aug 27
Blacktop iridescent shimmer,
toothless rubber won't bite.

Arctic ice, like quartz to cold steel blades.
Figuring 8, graceless motion carving infinity.

Vultures of justice, circling tread deficient soles
crossing slippery floors.

Ledge hanging future's fall,
in the grips of greased palms.
John Gallant Aug 27
We may slip into oblivion,
though only through the cracks of sanity.
Wherever a mast rises,
does it not pierce the skin,
cut the roots?
Those bleeding vessels
that wrap around the bones of noblemen,
no matter how deep we bury them.

The Knights shield becomes the weak foundation
upon which the bridge is built.
When it collapses into the divide,
under the goose-stepping feet,
will these warriors not be suffocated,
by the pride of their fallen banner?
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