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 Apr 2014 Katy Laurel
LJ Chaplin
Can you hear the church bells ring?
Hollow footsteps that cascade through
The empty pews and end inside
The confessional stand,
Stained glass windows refract rays of sunlight
And projects a radiant glow upon a thousand
Prayers that are intertwined with the aroma
Of polished wood and frail pages of the bible,
The Lord works in mysterious ways
I tell myself as I trace my steps down the alter
Where you left me.
I feel the phantom shadow of his embrace
Trail behind me,
Never losing sight,
Never letting go,
And yet I still fall to my knees
And pray for mercy,
I have not sinned,
Nor have I failed to ignore
My calling,

But even the most loyal of angels
Must have their wings clipped
*And their innocence stripped clean.
 Apr 2014 Katy Laurel
b for short
When you have a second,
I can show you what happens
after you take something meant
to be so deliciously singular
and trick it into becoming
part of a collection.

Just let me see if I can
fit under this microscope.
I'm sure the findings
will be worth writing down.
© Bitsy Sanders, March 2014
Please retain this document as proof of your induction.**


you are an inductee,
part of the tinkering crew,
high giving, high fiving
globally is your locally!

we know where you live,
Google mapped and sleep kid-napped from under that
shady radiata pine tree

more than sufficient,
your poetic revelations,
to know the you and the where-hereabouts of the
lives you handle with
wondrous word-care.

care taken, if you want hide deep,
but to late for thee and our world,
your name on the roster
of poets by night,
tinkers, soldiers, and some who tailor
poems bespoke for the ones who
dare not reveal their true (s)elves
in the words they write.

but you do.

so the
ticK tocK
(never forgot the Special K)
of your clock
synchro us
so too late,
we can call you anonymous,
if that be your preferential suffice,

If that makes you happy.

but what we need to know,
already planted by you,
in our soiled heart,
growing steadily cotton-higher.

When you are ready,
you will dispense with
your leafy nom de plume,
tell us what we don't need to know,
tell us what we already knew,
three boxes checked,
you are
poet, wife and mother,
suffice suffice suffice
the three stripes thrice
sewn on your skin,
inductee into the army of the
fly-by-night,
word~tinkers

guess you can say,
you are a tacker now,
tacked onto this crew,
watching over its
individuals,
therefore, say no more,
but write
a poem a day,
that, your tinkering dues.
 Mar 2014 Katy Laurel
Rob
I thought of you the other day
Standing ten floors above wet grey streets scoured by gales
A drop of rain absurdly climbs the glass
Yet I focus someplace far off through the miles of murk.
And there, all rush and bluster, eyes flashing, you pull me close into the doorway
Your smile just a little crooked , like you weren’t sure you could
or should or would…..
And then what was is past
Now just for a moment I let myself feel
And it catches in my heart and makes it ache
With the indigestion of something lost
And I wonder if you are standing
Gazing through some storm soaked pane
A drop of rain absurdly climbing your glass

I thought of you the other day.
RD©2014
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