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 Sep 2014 TrAceY
Ann Beaver
pretty fascinating mind
appearing light,
flecking dangerously close.
swallow
let go

But keep one pinky on the edge.
Walk the line easily
between fascinating
and ******* with words.

fighting whats left inside me
i am or am i
laughing,
throwing my voice,
cracking the night,
And another bite mark
finds

A scar
A humble star
A version here
A ******* there

the quiet hits,
as it will,
defeat in my bones,
Quickly it does distill.
Looking around the room
momentarily left insane,
fringed, frightened,
buried cold

long dark rings
tucked in the eyes
black circles where you've hid
those years
behind.
Defined in every happy ending
to an ever-ending ride
In my pretty fascinating mind.
My favorite poet life's jump wrote this with me.
 Sep 2014 TrAceY
r
I should leave here
but there's a hole needs burying

- a mountain of memories
and a thousand miles of pain -
it still smells like you
even after it rains

At the table by the window
where you used to read -
there's a whiskey bottle
that I'm trying to put away

There - is a hole that needs burying
one of these days.

r ~ 9/1/14
\¥/\
|    
/ \
You could be so pretty
if
your hair was straight
or at least neat 
and not fire engine red

You could look so lovely
If 
you didn't insist on wearing
tatty jeans
Yellow Dr Marten boots
Dropkick Murphys tees
and you weren't covered in tattoos

You could have a better life
If
You hadn't married
that blue eyed
empty pocket
*** smoking
dreamer

You could have more time to clean
If 
you didn't waste it
writing pointless poems
with your head in the clouds
listening to that awful racket

You could be more ladylike
If 
you didn't attend protests
railing against politics
didn't smoke, drink,
swear like a sailor
and stayed away from mosh pits.

You could be better
If 
you were a lot more me
and a hell of a lot less you
After all I've done
You were not what I was expecting..

Well, it was good talking to you
I love you mum
I love you too..
Lets do this again soon!
 Sep 2014 TrAceY
Sjr1000
For all the lady poets
whose songs are sung
who dance on fire
when the night comes
who are willing to
go to the heart of the matter,
whose desires erupt
behind the smile
who hold secrets
and shadows,
who can turn you
into slick wet stone
with one word,
one look
one touch
one tap on the shoulder.

Who hold you between
their finger tips
roll you into a
tightening knot of
desire and fear and apprehension
and
bring home your reality
far too clear.

For all the lady poets
who know you too well
who know that shell
who can crack you
in a moment
and never look back
or
love you into life
or
leave you child like
stammering and wondering.

For all the lady poets
who love you too well
who are with you
for the moment,
know your
heaven and hell
and
open their words on these pages
a sweet treat
a sweet longing
a sweet surrender
the lady poets
can spin you
twist you
and
put you back on top.

The lady poets
hold the keys
have the words,
vast universes inside,
hold on
it's an exquisite ride
better buckle up
hunker down
hold on tight
without the lady poets
I'd never make it through the night.
 Aug 2014 TrAceY
Antonio
Summer's warm currents retreat
the advancing brisk amber sunsets.

Submerging the world under
the reign of enduring starry nights.

The maples blush as Autumn whispers
the gentle lullaby of Winter's sweet breath.

Erasing Summer's memory with a crimson brush
preparing the golden landscape's long frigid rest.

~~~
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