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death is ******* the living
as so many times
when death comes a-knocking
death leaves someone behind
to do all the grieving
in an unmade bed
death in life is deceiving
to those who are left

death never quits
as death keeps tugging the cord
taking all it can with it
all that you can afford
death is not for the living
though you'd never know
nor is death forgiving
when it's your time to go

death is good at surprises
in perfecting the boo
too late you realize that
death scared the mess out of you
with no one to turn to
with no way to compare
what you just went through
when death grabs you by the short hairs
and takes you outta here
We have all written
a poem
on stones
sprinkled
in the garden
The ink is unaffected
by the weather
however
Nobody seems to care
Perhaps
we should put them
on show
somewhere
“there are no lines or lies in my writings
there are no definitions and
perception is only your truth”

Jackson *******


my poems are splats and drips.
you make them into paintings that hang
in your own private museum,
signed by you, truthfully, forever,
as first viewer,
and thus as,
co-creator


Nat Lipstadt
https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jackson_Pollock
Love with all your heart
Love with all your being
Those that you agree with
Even those you don't
Love hits the mark
In its own believing
From the heart, it departs
In the way it loves

Never wrong in its dealings
The answer to all questions
Love reaches out
Pulls ******* the heartstrings
When hate raises doubt
Love fills the void
Love is the hope
That most of us long for

Love is the sound
That is forever freeing
Love in abundance
There is no stopping now
When love is around
Holding to its meaning
Love is never missing
Where love is always found
Memories linger
Memories lapse
What was it I did
What was it you said
Anyone's guess
Is as good of a guess
Weren't we once friends
Or just acquaintances

We see different angles
In what we believe
I once listened to you
You once listened to me
In search of the truth
Is how it used to be
Now all we do
Is fume as we scream

Who is the child
And who's the adult
Bombarded with lies
On every front
Isn't it time
We all stood up in want
Of the goodness that's due
In what once was the norm
two leaders once met in Helsinki
for talks that looked somewhat *****
as it turns out
                still nobody knows
what they were talking about
and that indeed smells rather stinky
Apropos D. J. Trumps frequently confessed love for Putin and their kind of mysterious talks in Helsinki in July 2018.
 Sep 2018 Lorraine day
Eric W
Soaked
 Sep 2018 Lorraine day
Eric W
You run through my thoughts
like rain,
creeping, seeping,
soaking
me
through.
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