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tie me to a winter breeze
anchored with a colorful kite
floating on the notion of
if i may i might

bring about a cooling change
like when fall kisses leaves
anchored with a colorful kite
tied to a winter breeze
She is the beginning
As well as the end
The best part of the middle
Then start over again

The sweet part of the taste
On the tip of your tongue
The wisdom of old
The giggle of young

She is the breeze
That blows in the Spring
The long distance call
That brings you close with the ring

The moment you hear
Someone say yes
She is the mystery
That hides in the guess

She is the hope
That you hold onto
The talk of the town
The brand in the new

The little crease
At the edge of the smile
She's the bees knees
The answer to why

She is all this and
She is all that
When it comes to it all
She's where it's all at
30 years ago today I married the love of my life...
We've had our ups and downs but over all it's been a wonderful ride!
Those envied places which do know her well,
And are so scornful of this lonely place,
Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
Nowhere but here she is: and while Love’s spell
From his predominant presence doth compel
All alien hours, an outworn populace,
The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
With sweet confederate music favourable.

Now many memories make solicitous
The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
As here between our kisses we sit thus
Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
Speechless while things forgotten call to us.
Death is upon us all on this dark day.
Death is upon us all on this dark
Death is upon us all on this
Death is upon us all on
Death is upon us all
Death is upon us
Death is upon
Death is
Death.
 Oct 2014 Margaret Austin Go
ryn
Found myself at a dental clinic...
He was the best there was.
Unorthodox and eccentric,
But to the specialised craft, he was boss.

Ran through the bits and bobs
Like any normally would.
The poking and prodding and the mandible X-rays.
Everything cold and clinical, so was the mood.

Strange was what happened next...
Specialist and I then stood facing each other.
He leaned close and pressed his palms against my rib cage.
Held them there over a few breaths before it was over.

Then a brief chat, small talk initiated by the man.
Bespectacled and exceedingly chatty, small in stature.
Talks of politics and odd human behaviours...
What started off as friendly turned into a heated banter.

I then realised that along with his decorated credentials,
Was his propensity to be condescending and arrogant.
Him being the best, I thought I could let it all slide,
But soon enough I opted out of being a willing participant.

Couldn't stand his abrasive cockiness!
I snapped out of being cordial and passive thought.
I wanted him to just stop talking!
I went, "Well, are you going to fix my teeth or not?!"

He was stunned momentarily...
I suppose he hadn't seen that coming.
Then his features softened to a blank
I could almost read the unspoken words he was conjuring.

With an exasperated sigh of resignation,
He uttered his next words swollen with regret
"There's no need...for you only have four years left."
It dawned upon me that my timer has been set.

*And then I woke up...
Had this dream several nights ago. I believe that in a lifetime, we'd probably get at least three dreams that would be etched in our minds forever. So far I've had two... The other is in my earlier writes.
See "Mysterious".
http://hellopoetry.com/poem/831521/mysterious/
 Oct 2014 Margaret Austin Go
ryn
Give me a minute
To read the stars
Lamenting in their stories
Their laboured twinkling far and sparse

Give me this moment
To stumble and swoon
My branches reaching for
The faraway moon

Give me a while
To be one with the universe
Hear the colliding planets
As they spill their mournful verse

Give me some time
To plot my rightful place
Within my uncharted galaxy
And collapsing space...
What is the secret of being the best poet?
Did he tightly wring every reader's heart
by chewing every word of an epic sonnet
or did he sting their dead minds like a hornet?

Where is the premise of a great poem?
Should it be smell like lemongrass
planted in a coarse sandy loam?
or must it be supple and soft as a foam?

Has anyone ever been born with a *golden hand
?
Or is it just an accidental discovery of a man?
What is the mystery of being the best writer
holding his pen with a stupendous power?
a curious writer here.
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