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 Mar 2011 Megan Kirby
Dear God, I cannot stop thinking about you.
Your images is seared into my mind
Your voice echoes in my head
When I look in the mirror, I see your smile reflected back at me

My friends tell me my eyes have changed color.
Have they?
I haven't noticed.
I'm only concerned with that unique turquoise that makes up yours

The days grow colder, but
They are only as cold as the time not spent with you
And this time
Makes up for all the frigid hate that cloaks the rest of the world

Dear God, I cannot stop thinking about you.
A melody passes through my ears
Invoking memories of times since past
The stars, so inviting
Revealed many truths I have yet to find fault with

What I found then
Has changed my life
For the better
Dear God, I cannot stop thinking about you.
Sam Dickinson 2010
 Mar 2011 Megan Kirby
 Mar 2011 Megan Kirby
It's so quiet out here
Pitter patter of snow drops
On my eyelashes

This cold is different
Purging my qualms with

If it were heat I might fall
Sapped of my strength
Overwhelmed by warmth

But as is
I embrace the chill
Ease back
And for a sweet, long moment
I am lost
Among the white
On the roof.
2011 Sam Dickinson
Rewritten, rewritten, rewritten,
Rewritten is the story of us...
With the intent of making it beautiful.

But as with this distance,
Adding more lines can make a poem complicated,
Until I can't quite remember why I'm writing anymore.

Why must I tell you that once time passes,
I'll spend it with you in the arms of love,
When every moment is another mistake,
Spent by me with another in the throes of passion?

And how sorry I am,
For not being a happy have-not,
Though I know that I will.

You deserve someone who writes as beautiful and as honest as she is.
This day we lay the universe to rest:
behind this pair of eyes that lived and died
a mirror-image, faithfully expressed,
reflects a mirror-universe inside
all memories. This day we thank the Lord
for all these shining moments held within
this mind where human memories are stored.
And this shall be the moment they begin
to shatter, to become ten thousand stories
reflecting human life in all its beauty:
each smile, each poem, every sunset's glories,
that call to those remaining of their duty
to see this story speaks and never fails;
to call, recall again ten thousand tales.
For my grandfather, who died 10th February 2011.
How do I love thee?  In a way that's bad,
by which I mean so bad it's almost good.
I need you, and you know it drives me mad.
I want you more than any other could.
And we could write romances, you and me.
I want to hear your Hitchcock movie schtick.
I want your everything.  I hope it's free.
I want you in my window, and you're sick.
And yet you know my raving is a sign
I'd rather we were paramours than friends.
You're outlawed from the moment that you're mine
Until the day our bad romancing ends;
I'll love you in a leather-studded bra.
Rah gaga gaga roma ooh la la.
This is not the most serious sonnet ever.
 Mar 2011 Megan Kirby
Joel M Frye
I take her frame in both hands,
she lets me go for a spin.
Chassis built for performance,
responsive to every move,
I steer her around the circuit.
Following every change of direction
with timing and precision,
she lets me hug the curves
just long enough to feel her power;
not long enough
to lose all control.
To a dear friend Kathy, with whom I have not had the pleasure for much too long.
 Mar 2011 Megan Kirby
Joel M Frye
my mind opens to
unlearned knowledge
unwritten words
unspoken voices
unrecorded lives
untold wisdom
unearthed by
undertow of
my mind closes
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