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precious innocent soul
skipping rocks
on cobblestone roads
vulnerable untarnished pure
no residue of earthly soil

return me to that naiveté
unburdened by layers
of fake masks
and perfect capped teeth
in narcissistic societies

but I shan’t grasp
at ethereal edges
of nebulousness
and ephemeral
innocence

i shall endure
what I abhor
a master’s soul
cannot be forged
in paradise

wisdom’s essence
‘tis not pristine white
hints of ivory
tinge the effervescence
of the sage’s breath

©2016janetaylor
While I was asleep last night
Someone's painted the whole world white
They've turned the raindrops into ice
Like pretty jewels they look so nice

Pretty patterns on my windowpane
Perhaps the fairies have been again
Icy flowers and ferns are there
Fairy foliage everywhere

The dormant garden sprang to life
A pretty picture overnight
See the trees and bushes all
Decked as for a fairy ball

Daddy says it isn't so
Fairies disappeared years ago
If they were ever here at all
It's just the harsh winter weather, that's all

Mummy says “They may have been”
But I shouldn't delve into things unseen
I'll be watching out for them all right
They may return in dead of night

Keith Wilson
I  love  to  walk  the  garden  long.
When  all  the  winter  storms  are  gone.

Yes,  snowdrops  are  the  first  to  show.
Majestic  heads  come  with  the  thaw.

Blankets  of  crocus  are  quite  a  sight.
Pushing  upwards  towards  the  light.

Colorful  daffodils  like  soldiers  stand.
The  finest  regiment  in  the  land.

In  June  the  roses  in  fancy  dress.
Reveal  their  splendor  for  the  sun  to  caress.

Dewdrops  form  as  summer  fades.
As  sharp  east  winds  sweep  up  the  glade.

The  flowers  then  close  their  weary  eyes.
And  sleep  once  more  till  spring  arrives.

Keith  Wilson.  Windermere.  UK.  2016.
and there i am in the midst of it all, conscious of what appears to be existent, yet knowing it is illusory.  and if time is occurring synchronously then how can i look back with contrition?  for if i have the capacity to move backwards and forwards in quantum leaps, i can erase the past like pastel chalk on an antique blackboard, then start anew.  is not the sky my canvas and the arc of the rainbow my palette?  and the stars in lustrous luminosity light my way so that ev’n at dusk I can paint.  yet pain ne’er ceases to hollow me out.  then through a barren vessel i catch more rain, and pour it out upon the parched terrain.  just when i thought enlightenment was nigh, a sharp edge is discovered.  must it necessitate additional sandpapering from the wind?  when will the gemstone sparkle without further pressure?  does it lie in its power to simply shimmer sans duress?  perhaps it was dazzling at its inception, relinquishing its luster upon domestication.  with this proviso, as it nears twilight i shall tarry and blend with the night.  i’ll dance with a moonbeam knowing the jewel will glisten afresh upon the rise of the golden sun.

@2016janetaylor
heartache is a gift that breaks us wide open
and gently spills into the broken places
that we never knew were there

agony fills in those crevices
with a quiet reverence
and peaceful meditation

no matter how form appears
the content
is stillness

thoughts appear
illusory images dance before me
yet there is no duality

even in this seeming world of separation
i realize that i at last am home
and that i never left

©2016janetaylor
Her name was Maybelle Brown. She fell in the lake one morning and drown. Every night they hear her retchid sounds. She screams and screams, a demon she has been deemed. She stares back at you with a porcelain face and bright blue eyes, lurks in the mist with no blue skies, cry and find her as you hear her cries. Dead since eighteen eighty five not one soul in the lake has been found alive.
Will you join me for a dive?
Just something I made up
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