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As a little boy he wandered,
explored the forest
of life. One small, smooth
and jagged piece seeking out
those around in hope
that they’d one day
latch together, make a whole.
Trillions, gajillions, infinitillions
of parts, each unique, each
the same in a relative way.
Faces appeared and stayed,
others faded away. Ideas
blossomed gently, exploding
to states of mind, concrete views
or dust scattered with the wind.
Slowly he grew.

Some fear attachment,
but this boy lived for love.
Love for souls, life, ecstasy,
youth, holding hands, dancing,
grooves and groves of wonderment.
Some years went and others didn’t
but this boy(‘s puzzle plot)
had expanded to an extent
unbeknownst to him. Smoke
and mirrors mystify and cloud
the lucid mind.
Sometimes the crystalline clarity
never returns and the pieces fall,
a part of nothing
but ignorantly serene delusions.

This boy got lucky, though.
Some light, some gustling breeze
scattered the foggy reflections,
debilitating for so long.
The natural allure of a young lady
can lift a man from any sinkhole,
be it momentarily or neverending…
He saw those bright brown eyes
shining one day. A sublimely
beautiful face no words justify.
In he walked from the rain
and called out, hey!
So it began, the pieces reappeared.
For now, the others didn’t matter.
Two minute beings in a sea
of colored cardboard fragments,
secure. This girl, she showed him
the big picture, or lack thereof.
She pushed him to create for himself,
for her, them, noone, everything.
So they dreamed.
I am,
however, no hero,
just a lowly poet
in the always
and forever
quest for the pursuit of
truth...
D. Conors
08 July 2010
Far, far away, in a kingdom long ago,
There lived a ***** King who had a **** made out of gold.
He ****** his royal Queen, he ****** his royal Knights,
He shoved it in the Chambermaids, and up his Horse--did twice!

From the Page-boys down, to the Peasants in the fields,
He even ****** the Flowers whilst reaching for a feel,
-Of his farting ****, to scratch up and down,
'Then he headed through the forest to **** the whole ****** Town!

If you seem to wonder why this King continually ****** and Farted,
Perhaps this poem will teach you a lesson on how Government was started!
D. Conors
c. 1995
I
am in a strange
and
wonderful state of
being
so amazingly
captivated
by the
pulse and passion
of this our new
and genuinely
gorgeous,
totally amazing,
absolutely astounding,
instantaneous,
multi-syllabical,
humbling,
caring,
di­scovering,
sharing,
fondly affectionate,
mutually magnificent,
tender
and oh, so
tantalisingly timid,
breathtakingly
beautiful
love
I have for you.
D. Conors
c. 31 May 2010
The great thing
is not having
a mind. Feelings:
oh, I have those; they
govern me. I have
a lord in heaven
called the sun, and open
for him, showing him
the fire of my own heart, fire
like his presence.
What could such glory be
if not a heart? Oh my brothers and sisters,
were you like me once, long ago,
before you were human? Did you
permit yourselves
to open once, who would never
open again? Because in truth
I am speaking now
the way you do. I speak
because I am shattered.
And because canyons
sever the earth
as tremors widen the divide
Go ahead, pick a side.
I'll stand to the north
where headwinds blow
as mustangs run wild
And you'll scamper to the south
when hurricanes begin to collide
As earth cycles and days turn to night
an eternity passes, plain in sight
Mudslides will fill the valley
and make things once more new
but until that time comes
I'll wait right here for you
I hold your hand in mine
Our fingers interlocked
Connected tightly together.
Wherever you go
There will I also be
Right by your side
Just a light squeeze of my fingertips
To let you know
I am always with you.

And you are always beside me, too.
Your fingers comfortably intertwined in mine
My decisions,
My thoughts,
My dreams
All center on your delicate touch
A slight tug
Reels me in when I act up.
A cool palm and gently touch
Calm me,
Reassuring when I am lost.

I cling

To our fingers, interlocked, and
I hold your hand in mine.
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