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These are the things often only heard in
Dreams, these are the unseen,
These are the songs of those who ride
On waves of wind without wings
I love you,
Love like there were never any stars.
when time was ours,
The tides of eager rushing
Blood pressing its way through
Our veins, oh oh they roar
The great stars name!
Oh what glorious light!
How it's holds the day
Like a beat in its heart.
I hope you know
I wanted you for life
Even though home,
is where, you won't come.
So now the days just die,
And life just falls from the clock,
The clouds grow thicker,
And it is my sickened heart
That withers under the pressure
of its own beating,
the quietus revealing an unfamiliar reasoning,
its pummeling force
tumbling down the vacant isles
behind my souls own cage,
of bones, of flesh,
soaked and staind with
time;
and the deep from the blue ,
wearily sleeps within
the storms womb waiting
to roar apart from the mind,
then it will be done,
i will only be
adrift, among embers and carcasses,
of steel and brick,
a city falling,
it's shattered windows,
awake where the end
goes forward with time,
windows give only
height to the sight of their reach;
a path as jagged and daunting as
its lightning's spine,
the fingertips, as well the vine,
outstretched
 Mar 24 Nat Lipstadt
CLARYT
Yours was snuffed out,
Yanked so rudely from me,
Even before my own life began,
A flash and, what the hell?

All I have are pictures,
Stories, I haVe no scented memories,
No.... Visual comfort etched in my brain,
All I have are vague accounts,

Yet somehow, I feel you with me,
Not all the time but, certainly,
When the bottom falls out,
And I feel spent,

Your face pops right in there,
To be sure, a serene face,
A father's face, a tragically young face,
Too young to be gone,

Yet you are, gone I mean,
But only in person,
You're never gone from my heart,
The man I never knew, yet love,

For in spite of your death,
You gave me life,
What a gift,
I'll never stop speaking your name,
Harry to some, Junior to others, daddy to your sons,
My lovely dad... To me,

That way, you're never really dead, are you?.........??
My father died a young man of 26, when my mother was pregnant with me..
All I have are other people's accounts of him.. And I cling to those accounts, I also speak of him often, and I speak to him.. That way, he's never really gone..


(C) eileenmcgreevy@ymail.com 15/04/2019
Virus Virus Covid-19
Virus Virus Novel Corona

Are you really on a world tour?
If yes then please follow the rules

Live yourself and let us live
Please don’t be so keen to kil~

If you are really very hungry
Go and eat some nice candy

Please don't scare humans
Please don't kil~ humans

Both Humans and Viruses
Can live on earth in parallel

Planet earth has so much space
For you, for us and all the flora-fauna

So please kil~ your killing attitude
And behave like a cultured youth
Open Message to the Novel Corona Virus
As if,
...wrapped in strands of golden thread,
shining...atop his spotless white steed
this knight came right to my front scape
as i stood by the garden...wind blew his cape
even as sun shone bright that moment,
sun, gold and white almost had me blinded.

his blue-greenish eyes stared long
as if he already knew me
as if he was to swoop me
as if i needed rescuing,

but, in a swish of wind blowing,
his golden cape flapped...shielding
him...he and his steed's muffled neighing,
were swallowed by the leaves' rustling

he vanished...in a few second's whiff
as if, gobbled by the wind...t'was so brief
this encounter...a thought made me stiff
oh...what a waste, what a shame,
i didn't get to know my knight's name...

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
March 20, 2020
(a work of fiction)
 Mar 17 Nat Lipstadt
r
There is a bluff
overlooking
the shipwreck
of love, steeped
in dreams best
kept in sleep’s
fog, shattered
and abandoned
on the rocky
hard shallow
depths below.
The bitter self-awareness
Of the vicinity of death
Encompasses a trauma
In a shortness of the breath,
An intellectual shrinkage
Spans diminishment of time
In impending dissolution
Of this treasured life of mine.

But mortality is mine to face
A hymnal to my fears
In that acceptance breeds compassion
For the irrational disappears
A passionate observation
Paints great empathy for life,
A vividness of being,
Of consciousness run rife.

Beyond articulation,
Beyond the poets song
Lies the grail of self-possession
In a Byzantium throng
Where the veil of comprehension
Sails upon a placid sea
And the glorious-ness of living,
In bright light, descends on me.

M.
29 October 2019
@ Foxglove in the warm, Spring sunshine
The earth moves around the sun at 67,000 mph.

Since you began reading this
we've travelled 36 miles
through the cold, black void of space

together.

Know then, fellow traveler
that this is why
I love you.

For the millions of miles gone and
the millions still to go
we were, are and will be bound
by this shared vessel.

The void holds tight to its secrets.
I will hold tight
to you.
100 miles travelled by the end.
There you are through the seasons
quietly standing
in your humble green
not seeking attention or glory
even in spring your little magenta flowers
peak out from your branches too modest
to make a loud fuss.

The scent of your body
transports me
to the place of your birth,
the plains of heaven.

May I take your simple doctrine
of acceptance and humility
to heart and rest silently
unconcerned with appearance
happy to let a soft inner light
be the meek gospel of the universe.
This morning I was reflecting on the way the divine is manifested (and mostly ignored) all around me in the most humble things of creation.  Then I noticed the sage bush in our back yard, planted and growing a little way off from the corner of the sidewalk.  I remember smudging (burning a small bunch of sage) as a meditative spiritual practice decades ago. I can almost smell the unique aroma of the smoke rising to my nostrils and on to the heavens.  Even the memory gives me a momentary wonderful peace.
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