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It is hot
hip
for the Sun to scorch my eyeballs?

sour cream for wild chives.

Getting on with the business
putting it out there
fuelling the engine and
filling with grief,

winter comes and at the most unexpected of times,

but it's how and how it is hot and finding a spot to reflect.

I always reflect
is that hip?

Sight now unseen
though blinded
I have seen
and have been
blind.

I wonder aloud
some time and sometimes
I chill
in the heat of
the Sun.
I walked this campus in my youth,
forty years ago today.
The air is sweet from recent rain
here on the quad lawn where we played.

It's changed, of course,
that building is new.
Jefferson Hall is next, they say.
I graduated here in May.
I need not give the year away
I 'll only say it was a time,
like now, of great uncertainty.

I remember you like yesterday,
Your eyes a deep cerulean blue.
Your long and flowing auburn hair.
Those bee stung lips so sweet and true.

On impulse, just then
I tried the door.
Surprised I was when it gave way
I entered in the Bursars room
and heard your voice just down the hall.

For sure, twas you.
I'd know that voice
if all the world should pass away
I made my way towards your voice
anticipating ecstasy.

A joyful union there awaits
to hold you once more in my arms
life beyond death to be united
with you so many years since gone.

I entered then into the room
in hopes that she I loved was there.
This was the place where we first met
a place where, sadly, none appeared.

A wistful smile, a final glance
from your poor poet of Romance.
too much a dreamer, most would say,
as I closed the door to yesterday
 May 2016 Olivia Kent
Mike Hauser
my love comes in the color of

~fools gold~

gullible in what it hopes to find

sparkles in the right light
Feel it break on shores
of my face
if really bad
drips to my lips
where I taste salt
then my nose runs
and candles form
for now I am six
hip cupping words out I trying
to tell
blind living
blind hell
no response to words
it's just a dream.
True  P@ul.
 May 2016 Olivia Kent
Mike Hauser
i know a girl
who's out of this world
that loves to talk to shadows

be it the trees
or tall buildings
it really doesn't matter

i'm thinking that
they must talk back
as she nods her head in wonder

if one runs out
of things to talk about
she turns her attention to another

she rarely smiles
when the sun goes down
with no one to talk to or listen

over time
what she finds
is people aren't quite as interesting

this girl i know
perhaps you've seen her before
that loves to talk to shadows
Forty miles
Pieced by gannet
The saint who never was
Keening through skirts of sleet
Her broken psalm
Against time

Forty miles
To jaws of gabbro , dark Hirta
Boreray, Stac Li. Towering teeth
Bird-crammed. Men spidered, scaled
Over a void where one fall
Could blacken time

Forty miles
The wheel spun, warping language
The world weaved on
Behind oiled womens fingers
Picking at time

Forty miles
Over sheened cobbles to the bay
Men and dogs taken last
Out of a mornings haar
To stranger seas in time
A lament following the death of the last surviving resident from the island of St. Kilda. Antiphon is a term derived from Medieval music in which church choirs sing across each other.... from the Greek.
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