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Sydney Jul 2014
To hate a thing
That one holds dear
Not to love a thing
From afar.
No, nearest despising is what is queer.
Angel washes, love absolves.
You hate them as they feed your soul

It's love!
She shouts
Not you or I
I would not know what mysterious force
Binds us, two girls.
Yet I do know
I do love her
Yet her I loathe,
She needs me as I feed her soul.
Unfinished
Sydney Jul 2014
I want to leave my hairs on your pillow case,
And my perfume in your wind.
I want my fingertips
To smudge the glasses in your cabinet,
And my feet
To ***** your white tile floors.

I want my indent
To remain in your bed
And my heart on your chest,
For all the night lingers
You'll be my rest.
To be edited, thought id just get it down now to get started
  Jul 2014 Sydney
Stephen E Yocum
Sitting on my porch,
A refreshing morning
Breeze gentling blowing,
Conveying aromatic scents
Of yard plants blooming,
The hum of fluttering Bee’s
Seeking Nectar among them.
The songs of early birds
punctuating all this convivial congeniality.
You can not purchase a ticket
to this particular show at any price.
Other than say,
An invitation to sit beside me.

Young dog at my feet,
Him with full tummy,
Basking in the sun.
I can almost see a smile on his face.  
Already he knows how to live.

There is tranquility here,
In my yard,
Among these plants and trees,
This grass so green, still fresh
With drops of recent rain a dripping,
The ethereal scent,
Of now wet earth arising.

No real need to go a traveling,
Far or even near a field.
I have almost all I need and want,
Right here in my yard,
on this porch of mine.

There is one other strong sensation here,
It is my feelings of utter contentment.
The simple things are always the best.
Another Moment In Time observation.
You youngsters may not get this one, it may take the
long view of life to impart this bit of simple wisdom.
Perspectives and those things that matter change
with experience and age. We all get there sooner
or later. Live in the moment is the message.
Actually no real need that anyone else should
get it. I wrote it just for me.
  Jul 2014 Sydney
Seán Mac Falls
I hear echoes that have no voice,
Sad before the vaulted tongues
Over brimmed, who spill on shunted ears
The sour milk of pressed pictures
And sooted lights of lime
And the golden knobs taste
Jarring-dry to their saw dust toes.
Must the babe be chosen
By its mother?

The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.


I hear echoes that have no choice,
But to skim the moated land
And wash well eyes with leaven walls
That tease and **** the sum to crushing
Columns lifted shoulder
High by zeros of kneeling numbers
Worming in bedded slumber.
Must the maker of builders
Be dismantled?

*The sea dirt is lined with woolen shawls
And the chasm shout shall dig our graves,
Throated hollow, to the abyss, we sink our six
And ***** the dirt, call not them the spades.
  Jul 2014 Sydney
mochiu
I don't know you
   But I cried at your funeral
  Jun 2014 Sydney
calpurnia mockingbird
Weary eyed disappointment shines through the blue
in an attempt to quell my spirit.
6 weeks between us, yet you are as old as time.

I am not sorry for your frustration,
it stirs my ***** to see your distress
at my half-smile.

I offered you warning, long before gold was shared.
I told you I'd be hard to hold,
spelled out my weakness,
held aloft all flaws.

Still you lept at my flame,
seeking to contain it within your covetous palm,
to mold me with your priceless wisdom,
your righteous idea of who I could be,
should be....would be.

A me without a trace of self is your desire.
A shell filled with your vision of perfection.

A stay at home
Lay at home wife.

Last night you said that you had made me a better person,
while I sat and wondered at your breathing
in the hope that it would stop.

Do not take my silence as compliance.
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