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 Mar 2022 Poet kiri
David Lessard
Breathe in, the fragrance of the morning
just past the sawn, when things are still
another day of life to cherish
get outside, beyond the windowsill

Take a little walk and stretch your legs
in the woods or open pasture
get the blood to flowing freely
don't let inertia be your master

You were made for moving, not for sitting
walk off the stiffness in your limbs
shut off the idiot's lantern in your room
put aside your silly foolish whims

Wake to a day that's spilling sunshine
bright light that nourishes the soul
if raindrop fall, don't be concerned
the one above is in control

Breathe in, the beauty that surrounds you
look to the mountains, not far away
discover wonder- on nature's trails
and thank God- for this favored day.
Not coming out
Spring...
Except through
Your fingers ...
Through Your eyes ...
A rainbow,
arched over rice fields
frogs,
Start croaking...

I Become a mother ...
In A bright Sunny day ...

Illinois cornfield...
too many fireflies at once
too many fireflies...

Oh my little black star!
I know the grooves between your hands...
Smelling you Among my bright motherly clothes
Oh white and free lily,
In my June ...!
The butterfly’s
flaming wings
on the rim of the birdbath...
You are the
  Honeysuckle,
Blooming in the wind ...
You are a fetus,
You have not been
In my femininity
womb ...
O my flesh!
O my spring!
And O beyond my
cadaver...!
Rainbows dancing
Happily...
In the glitter of your eyes ...
Oh, my flower of the moon!
Lala, Lala
Dahlia flowers...
The sun is gone
The night has come ...
Lala, Lala
Chrysanthemum flowers,
Coco's chicken will sing again
Lala, Lala Velvet flowers ...
A deer sleeps in the forest
Lala, Lala
The flower of Moonlight ...
A firefly is in the meadow
Lala, Lala
Tulip flowers...
The leopard moaning a lot
in the mountains...
Lala, Lala
Almond flowers ...
Sweet flowers, sleep quietly
Lala, Lala
Zinnia flowers...
My baby can wake up
tomorrow...
 Apr 2018 Poet kiri
Joel M Frye
The boxes
which keep my blood clean
are stacked as tall as I,
a monument
in the spare room
to past battles.
Too many words,
too many thoughts
******* in the
hand-to-hand combat
with mortality.

No more.

What life I have
will not be defined
by an indeterminate end.

I live to write poems;
I will no longer die in them.
Camus knows.
 Apr 2018 Poet kiri
Bas Aeon
tres20
 Apr 2018 Poet kiri
Bas Aeon
you left a mark
and
i wear it proudly on my chest.
to remind me
that i feel best
when
i’m with you

-Tres20-
cross and ring
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