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r Apr 2014
Fade to faded photographs
You know the ones
A battlefield from long ago
Broken horses
Broken cannon
Broken men
Faded broken men.

Fade to faded photographs
You know the kind
A desert scene from long ago
Wild ponies
Feathered lances
Proud warriors
Faded broken lifeways.

Fade to faded photographs
You know the places
The ones so hard to find
Clear waters
Untamed wilderness
All God's creatures
Faded fading landscapes.

Fade to faded photographs
You know their names
Seats of power then and now
Wooden desks
Feather pens
Prideful men
Faded broken promises.  

r ~ 4/27/14
\•/\
   |
  / \
r Apr 2014
Sing me a song of rain.

Strike lightning in my eyes.

Blow a warm breeze through my hair.

I'll dance a happy Wood Stork dance for you, my flower child.

Pretending all the while that we're at Yasgur's Farm.

r ~ 4/25/14
\•/\   Wood Stork--Mycteria americana
   |
  / \
r Apr 2014
I call her Moon.
              Why, you ask?
Because she is light
     when my nights are heavy.

r ~ 4/24/14
\•/\
   |    O
  / \
r Apr 2014
Whispers
     in alabaster ears
words unforgiving, unforgiven
      year after year after year.     
Whispered secret secrets.

      Laurel leaved lies of liars
traitorously spilling wine while
      tear after tear after tear
shed and shredded truth
      cut sharp with guile.

      Cloaked smiles kissing
hands of befriended strangers
      in strange lands lighting fires;
fire after fire after fire
       burning hatred blind to danger.
     
 Sentried angry glowers guarding towers
      o'er ever changing landscapes of desire
 hour after hour after hour.
      Come little child, take to your lips
a bitter taste of this our power.

r ~ 4/24/14
r Apr 2014
I long to meet a Guinevere
So many poems I'd pen
Like Guinevere by the Azure Mere
Or simply, My Sweet Gwen

I taste the sound of Guinevere
Tis salt upon my lips
Perhaps she'd be my Gwenhwyfar
Sweet wine of Arthur's sips

Smooth and fair my Guinevere
Of her so many songs be sung
I'd love you o'er and o'er, my dear
Tomorrow I'd have ye hung.

r ~ 4/22/14
\•/\  Oh, come on. Where's your          
   |       sense of history?
  / \
r Apr 2014
It's not the rain
that makes my eyes wet.
It hasn't rained in forty days.
Nights are long and quiet.
The silence cuts to bone.

It wasn't rain that quenched the fire.
It hasn't rained in forty nights.
The well is dry... so am I.
Nights I sit in silence
while it rains.

r ~ 4/19/14
r Apr 2014
Listen
Listen now
He doesn't sleep here
Anymore.

Smile
Smile somehow
He walks upon that shore.

Look
Look inside
Look inside yourself.

Dream
He's dreaming
You'll find him in your dreams...
Somehow.

4/18/14
For Maria.
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