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My mind, a collection of unspoken words,
Letters to you
If only you could read my mind
Maybe l would not be a poet
my carnival heart rides
the Ferris wheel

got lost in the tunnel of love

(lost my love on the merry go round)

the minute hand of my watch, forever

back and forth
tap, tap, tapping on midnight, i'm

tossed and tumbled
like the rodeo clown
riding a bull
I'm holding aces and eights tucked tightly
against my chest so

play the long shot

I pray for the gypsy wind
wild and flowing

my heart is true.

precious love
my precious love
  Jun 2024 Richard Shepherd
Ken Pepiton
-------
As a mortal may, I may imagine
I let myself drift with circumstance

and dance with the other half of me,

who gets this chance, just once
in a lifetime and lets it pass,
meaning nothing more,
than a thought,

fit to an instance.

We all have two minds, you know,
and those two think differently, alone;
but as we grow old and learn patience
perfecting persistance fitting instantiations
of the algorithmatic weform, we form upon

agreement, left hand sees the letters writ
I and e, left best and right best intentions,

combining minds to make a polimental me,
and whatsoever such agree, makes
aggravation heavy enough

to squeeze a mysterious fluid from
the first living stone to presume life's no fun,

yes, we be the augmented, minding wisdoms,
falsely called sciences of religion, using assisted
memory machinations, virtual how to persistence,
with go backs, and do overs, Mulligan's, to some,

mere next in truth, a step taken is never taken
back. In truth, each life's lived in go now mode,

later is as one might expect, having had days
like this in times past, spectator status revoked,

insanely great ideas fed crumbs, smile slightly.
and reprove the use of joy for no reason.
Is the wind alive? That’s what the Choctaw believed.
The Apache called it, apocryphally, “the breath of the world.”

To them, the wind is the trickster you never see,
a joker on the plain of life.

What’s always arriving and always leaving?

What’s as old as the world, yet forever current?

Ever present and tireless, it seldom sleeps,
holding up jets, herding clouds like sheep,
filling sails, stirring leaves, causing rough seas.

What’s always passing, but already everywhere?

The Cherokee named ‘air’ the ‘keeper of spirits,”
because it sighs, cries, whispers and moans.
They credited it with great power and influence.

Today, we watch the skies with doppler witchery,
we forecast its path, with the gambler's odds - see,
the wind has turned on us, many times - like a tornado.
.
.
Songs for this;
Colors Of the Wind - End Title by Vanessa Williams
They Call the Wind Maria by Harve Presnell
Windy by The Association
From Merriam Webster’s “Word of the day’ list: Apocryphal: legendary but of doubtful authenticity.

06.22.10:50
  Jun 2024 Richard Shepherd
Chuck Kean
The Last Time

     Today I’m walking in Sunshine
Free from yesterday’s rain
Today my life is full of Joy
Free from yesterday’s pain

Today my eyes are wide open
And there’s beauty in what I see
Now that the vail of darkness
Can no longer hide it from me

There’s a new awareness in all of
My senses now that the truth is revealed
I’ve surrendered my life, I’m born again
All of my brokenness has been healed

I can’t believe that I wanted to take my
Own life in a time long ago
And if I had, the life I live now
Is a life I would never know

And now that sound of Hells Bells
As they constantly chime
Is a sound that has been silenced
And I’ve heard them for The Last Time

Written By:Charles Kean
06/23/2024
She broke me in two
Shattered like glass
Now what can I do?
Will this pain ever pass?
I lost myself trying to please this girl
I will never be the same
Falling deeper and deeper in a downward swirl
Maybe I did this to myself, maybe I'm to blame
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