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lucky ******, this day dreamer,
when one story line goes phut,
he could try another, all day long,
**and then comes  the long day's night.
 Aug 2012 Robert Kralapp
Deepsha
Staring at every strand of noodle in my plate
as it swirls around my fork
that's the best I can do here
with you, all of you
so pretentious you
so self obsessed you
erasing the thin line between insults and fun
you, the ever so cocksmart, you
waiting for time to pass by
one millisecond at a time
raising my spoon, slowly,
doing injustice to its destiny of fulfilling
the tongues it touches
gulp
I can feel it, whole
lowering down my throat, part by part
being pulled down, like me by you
and down it goes
while I play with the next strand around the daunting fork.
Back from a torturous dinner with friends. Only a fraction of my feelings.
Wasn't it pure dream? every time, they made love,
she feared the unknown; saw omens in everything,
then the fateful day stealthily came,
*a black swan he became and winged towards the horizon.
Two maple trees
sun dappled window leaves
doves awake my dream
mourning breathes the air
breezy robes caress
green leaves
singing
Dusky blue the twilight hushed, dimming daylight's edge
cherry tree, green leaves grow - gathering black of night
so quiet, my sleepy garden bows
still warm the sun drunk petaled heads
August moon lingers
only a crescent slicing low
silver birds silhouetted
in shadows flying home
evening deepens, dark the day
silence, the world so far away
I want a man
who has a big
Soul

I can care less about the size of his
Bankroll

I want you to cook,
And clean,
And do the laundry,
And do the food shopping
With me.

You must play an instrument
I dont care if you ****,
As long as you never quit.
Quitting is sooo
Unattractive.

I can spend the whole week inside,
I love nature, but trees don't pay the bills,
these skills keep my PayPal filled.

I want you to put the coffee on, before I wake up,
Because I forgot to set the timer,
And Put the grounds and filter in,
Even though it was my turn,
And hand me a cup as I walk into the room,
And never mention my forgetfulness.

Starched collars and dress shoes
Don't do it for me,
I need to be able to strip you down in seconds,
Not get lost in your coat and sweater vest,
On the way to your flesh.

Catch me off guard,
Make me laugh,
And I'll be yours,
Even if you grow stale,
And make me cry

I know how love works,
Because I have broken enough,
And saw the tiny cogs and gears inside.

All I want
Is someone,
Who will give me the key to their
Heart.
Let me move in, and make it my own.
And even after I wreck the place up,
In an irrational fit, and storm out,
keying your car on the way,
You'll never change the locks,
Or take my key away.
I **** at titles. I'm open to suggestions.
Greatest eagle, black and white,
Tell me how to reach the skies—
Wander with wind into the night,
Are you lost like me when you fly?
I see you marking the flaming sun
And want to follow your windy path,
Rising after moon, majestic one—
What trials of life in your aftermath?
To be legit
do poems always have to be deep?
Do they need to burst open
spilling metaphor
simile
or can they just be about anything
like the young doe
standing in the woods across the driveway
from my window
like a statue
silent
but for the sound of green maple leaves
being ground between her teeth
her eyes fixed
on the movement in the window
as a middle aged man
writes about poetry.
Outside is temple—
Soft chanting snow fall, pure white,
Crystal mandalas.
 Aug 2012 Robert Kralapp
Deepsha
When I was a kid, my teacher gave me
little red stars in my notebook.
Ha, silly teacher!
Stars are red when they are drifting further, never to be had.
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