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 Feb 2023 S Olson
sofolo
re:
 Feb 2023 S Olson
sofolo
re:
a blue wave over me
sanctified
and pure

the freshness
has its
allure

but the tide
is a lie

pulled back into
the depths

i’m more
comfortable here
in midnight
black

“in the back with the
racks and the stacks”

time
slowed

a tune in my ear
i walk the
lonely road
 Feb 2023 S Olson
Evan Stephens
Flowers that blossom at night:
those who open in the dark,
those who open to the dark.

I sit in my ***-bottomed boat,
thinking about the turns
& branches of my life.

No: my boat is dry-docked.
Let's be honest:
it's just a lonely bed, no oars.

But I am open, at last:
I am ready for someone
to come and turn their key

in this reddened lock.
Behind this door are rewards.
Behind this door I am waiting.

But let's be still more honest:
no one is racing down the hall
with a key in hand to try their luck.

I am a night-blooming cereus:
open in the dark, scented,
waiting for something in the black

to land and spread pollen.
I will breathe it - I will inhale
the sweetness, the gesture...
through distant isles i searched for him
my only love, my one true knight,
and i a spirit, silver-haired,
a ghost of night.

oh, he was battle scarred and worn
from long crusades in foreign lands
and through parched deserts still i roam
the wind-blown sands.

i'll not forget him, never rest,
until i've whispered in his ear
undying love through moon-blanched lips
and held him near.

oh, hear me crying like the wind
through every forest, every sea,
i walk the earth, a phantom shade,
unceasingly.

and snow is cold but not as chill
as the iced ****-frost of my breath
the taste of winter in my kiss,
a wraith of death!

i'll wrap him in my gauzy limbs,
ignite the fire in his vein,
encircle him in clouds of mist
and free my chain.

through distant isles i searched for him
my only love, my one true knight,
and i a spirit, silver-haired,
a ghost of night.
in the style of La Belle Dame sans Merci (the beautiful lady without mercy) by john keats.
 Feb 2023 S Olson
Caroline Shank
There are things
I did not do.

I did not  touch
you.  

You
died. Without
a sound.

Your soft brown eyes pierced me.
I saw you go in the quiet
way you did everything.
I knew you were gone
but not before I
knew sadly, silently
that
I
could not hold
you in a final

embrace.

Closeness had run out
so long ago,

though we loved until the end,

bereft of speech,
as we we were bereft of
touch.

I bowed to your
blank stare.

I would have died for
you if I could have.  

but I could not
save you from
this destiny

with the Father

Who

Loved

you



Caroline Shank
2.2,2023
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