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i'm a half way hill short
of decent remarks.
definitely juvenile.
public dancers
gave me chances
to prove myself while
confidence drove me home,
and there wasn't a single complaint.
I can hear the wind chimes,
and it keeps time,
Like it's giving me a sign,
a way to find,
What will happen next.

The sunlight on the trees,
Just right and glistening,
Makes me want everything I see,
to stay and keep me company,
forever in this moment.

On my table I see raindrops,
The sun is out, the rain's stopped,
From each leaf the rain hops,
Drips and drops,
I wish it would continue.

I can still hear the wind chimes,
You, once, were mine,
But so you know after all this time,
I'm afraid I will never find,
somebody like you.
About to light up,
Wait just another minute,
Now it's Four Twenty.
die ompad is die beste                           the detour is the best
    gedeelte van die reis                             part of the journey
       as jy nie verlore raak nie                          if you don’t get lost
kan jy nie die regte pad vind nie                      you won’t find the right path

as jy ontmiddelik op                                     if unexpectedly you
    jou drome                                                        come­ upon
          aankom                                                      ­              your dreams
              sal  jy veras word                                                         you will be surprised

drome is soos                                           dreams are like
     'n fyn skuldery                                           a fine painting
         elke streel                                                 each stroke
              van die verf                                             of the paint

elke kleur                                                  each colour
       elke toon                                                  each tone
              elke emosie                                              each emotion

uitgedink                                               ­    thought out
uitgebrei                                                    ­expanded

en dan skielik is dit                                  and then suddenly it is
wonderlik                                                  won­derful
© jeannine davidoff 2012
If my world's a bakery
in an endlessly large country
you descend upon my city
we pass at the stale loaves
eyelashes flutter, aghast
like I'm an insect assailing your glasses
I watch you smile or grimace
Run your tongue, checking for guilt stuck in your teeth

"Oh! Hhey!!"

Your voice surprises us both
it is the same timbre in which I render
words more decadent than your courage
to spit at my living person
when it stands all but 5'6 and breathing in front of you
washing up bottle messaged on the beaches of my awareness
-*****, jezebel, ******-

-her-

See, I've been receiving your cookies
in brown paper parcels
Little birds didn't want me to miss out on the flavor

I see you, small creature
how quickly you frost your hate
with buttercream icing, your loathing is cake
you devour and feed to anyone who'll taste

You have laid your field fallow
and let me assume disgrace

I want to tell you you're wrong
I want to push you with my mind
I want to throw sprinkles at you

I see you, small creature
with scrunched up fists
and I taste your poison
like grand marnier
it spoils everything

The recipe was followed rule for rule
The souffle rose
***** though you may

I'd almost rather hug you
if it would squeeze out your wretchedness
a flouncing whirl cupcake summit

so we could be tin-pan square

and may our pastry never mix again.
I
seem to be sinking.
Miss,
excuse me, but haven't we met before?
The
look you gave that old man, the
way
it was like the light I see, through water as I'm sinking.
You
don't remember? here take my hand,
read
these valleys. Don't you remember the streams
between?
Pardon me, it's not catharsis, it's only
the
pressure pushing it out, making
lines
where there were once spheres.
Lap, lap, lap,

Of the tide brushing my drenched pale back.
Tidal flux pressing my sand drenched pores.
Mind races, parched throat screams,
blistered lips yearning for more.

Slowly I pull myself up from the ocean’s grime.
Baking under the hot sun’s lore.
Palm trees sway to nature’s hypnotic tune,
Lush green plants, vibrant to the core.

A moment of zen pours over my soul,
Such beauty!  Here upon this shore!
Sweet air so crisp and soothing upon my chapped lips.
Tranquil reverence in my self did bore.

Tap, tap, tap,

Of a plastic bottle bumping upon my leg.
Debri floating on the tide like a open sore.
Rage boils at this blight upon such beauty.
Trash drifting aimlessly, finding no room to store.

Flashed memories of my ship assaulted by the sea,
Wave, upon wave striking an endless score.
My mates all washed overboard into the deep blue,
Leaving me alone on a ship destined for the ocean’s floor.

Survived I have, but to what expense?
My debri making this serene coast a moor!
Is this my effect upon this beautiful place?
Am I nothing but a corrupting bore?

Thwap, thwap, thwap,

Roars the helicopter blades as it circles for me.
My eyes water and hands are raised as debri begins to soar.
The once lovely palm trees are now bending to the blades.
Lush green plants are flattened to the earth’s core.

Pain sparks an endless rage.  Enough of this!
I hurry out of sight with feet drenched and sore.
I hobble to the comforting shade of the large healthy trees,
Peeling through lush vegetation reverently, entering heaven’s vibrant door.

Into nature’s womb I did go,
The vivacity of life makes my heart soar.
Slowly the sound the helicopter fades away,
Leaving me to my new heart’s core.
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