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maggie W Feb 12
It almost feels like summer,
breeze at the dusk, killing mosquitoes.
It feels like
Taking a stroll on National Mall,
On a summer night in front of Lincoln Memorial.
Playing Frisbee riding bike
On the meadow in front of the Capitol.

My summer in the capital
With you, him and her and them and myself alone

It feels like the humidity in the swamp, with jazz playing in the background
It smells like crab cake and french toast, out from the diners I frequent
It looks like the summer sky, cloudless, your eyes

The meadow the ducks, summer dress and birkenstock.
Brunch, breeze and bike, followed by more bike rides along the riverfront.

Sitting on the marble stairs of the Supreme Court
Dipping toes in Reflection Pool

Summer in D.C. oh how I much do I miss you and adore
Summer is a state of mind and so does love
But you never fail to give me the feelings of those above.xxoo
love letter to dc, ode to summer
Ice cream
subsistent tell
this pallor
where Peter
has a
big date
this Friday
and scream
where a
lawyer melt
with straws
that crisscross
in court
and don't
dispose a
woman in
county ajar
A woman in lock stock and barrel
made whole on my dime

ask him

she hates me

we could not

kiss me
its worth

we have
no value
this earth

how sorry do you think

she says
me about
a spoof
on reality
there only
peculiar to
sensitivity as
mobility does
change in
cyberpunk while
our glorious
rays portray
freedom with
our initiatives
in management
or idolatry  
and driven
to extreme  
in America
An astir this dimm
she dig train then abscond
that dawn set her part
just round nine o'clock

and she sped into town
but rode back at dusk
met me on this serial port
and funny interlude discretion

with a keystroke to browse
this cockamamie diatribe
while all through a route tonight
yet this flagrant twist ensue  

with her laptop a comrade fair
to find her again
upon this moment of bliss
she rightfully kissed

with a monument there
that touted strikingly tall
like an obelisk affront
an oft-heard prayer.
maggie W Jan 2017
We are 9 miles away from D.C.,
the eye of the storm on the twentieth.

The suburbia love we had,
storm- before- the -calm  kind of meeting we had on this chaotic day.

9 miles away is the city we love
It is a refuge for our boredom and our doomed relationship
On the metro ride, on the E street and somewhere near Farragut West
We watched small budget movies, had ice cream or playing with each others' hands fondly.

We are several blocks away from all the barricades,
So why don't we get in closer and go to Chinatown Coffee
and then wandering down the H street.

In the suburb,  I do not feel peace,
Because the storm is coming.
I'd rather go in the eye of the storm,with you
Where you fell for me.

This Capital love of ours , on the outskirts of D.C.
Where in a perfect world we would both live in,
like last time you told me on the way to E street.
Love  in D.C., To Michael O.
A carman of lore now
superfluously en route
to enrapture
these egalitarians indebted
to patriots
but clandestine horizon
when jeopardy arises with present  
that unrest succumb to fighting
that surreptitious supplant freedom
with only a vestige of Justice.
Steve Page Sep 2016
If you never try it
You'll never know it
You'll ever wonder
Forever doubt
So break out
Be a chance taker
A faith placer.
Take the bruises
Absorb the scrapes
That come from escaping safe harbour
And storm the border
Of your known neat and orderly
Childhood home.
Welcome to London.
Memories of my parents downsizing and leaving me to set up home.  I needed a nudge.
Vincent St Clare Feb 2016
crossing from
the park
to the bank,
stepping over
the remains
of a grackle
on the grass
that glides
into the sidewalk


at the verge
of the

Written ca. 2013. First published in 'firstwriter.magazine'. (Issue 28, 2015/2016.)
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