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Richard Grahn Oct 2017
This is the place where
The bear went through the berries
Grandma always said

Grandpa caught a fish this long
So he hung it by the bed
A  memory of my grandparents who were avid outdoors people. It  is with them that my love for nature found its roots.
allie May 2017
the longest runs
are the things that **** us
we can train
we can raise our knowledge
but we can never prepare for the hurt
the anger
the tears
the scars.
when i say what's happening
people pity me
they try to 'help'
they look at me with sad eyes
and tell me to just solve it.
i can't, now can i.
it hurts.
i love.
i hate.
when you think you get out of it
it ropes you back in
if i cry
you don't care
if i yell
you don't care
if i leave
you hit me with words
you slap me with insults
tell me
i'm stupid
i'm an idiot
i'm worthless.
you pull me back in
into the fishing line
and i'm caught
caught on the hook
you trick me
say that you'll always love me
no matter what.
then you go along
and shed your hateful words like a snake
still,
i'm caught in the fishing line.
i'm stuck in the hook.
and there's no getting out.
i'll never escape.
Star BG May 2017
Oh to go fishing in the heart.
To feel the gentle breeze of breath as it expands lungs.

Oh to go drifting in the heart.
To feel its energies caress as it plays inside grand song.

Oh to go dancing in the heart.
To feel the power flowing to expand my graceful steps.

Oh how grand it is to go spiraling, swirling, gyrating into heart.
The place where wisdom and safety lives.

StarBG © 2017
it truly is a gift to look at all things with gratitude and allow the divine spirit to flow within. There is where we find a paradise of expressions and freedom.
To live in heart and move gracefully with its beat.... that is where I choose to live, even when darkness comes for I know the dark is temporary, as my essence is light.
Sobriquet Apr 2017
Throw your line down
and sit with me below,
beside the cray pots and the fish.

remember the gifts the sea gave up
the rocks and stories that made their way into my pockets
for your indifferent hands to overlook on the windowsill.

Throw your line down
beside the ***** and tangled weeds,
and remember a single line
is not enough to tame an undertow
that sings arias to the moon.
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