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Jenny Gordon Feb 2018
...asking if I'd "--left the kitchen because it was too hot?" as I'd brownies in the oven and dinner warming on the stove.  



(sonnet #MMMMMMCMVIII)


Lo, nary voice flits through this warm pretense
Whose eye is April's in a trice, the pale
Blue heavns white clouds dim with four geese' detail,
And yes, a silent flock of birds which thence
Fly past, light flashing off their wings, a sense
Of deathly naught held like a notice frail
Warm hours are but a tease, as sparrows fail
To merrly answer, whiles I feign what hence?
Thin nonchalance, just as last night in tour
Where I "performed" sae poorly with a crew
Of local poets at the Lit Fest.  Were
Their kindness not Thy mercies, LORD, what through
Our vain hours should we answer?  Is't sae poor
I cherish 'gain these minutes I once knew?

27Jan18
I'd only thought in looking out the kitchen window on all that it was too silent in the kitchen sans bird voices, when lo, there were none to be heard after all. NOTE for L14:  in 2011 I used to hang out on the back stoop in the warmer hours.
Leah Oviedo Dec 2017
Walk to the edge of the forest, take off your shoes.
Let your feet dance on the earth, toes squiggly in rich, fertile soil.
Place your hands on a tree and feel life flowing through you both.
Walk through the cool, dark forest to the meadow, glistening in rays of sunshine, feel the warmth.
Lay in the grass, admire flowers, whistle with birds, make friends with bees.
See, feel, taste and smell what the concrete is foolishly trying to keep out.
Connect with your old mother, protect her as she has protected your ancestors.
Remember how you were created by her nurturing grace.
This is a work in progress. I want to make it longer, with more rhythm and a well rounded story
Sam Dec 2017
The mountains pierce the sky
This world built for you and I
We'll conquer them all together
Hand in hand, we climb forever
Kelsey Chupp Mar 2018
there is nothing like the breath of spring
of fresh fallen rain and blooming flowers
the sweet tune of songbirds
calls me out the door
sometimes i find myself wondering
why flowers bloom
and the names of the stars  
the trouble is
you’ll never find the answers
if you always stay indoors
-k.j.c
Em MacKenzie Aug 2017
Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's where I go to meet the future and the past.
Embraced by trees and kissed by the sky,
it's where some come to be free, or maybe just get high.
Or to just chain smoke, until your lungs turn black,
and when you start to choke your voice will only crack.
Oh, summer shines brightly, but my true love is the dark,
I visit the moon nightly and meet the stars in the park.

Well if you're looking for the path,
to lead you away from devastation,
it's just like solving simple math,
or just showing some appreciation.
No, there's no place like home,
but in truth, we are all alone.

Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's a secret oh so sweet, though no one thinks to ask.
The wind always whispers, and the lights bleed afterglow,
was she here or did I miss her? I guess I'll never know.
Aside from hunting footsteps, there's no one else passing by,
it's a question I should forget as the answer is a lie.
Oh, summer shines brightly, but my true love is the dark,
the depths that hold me tightly and kiss every scar and mark.

Well if you're looking for the answer,
or maybe just a solution,
to beat a disease like cancer,
or a problem like pollution.
Well, we're all free to roam,
but in truth, we are alone.

Right down the street, there's a field of grass,
it's where I'll go to greet my hope; it is my last.
The stars play my friend, the moon and all her charms,
but they say in the end we all die in our own arms.

Well if you're looking for a safe passage,
or maybe just an escape,
the concept; you can't grasp it,
it's blocked off by caution tape.
Oh, how it eats you down to the bone,
but in truth, we are all alone.
Find the Donnie Darko quote.
andydaly Jul 2017
What will I see,
When I turn to a ghost.

Things with no price tag,
Are worth the most.

A night sat under the sky,
No paper could ever buy.

In the mountains from tree to tree.
For fortune, not will I plea.

I'll keep my wealth in me,
In nature I'll ever be.
Written by Andrew Daly ©
dizzy in the shrubbery

lost in the manicured park,
this maze of many

I've never
           been able to
figure out,

something about the clean lines.

weeds can't help being weeds.
I wanted to gather the clippings

into my arms
and say there had been
some mistake,

that they were needed after all.

come live in my yard, sweetheart.

the bees won't mind.
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