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His fears were eclipsed by crackling amber crystals caressing the plums on each side of his nose, retexturizing the
squelches beneath his marooned tread – cushioning this fallen star as he prepared to grow new roots. Hurricanes of
melody camouflaged his screams with a symphony of vibrato from an overseeing parliament of wise, wide-eyed, totems with infinite flight. Silently, the heavens rinsed the pain from his eyes to sweeten the acorns of lost hope he had
****** upon him as a souvenir from his shipwreck. Depth begets strength to this sapling as he embarked on this
streetified forest through a shimmering of honeycomb and goldenrod shards cutting through crimson flakes as if nature
was stealing pigment from God herself; only rejecting the royalist of purples to comfort peering shining stars as they
witness his resplendence amongst a grounded haze of jewelled apricots greenly repulsed by the sin of gravity.

Imposed poison touch
forced ejection from the womb.
Run! Rebirth? Marooned.
First published in Chappy - Whittword Publications - 2022
I watched as the dog waddles away with his feet wrapped in a soft leathery boot, the owner too focused on getting around the mounds of snow to notice the dog's discomfort.

A soft whistle escapes from the accordion sides of the streetcar while a groan escapes an elderly gentleman, pressed too close to the wall.

I stand embraced by crowded bodies, snug in the middle of the streetcar walkway.

These times of discomfort remind me that I am human.
Experiencing life.
Watching, listening, enjoying the discomfort of mortality.
cherishing the imperfections, the frivolousness of each individual.
A balladry of the mundane.
A full streetcar on the way to work—I hate when you look up and see all the faces glowing from the light of their phones.
They were standing nearby a rock;
It was a sunny day.
And she had thought,
It would be a very good day to soak up the sun;
They had arrived there by train.
And he had told her,
That they might see a black pig,
Because they were frequent on that place;
«They are very fierce and territorial.»
He had told her;
So time after time,
She turned her head on both sides,
To see the black pig;
It was very quiet,
And even though,
There was a street nearby them,
No cars passed;
They were smoking cigarettes,
And not talking much.
As if not to go against the quietness,
Of this remote part of the city;
A little chat
Here and there,
Would be heard,
From time to time;
He had told her about:
When he had been homeless
For a couple of weeks.
And also his ex-girlfriend
And how they had broken up.
Because she left him for someone else;
He had his head on his bag.
As he was lying on the ground.
But at some moment stood up,
And looked at her.
«It is nice!»
He said
We have been together
For 2 days now.
From the moment we met,
At the center of the city.
And you have not asked me:
«What do I do for a living!»
Trip to Barcelona
Antonia 7d
Carry only a backpack into the future’s embrace,
Leave behind the luggage of yesterday’s trace.
It costs dearly to drag what’s past,
Travel light, for freedom holds fast.
Why do we insist to bring those heavy bags everywhere we go? Do we really need all that stuff where we’re heading?
I signed up for Duolingo again,
So when I grow old,
And I am weary of this mortal country,
I may take my aching bones,
To old Italy.
Where I will have coffee,
And read paper news,
That way the old game can't bother me.
Politics is too much. I pray for peaceful days.
Mia Feb 6
the left lane traveller stays his course
as overtakers do pass him by–
daggers shot through mirrored reverse,
though they ne’er meet his eye

for on his own, and on he stays
forward through by through–
the road beneath him stretches day
from night to morning, too

and on he drives as darkness Falls;
and in each blow of wind
in solitary starlit routes,
the left lane welcomes him

those arrived forgot to see,
neglecting constellations draped;
alone in their rooms, asleep in their beds
dancing a stage, once was raked

judgement passed for driving slow;
for them, he too does feel–
in learn-less ways, then while he grows  
rushed minds, now idle, yield

there, beneath the cold vast empty,
yet before the morning snow–
softly shaded by gum trees, his
arrived finally, entirely home.
I went off to the capital,
For a weekend with friends.
My mother told me,
"Take lots of pictures!"

Well mother, I'm afraid,
My camera can only capture so much.
Because there was no way for me,
To photograph everything.
No, I do not mean stone statues and monuments,
I'm talking about feeling.
A piece of film can't show,
Every shining memory of everything you did.
Midnight conversations,
Dinner debates,
Writing in graveyards,
Buying hats.
The best trip I ever took.
You like thought puzzles?
Well consider this,

A boy and a girl
Board a train
Desperate to escape the rain
And bump into each other
Due to one hour of travel
Because of one hour of time
A man and a woman walk out
The outline of the idea is that if two strangers randomly meet, within an hour they will no longer be strange to each other.
Maria Etre Jan 20
"I feel old", I said

"Time travel" they imposed

"How?", I exclaimed

"Fall in love", they replied
Summer rain storm
Soaks me to the bone.

Lying on concrete all alone,
under the overpass,
Cars blowing by,
I know they laugh.

I understand why.

But what they don't realize,
is that I'm laughing too.

I wouldn't trade this life,
because, I know.

I may be wet,
but I'm freer than you.

Give me a highway, a lonesome stretch of gray.

(Thanks for the line Bob)

And I'll be alright,
I'll find my way.

And if it rains, let it pour,
Let it wash my cares away,

I won't complain,
I love the rain.

Besides,
I probably needed a bath anyway.
In the bracket I'm referring to Bob Seger and a line from his song Even Now
from his album The Distance. Which has inspired several of my poems.
If your not familiar with his music I highly recommend giving him a listen.
His lyrics are excellent poetry.

now available on my you tube channel
www.youtube.com/@tsummerspoetry
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