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 Dec 2017 Tammy M Darby
r
Thin soled
 Dec 2017 Tammy M Darby
r
My soul
is getting older,
the nights are colder

and the soles
of these soft worn out
doe-skin boots are thinner

every day, way too thin
to keep the thought
of a frozen plot at bay.
I ask the price before buying.

There's a price tag for everything
upon the breakeven a levied charge
for life has not one bit
bought sans the urge to profit
taken home void of bargain
friend, lover, companion
at a price not to be alone
without a fallout of gain or pain
of sweet or bitter taste
lifelong joy or sooner regret.

Do I have a price?

As for my own
I feel always underpaid..

the woman I took to the bed
the child I raised
friends and companions
seem all miserly in paying the dues..

maybe they rue too
I haven't paid theirs.
i longed for you
but i couldn’t find you
for shadows,

the moon shone weakly in the
december cold,
my shirt washed out
like a blowsy cloud,

everything singing
of winter ghosts,
time just an illusion,
**** frost like
a sharp indigo blade,

bleached out at the seams
like a whale bone
the threadbare night
unwound,
layers of grey shadows,
lustreless,

my lips yearned
for your lips,
my legs for
your legs,

the roses of the
sweet night
a flowery mist,

but still i could not
find you and my
lonely heart
raged like a
raggedy storm.
::::::

The faucet is noisy
warm water touches the plates, the spoons
and forks..........soap suds splash back
at my face.............i squint
::::::
high above the sound of flowing water,
their voices......and mine, take power
my mind identifies every face behind me
they're just within my reach from the sink,
extending a hand...sharing a memory
we share all...family stuff, jokes, and chores
things become easier....feelings are lighter
while washing the dishes
indeed...water is therapy
::::::
i seem to be at a vantage spot
i see, i hear everyone
i am the observer
::::::
pre and post dinner moments
of talks whle sipping wine, are always fun
leftover food is kept in the fridge
and leftover topics, play in our minds
they wait for the next morning...
::::::  
our laughter.......our giggles crescendo
then fade.....and then die with the jokes
shared.......in the cold of every evening
::::::
my hearing is clearing
talks reminiscent of the past wane
tomorrow's plans are favored
the dishes are clean.....now drying
::::::

Sally

Copyright December 3, 2017
rrab
i hope, i pray, to be
in this same scenario
in the following years
.........with my sisters...
Can't fight the tears that aren't welling

Can't wallow in the past and keep dwelling

Maybe you'll find time, to wallow in rhyme

Cause Misery's the poetry I'm sellin
Tis the season to be jolly -  or is it?
The wind has stopped
blowing
  A leaf settles slowly
           on quicksand
and does not sink
The wind has
stopped howling in
       the canyons
but the fires
burn on
  and you
     dare not
         walk across
     the quicksand
to put them
          out.

  ljm
Still in a spin from being fired.
Overhead the stars align
and dance in eyes that brightly shine,
anxious waiting parted lips
and eager aching fingertips.

Desperate waves eroding land
between the places where we stand,
shallow breaths that mirror tides
begin to swell and well inside.

Winds echo lost fairy tales,
a gentle breeze becomes a gale,
the final leaf clings to the tree
while our hearts long to be set free,

and every wall we've built around
will finally all come crashing down
as you and I are swept away
by a kiss that strikes the break of day.
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