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 Dec 2012 topaz oreilly
Hilda
Family of three,
Play hymns on the piano,
And classic music.

We are old fashioned,
And believe in modesty,
Cat lovers are we!

Jesus died for you,
And me and the whole wide world,
We tell all people.

*
~Hilda~
For our family of three! Timothy, Marian & myself.
© Hilda December 21, 2012
It is in our judgment when we lose our logic
With thoughts darker than the cosmic clouds
And feelings nothing short of toxic

Subjective thoughts are best kept above
In order to increase this insufficient peace
The more you judge the less you love

In order to accept
That we are all amiss
We must dismiss our basic concepts
Darkness creeps in
A reminder to us all
Not everything shimmers in sunlight
The snow falls simple
Like I did that one day
Remember?
We sat on your driveway
It was night time
But you were the Sun

You sat there motionless
But took my heart and made it bright
Like a burglar without a mask
And with my hand gripped tight
Led me to uncharted territory
Only now do I feel lost

Daylight approaches abruptly
So as you heave what's left of my heart in one hand
As you let go of mine in the other
I brace myself and watch the Sun rise
As we fall to the ground, so effortlessly
Becoming mere snowflakes on the ground
 Dec 2012 topaz oreilly
L Curley
Tumble into dream, you’ll sleep easier now,
You bid the empty room.
Slipping away, if I ever grasped you,
Except in my shame and your appetites.
Tumbling in circles as you ease to sleep
But still my trick begs your deliverance
Twisting my ear

Your breathing levels and my trick grapples,
For a detail missed, an overlooked sign
Sweating, shivering in my own contrivance
Lost to me and nothing to you
We do not touch

My trick does not leave me as I open the door,
The grating of your laugh and the dancing in your eyes
It narrows the darkness into the thinnest strip,
I am once more in the light,
The synthetic stripes
 Dec 2012 topaz oreilly
L Curley
Freckles make your back a map
Seabirds circle but they lack
Grasp of what youth endures
Vacating summer shores
Carrying their lives to sea.

Mechanically they return
For bright months they did not yearn-
Only their homecoming retells
Of warmth and hope in summer spells
Of ploughed soil, banked country roads
And feathers bent not under loads;
Put-to-side partners reconcile,
Their lives measured in sea miles
Time comfortably slipping away,
Together living easy days
Until they fly on.
I chased down the bustling road
when I caught a glimpse of her walking down.
Today I stand, impatient;
my finger thumping a pithy tune,
as she climbs down the stairway,
one step at a time.

Time capsules are concealed
in objects that we rarely see,
and only notice when silence visits
and sits in the middle of the room,
unpleasently.


Today was on such day,
when my foot accidentally brushed
a tea cup that had bravely withstood,
the anomalies of my childhood,
and leaning back on its broken handle
took delight,
on my sudden emotional plight.

After years of unrelenting boundaries
the yearning to jump over,
turns into the ultimate goal.
Definace, with a vengence,
and fury so grave,
mars conscience by its senstaions,
makes it depraved.


Forgone was the leap
that bound my heart with rules
of love, loyatly and frienship,
for it now only understood,
the twinge of ache it gained
whenever it recognized,
a then familar face.

In a world fantastical,
there is order and right.
And mistakes are begotten
to only be forgotten
and set some memories aside.


I held my hand out,
on the last stair, she looked up,
and in brown eyes, just like mine,
I saw days that now defined,
our relationship,
as mother and daughter.

We talk of  far shores and setting sail,
with our two feet firmly rooted in the bay.
The anchors aren't pulled, the rigs aren't checked,
we are rarely ready, if ever,
at our fancy's behest.


In the seconds that she took to step down;
seconds in which I re-lived a lifetime,
I ran down the same road,
the bustling street with the same goal.
I held my mother's hand
and let go.
 Dec 2012 topaz oreilly
Night Owl
Her
Upon her back, a smooth mossy boulder rests
An old turtle shell that has not yet lost its aqua blue hue
or the blooming flowers between its cracks

The skin on her slim legs are the color of jean
her feet are soft and padded, much thicker than could be called delicate
they are like puppies feet
the other girl's feet tumble and toddle over one another
clumsy
but she has mastered their bigness

Around her ankles is a woolen strip
creamy white and fluffy
fair and curly like a spaniel's chest
soft as a cloud's skin

her hair is a lion's mane
I have seen it whip and sting when she is angry
but now its floating round her head
in a golden halo
like sun burned wheat
it curves, dips and dives
rippling down her back
blazing

The best part of her
as she turns her head, I catch a glimpse
her eyes
sad, dark moons
fanned with lashes, curling upwards, brushing the lids
they glitter as she moves

If I were to dive into a bottomless pool of chocolate
that still would not be deep enough
If I slid into a smooth black lake rimmed with obsidian stone
that still would not be liquid enough
If I leapt into a ebony panther's fur
that still would not be dark enough
to match those eyes that melt
and freeze
in turn

If there was a golden goose who laid a golden egg
and if a spider delicate as lace spun around it a thin moon dust thread
then placed it inside the black heart of the cruelest duke of old
and took it out after three hundred years
then that might resemble the two scorching molten drops
that were my lovers eyes

--Lily
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