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A rowan like a lipsticked girl.
Between the by-road and the main road
Alder trees at a wet and dripping distance
Stand off among the rushes.

There are the mud-flowers of dialect
And the immortelles of perfect pitch
And that moment when the bird sings very close
To the music of what happens.
 Mar 2014 topaz oreilly
Ann Voge
I see what she writes about you.
She writes about your
unforgettable blue eyes,
your unforgettable  lips,
and your unforgettable smile.
She loves you still, I can tell.
I only wish she knew.
all the lies you fed her.
Because when I asked about
the summertime girl,
the first thing you said was
"I never loved her."
with no lie or hesitation behind your statement.
So now my heart will forever ache for
the summertime girl.
because she still writes about a love
she thought to be
real.
-4 c.
 Mar 2014 topaz oreilly
Ann Voge
You given me all of you
Laid it all out on the table
Told me all of your secrets
Shown me who you truly are
You are comfortable with yourself
I am not
I still can't seem
To let my walls down
Tell you my secrets
Show you who I truly am
Cause I truly don't even know
Even still
You tell me you love me
But I've realized now more than
Ever I don't deserve you
I can't tell you I love you because
I can't even tell myself the person I
Should be most comfortable with
I can not tell myself I love me
Because I honestly don't
So I can't honestly tell you
I love you
With out first  loving
Myself.
Did you know? Cashew nuts grow on flowers,
   and they grow one at a time.

Think of the distance between railway tracks:
    this traces back to ancient Rome.

To know the true energy of the sun: imagine it
   covered all over with postage stamps,
      each square inch a bomb,
       each exploding with power only comparable
        to explosions in Hiroshima. Energy like that.

Think of this: how time once was unknowable
   for being different to everyone, until trains began
    and the post began arriving on time.

Did you know? Facts are enough to make a poem.
Where do poems grow? Do they come one at a time?
When did poems first set down their tracks?
What is the power of a poem? Does it explode?
Are poems different to everyone? Will we ever know?
 Feb 2014 topaz oreilly
Marian
Pine trees sway in the bitter cold wind,
And Jack Frost has come to stay,
Always to the earth be kind;
Whether at night or day.

Snowdrops awaken from their sleep in a bed of snow,
And bluebells awake with jewels of sparkling dew,
And through the trees sweet breezes blow;
And daisies wake anew.

*~Marian~
Paper Dreams.

Out here I drift away inside of silented dreams
Paper ones

For my heart was taken away from me
Out there where those distant hillsides can be seen

It was I out there just walking inside of stilled sands of time

And doves encircled me inside of a moment that I fell deeply in love with a man of all time

And he whispered to me
I have built you a sailboat made of pieces of time
Come with me for this is where our forever lies

And it was then I awoke suspended inside of this my paper dream.

jo.
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