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 May 2018 Jackie Mead
Traveler
I need relief
And so I write
Inside my head
It's far to bright
Too **** loud
The voices within
I drain my swamp
Through  keyboard
And pen

Upon the screen
The origins of strife
Worms in my psyche
Crawl into life
Into your mind
Festering thoughts
Ideologies
Where logic gets lost

Only to be replace
With the latest
Headlines
I drain when I can
To keep a clear mind
....
Traveler Tim
 May 2018 Jackie Mead
Donna
Today I'm lazy
I'm tired and wrinkly
and my hair as been
struck by lighting!
But I should not
make it all about me
as the world is rather
tragic at times
but it's the mood I'm
in today!
My tv is singing songs
and the blind is shut
because I closed the outstde
world out because
I can!
But that's just my day
so far , we all get them
don't we!
I bought a plastic cover
to protect my garden table
and chairs so when the raindrops
trickle down they bounce
upon patio!
And i love the glistens
inside a raindrop so petty!
My three dogs are
all lying next to me
they do love comfort
with lots of hugs and
they're so loyal and friendly!!
My mind as been a bit hectic
today so I've let it flow by
Now I'm ready for the rest
of my day as my heart
flowers once again like
it does most days!
My son is home now
and he as such a lovely smile:)
It's now time for me
to get myself together
now my mind as settled
into a calm ocean
of friendly dolphins
and big blue whales
who sing so sweetly
making my mind
a happy enviromemt  
to be in again!!
I doubt this is even
poetry but does it really matter!
I'm just writing
from my heart  ***
Releasing my mood x can't bs bothered day today x
To the Goddess of morn
who made bread from fire
and taught me how to read
to read the wreaths of coffee
into the songs of dawn.

And to the Mason who
showed me how to hammer,
form out of chaos
and cherish the scent of
the cement on grey-green walls.

© LazharBouazzi
 Apr 2018 Jackie Mead
Cné

Hanging like a scimitar
suspended in the sky,
the moon beside a gleaming star
is pleasing to the eye.
How desolate, this satellite
in airless ebon space
and yet, from here
‘tis beautiful
filagree & lace.

 Apr 2018 Jackie Mead
Donna
The trees blew gently
behind tercotta roofs
tickling grey sky

but the sky didn't
giggle out loud , o no no
Just the wind passing

She wondered about
the street lights , each one looked like
a lamp upon desk

where silent poets
wrote in dark rooms under a
sky of shiny stars

there pens now magpies
as there wings spread high in sky
gracing moments with

beauty unknown to
humans eye , yet in silence
glimpses flicker by

a curse or a gift
She often questions the why's
and reasons of such!!

Maybe her questions
need not be answered , maybe
letting go is best

As the night darkens
and street lights light up the streets
She begins to write

a voice in her head
tells her no more no more , yet
she never listens

She too is a poet
in a dark room under a
sky of shiny stars

But she wants to be
like her friends where a street light
is just a street light
Playing with words x
And thank you lots for reading my poetry x life's been hectic lately soz if I don't get to read many , will try to catch up when I can :) xxxxx
I look into the mirror
And what do I see?
A wizened old man
Looking back at me.
How did this happen
How did he get here?
Wasn’t I a young man
Not more than last year?

Where did the lines come from
The wrinkles and the spots?
I used to have some gray hair
Now I seem to have lots.
And am I not shorter now
Than I had seemed before?
Now my vision seems too fuzzy
To successfully ignore.

I made a mocking muscle
By bending my arm to see.
What became of my bicep?
It looks small and sort of puny.
I decided to see it all, so
I stepped a bit back and felt
A roundness, an expanse,
A pudgy fullness at my belt.

This comes from not being
A slave to my own mirror.
If I had been watching myself
My image might be clearer.
I might have seen before now
This aging, doddering old fool.
But I only looked when I had to.
Lack of boastfulness was the rule.

So I now I am a camera trick
Played by a mischievous director
Who slipped this aging body past
My doddering old **** detector.
Now it remains for me to accept
What I have long since become,
And admit that I can no longer be
As I have for decades been: numb.
✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿ ✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿ ✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿ ✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿

                                That place of [Home]
                                        where
                                                      the
                                       heart
                                                    feels
                                                             ease
                                that place of comfort
                           where the soul can breathe.

                                 [Feelings] of warmth
                                       upon
                                                  the
                                                         skin,
                                       a touch of love
                                    from deep within.

                                A [Place] of gentleness
                                            amazingly
                                               divine,
                                        a loving heart
                                    this home of mine.

                                 [Sweetened] longings
                                                        ­        as
                                                             I
                                                   write
                                            this
                                   poem,
                                   for the one I Love
                                  my forever [Home]
                                        ✿ڿڰڿ♥♥ڿڰڿ✿
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