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The widow sits
In his overstuffed chair
Knowing of his
No return
Hoping for one last
Smell of the
Day's  sweat
Mixed with shaving
Accepting the faintest
Hint of work gone by
But tears wash away
All memories
Laying back with
Aching legs
Remembering days
Gone by
Eyes burning from
Salty tears
Ready to nod off
The dog reminds you
It's time to walk
Last night I was talking to my friend
About someone who died  long ago
Shamanic sickness
Society itself is sick
poems like arrows
 Aug 3 David Hilburn
I wish I could call
Everyone beautiful
there is dignity
in a simple thing like names
In the backseat of your Audi, the three o clock shadow
slants across your face like a threat, makes you look
dangerous. Makes you look
So what do you do?
I tell you
I write.
What does that mean?
It means walking into a crowd and getting lost in your head. It means finding loose change in your heart.  Means the world is your dysfunctional, perpetually disappointed, ailing mother. Means this isn't going to last.

But all you see is a silver smile.
Lit lanterns
Lit up the lonely tree
The night knew its darkness
Was for all to see
For the lanterns, they knew
They lit what was to be seen
The tree
Forever, it knew
Inspired by a photo
Just look at the wind out there
it isn't half blowing a gale just now
but at least there's a blue sky
and fluffy white clouds
just floating by
the weeping willow
is swinging in tune to the wind
the leaves on the trees are rustling
as they blow in the breeze,
The bamboo is waving too,
But at least the sun is shining through
and the rain has gone for now
but as the branches bough
and the trees bend down low
the wind is quite ferocious just now!
By gum its windy!
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