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On the tablelands edge,
At dusk, severed lover sees—
Green hope turning gray.
. . . about Jules Verne's novel Le Rayon Vert (The Green Ray). According to Verne, when one sees a rare green flash at sunset - our own thoughts and those of others are revealed as if by magic.
Today all the linden trees shrouded in black, no flowers only death, so quiet crept
killing summer bees, that can no longer sing - of honey flowers afield
death crying at the door, their silence praying to be heard
and still unthinking man poisons our fragile world
Today I attended a memorial for the 50,000 bees that were killed last week at a Target parking lot in Wilsonville, Oregon.  http://www.organicconsumers.org/articles/article_27792.cfm

Pesticide and Herbicide use needs to stop, we are killing everything, bird, bees, bugs & us!
No round up either, that stuff is bad, bad news, lots of horrible health issues linked to it
I have a crush on your words.
How easily they form into a verse.
Falling eloquently on my head,
Making a soft feather bed,
inside the deep chambers of my mind.
Your words jump in there and look divine!

Sometimes dressed in a short pink dress,
Sometimes wrapped in a warm duvet.
Sometimes in a **** sarong,
Making me moan all night long.

Sometimes your words have the power of steel,
dressed in an armour and a shield revealed.
Sometimes on a yellow sun dress,
your words make my heart feel impressed.

Do you know what your your words do?
If there are too many I go in a minute of shock or two.
So use them carefully and lovingly,
Because I have a crush on your words, I do!
He looks at me with question in his eyes,
His mouth moving but not saying anything,
His ears cocked towards me like a dog,
Listening attentively.

By holding my hand he encourages me,
His smile making a request.
“I’m here for you, to help you out,
so say what comes to your head.”

I begin with my monologue,
and tell him the tales of my heart.
What has me down and worried,
I share with him un-flinchingly.

He holds my hand when it gets difficult,
as if compassion flows through his veins.
His mind is void of any judgement.
Throughout the narration,
all his senses motivate me.
“Come out with it!” they say together.
To my heart it’s a life boat you see!?

Because in this age of all the blabber.
It’s hard to find a good listener.
A listener who wants to know you better,
And help you out genuinely.

As I finish my tale he hugs me tight,
Letting me know he understands.
And in the future if there comes a bumper,
then I can always hold his hand.
[To be a good listener is not easy.
The most important thing is not be selfish,
You should be ready to listen
and want to help the person.
But you can’t just stoically listen,
have a lot of non-verbal communication.
Use all your senses and words at right places,
and the next thing you will see,
is a line outside your door.
With people saying… “Listen to me!”  ]
A lovers diary

Yes I am a lover.

I have hearts pasted on my wall,
along with posters of cars and all.
I wake up in the morning to see a balloon heart hanging overhead.
And as the days progresses, hearts pop out of my mouth and my breath.
My perfume smells of soft delicious rose
and people say with my feelings I’m very verbose.

I like to talk about my heart and feelings,
and stuff every word I say with meaning.

On one meaningful occasion I was in the lawn,
when a lazing cat gave out a yawn.
I turn around right then to see,
The queen of love – Penelope.
She was the one all lovers wanted to be,
Me included. Ones I told her “I worship thee!”
She stared at me like I was mad,
And said slowly, “Beauty is a fad.
Come know me, and you will see,
that I’m just another glowing bee.”

Saying this she walked on away,
With me staring broadly,
and my eyes in a sway.

Ahhh! How she looked at me!
with big brown eyes I could only see.
How she moved and she swayed in her grace as a cat,
And sat in her car like lounging on a mat.

What she said, was it true?
or was it just her words turning blue?
coz my mind was blank when she was talking to me.
didn’t seem to hear or tamper a beat.

That day and today.
it’s been a long time since then.
now she is walking towards me again.
But this time I don’t quiver or lose my breath,
as she walks up close after our eyes met.
She smiles at me “you’re a grown-up now”
I smirk back remembering how.
All those years have changed me.
I used to be the love struck teenager,
and felt like I was three.

Now I was big. black. n bold,
With biker gloves and chains made of gold.
My eyes saying I know secrets unsaid,
And if you say stuff I don’t like,
then take care of your head.

I no longer talk about my feelings,
or fill my words with meaning.
people don’t care about what I say,
Now all they do is cover their heads and pray.

No one asks me what’s that secret behind my eyes,
No one knows that I too pray when I hide.
But the one secret no one knows,
Is that I still have a red heart,
that flutters when the winds of love blow,
And how it turns warm and gives out a glow.

If someone would care to ask,
I would talk about my feelings.
Say everything out, of how I changed without meaning.
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