"mae" poems
Good Morning, Good Morning, Good Day Sunshine**. The Night Before was A Hard Day’s Night. I, Me, Mine, I mean, I Feel Fine, Better, than I ever felt In My Life. I spent midnight in the Strawberry Fields down by Moonlight Bay. I was Searchin’ for Maggie Mae but met up with Penny Lane so we ran around in Circles till it started to Rain. Yesterday was Something , but I can change I promise you that I Will. From Me To You , I can be more than The Fool On The Hill. Yes It Is, a little silly, but I Just Don't Understand. Why you constantly lose faith in this Nowhere Man. But We Can Work It Out, Because, well I Need You, but all you got to do is believe Like Dreamers Do.
© Matthew Harlovic
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 12:09 AM UTC
Our family got the news today
Our bubba's gettin' hitched
Young Daisy Mae, she's near fourteen
Got our boy bewitched
He's sayin' that he loves her
He's making her his bride
She's the first to get him this close
Though not too many tried
We've got to get things ready
Send invitations and make candles
We've got to get the good jars out
The one's that still have handles
The minister is on alert
We've got to make some shine
Grandpa says he'll make some up
But, it will not all be mine
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
This time there'll be no shotgun
Like the last time for old Ben
This time the guns are empty
Not the way they were back then
The banjos will be tuned up
There'll be music in the air
The cops won't try to stop it
I think most will all be there
The ladies will be planning
Just how to serve up all the grub
While Bubba has to find a suit
And therein lies the rub
He's never worn a suit at all
Not even for a day
He's only dressed in coveralls
And that's how he's gonna stay
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
It'll be a **** dang doodle
A hell of a good time
It'll only be completed
When they run out of the shine
there'll be singing and some dancing
Underneath the harvest moon
We can't wait for it to happen
It cannot come too soon
There'll be readings from the bible
Which the minister will read
And as good holy Christians
Everyone will heed
There's sure to be some fighting
Before the couple say "I do"
I mean, they are both cousins
I'm gonna go...aren't you?
Gonna have a wedding, a real old fashioned bash
With all sorts of kissin cousins drinkin from their secret stash
The food will be impressive, there'll be turkey, pig and cow
The family won't get bigger, since we're related anyhow
Oct 23, 2013
Oct 23, 2013 at 11:45 PM UTC
TO PUT the art and talent of Mindanaoan fashion design into the spotlight, Kagay’anon fashion designers put their hands together to organize the 5th Mindanao Fashion Summit at the Limketkai Center Rotunda from August 4 to 6, every 4 p.m.
“Being a core event of the Higalaay festival, the opening salvo, the Mindanao Fashion Summit can really highlight fashion designers here in Cagayan de Oro and also in different points of Mindanao to let everyone see what they can do in the world of fashion design especially now that there are only so few opportunities for these designers to show off their works to the public. This is why we have the Mindanao fashion Summit because Kagay-anon designers believe that even if they join national fashion shows like the Philippine Fashion week, most of them still aren't getting the right encouragement as a fashion designer.” said Robbie Pamisa, the overall organizer of the event.
The Fashion Summit is a three-day event composed of seven sub-categories such as the Mindanaoan collection, the Menswear collection, and the Ororama orange collection for the first day, the Guest Designers’ collection, the Fashion Institute of the Philippines collection and the Loop Lifestyle Fashion Show for the second day, and the Holiday Grand collection for the third day which will serve as the culmination of the fashion event.
Mindanaoan Fashion designers from Cagayan de Oro as well as Davao, Butuan, Iligan, and Bukidnon have come to showcase their talents. Some of the fashion geniuses of the event include Alma Mae Roa, Angela Soriano, Ann Semblante, Benjie Manuel, Boogie Musni Rivera, Gil Macaibay III, John Mark Magellan’s, Joshua Guibone, Juniel Doring, Kiko Domo, Mark Christopher Yaranon, and Mavy Cooper de Leon.
One of the highlights of the event is the Oro Fashion Designers’ Guild and the Designers Assembly featuring a collection of clothes using Mindanao material such as the Mindanao silk. Sponsors such as Ororama and The Loop Towers will also be showcasing their products in the fashion event.
“Even student fashion designers from the Fashion Institute of the Philippines have been encouraged to participate so that they will be able to experience how a fashion show works. This is also a way for us to fulfill our mission to be another avenue for fashion designers to show what they have,” Paisa said.Read more at:http://www.marieaustralia.com/short-formal-dresses | www.marieaustralia.com/long-formal-dresses
Aug 6, 2016
Aug 6, 2016 at 12:12 AM UTC
Pearl Avenue runs past the high-school lot,
Bends with the trolley tracks, and stops, cut off
Before it has a chance to go two blocks,
At Colonel McComsky Plaza. Berth's Garage
Is on the corner facing west, and there,
Most days, you'll find Flick Webb, who helps Berth out.
Flick stands tall among the idiot pumps-
Five on a side, the old bubble-head style,
Their rubber elbows hanging loose and low.
One's nostrils are two S's, and his eyes
An E and O. And one is squat, without
A head at all-more of a football type.
Once Flick played for the high-school team, the Wizards.
He was good: in fact, the best. In '46
He bucketed three hundred ninety points,
A county record still. The ball loved Flick.
I saw him rack up thirty-eight or forty
In one home game. His hands were like wild birds.
He never learned a trade, he just sells gas,
Checks oil, and changes flats. Once in a while,
As a gag, he dribbles an inner tube,
But most of us remember anyway.
His hands are fine and nervous on the lug wrench.
It makes no difference to the lug wrench, though.
Off work, he hangs around Mae's Luncheonette.
Grease-gray and kind of coiled, he plays pinball,
Smokes those thin cigars, nurses lemon phosphates.
Flick seldom says a word to Mae, just nods
Beyond her face toward bright applauding tiers
Of Necco Wafers, Nibs, and Juju Beads.
8.4k
"And in a funny way, the shaving of my, uh, head has been a liberation from, uh, a lot of, uh, stupid vanities really. Uh, it has simplified everything for me, it has opened a lot of doors maybe." - Stephen Malkmus, Jo Jo's Jacket
the first layer of skin i shed
was the bra
rid of the foreign metal sculptor producing a deep rift between skin
my third eye, swallowing gazes
rid of my **** , my ***** , my rack
replaced with sacks of fat and nerve and milk ducts
hanging, existing, for no one else
not even myself
the second layer of skin was the painting of the face
the concealing and erasing of imperfections, the lines of laughter of sorrow of life
redirecting attention and importance to the bow and symmetry of the lip
no longer did i have to put myself on in the morning
i woke up as i was, as i needed to be,
bare and uninhibited
my skin now breathed, and for no one else
not even myself
and then i grew another layer of skin,
made of dank tangles to protect my age,
i stopped shaving the years i'd walked this earth, shedding my womanhood
the skin grew to my armpits, little tufts of sweaty, odorous mother nature dozing in a fleshy convex nest
and to my legs, were the tangles wrapped around my ankles
preventing the spreading of the legs for every life
for not every life wanted what was not tame
and what was not tame no longer wanted to be.
my body did not conform,
for it was not brought into this world to be consumed for the pleasure of others
it exists for no one else,
not even myself
and as i was engulfed in this hairy wonder of my own body
i shed the last layer,
the shaving of the head
my brain, my being breathed
porous and exposed
vulnerable to weather and whispers
but i was all at once naked and calm,
having finally peeled away the layers of ***** over-sexualization and constrained femininity that had molded this meat sack that serves me,
a bundle of circuitry and solution balancing and bobbing on the neck
for i exist for no one else,
only myself
Aug 17, 2018
Aug 17, 2018 at 10:48 AM UTC
Mann hi mann sochti hoon..
Ke kash tere aane jaane ka pta hota.
Toh phir mae tujhe rok kr kehti...
Tham ja, zara sun toh mujhe,
Aa chl aaj thoda ek doosre ko jante hai,
Samajhte hai, ke har badalte mausam mae tu
itna khoobsurat kese ban jata hai?
Zara samjha toh, kese tere aane se kisi ki zindagi khushaal aur kisi ki khamosh ** jati hai?
Aey waqt chal aaj thodi si guftagoo krte hai.
Kuch sawal jawab krte hai.
Aey waqt zara aaj do pal mujhe bhi deja.
Kuch tu mujhe sunata ja aur kuch mujhe sunta ja..!!
Dec 17, 2018
Dec 17, 2018 at 10:08 AM UTC
well, first Mae West died
and then George Raft,
and Eddie G. Robinson's
been gone
a long time,
and Bogart and Gable
and Grable,
and Laurel and
Hardy
and the Marx Brothers,
all those Saturday
afternoons
at the movies
as a boy
are gone now
and I look
around this room
and it looks back at me
and then out through
the window.
time hangs helpless
from the doorknob
as a gold
paperweight
of an owl
looks up at me
(an old man now)
who must sit and endure
these many empty
Saturday
afternoons.
6.7k
You must register with an employment agency,
he said through a muffled yawn, to defer
your studnet loan payments for the next six months.
But don't worry, he continued, clearing his
throat and sipping what I presumed was stale coffee,
you don't have to accept any jobs that you're offered.
Jun 1, 2014
Jun 1, 2014 at 2:17 PM UTC
Anybody that is anybody knows the most fabulous and trendy accessory are socks.
Crew, No-Show, Knee high.
The ever versatile socks are the most righteous thing.
The Ancient Greeks may have had some dark ages, but they were the first people that we know of that thought,
Hey shoes are cool, but what if we made them more flexible and soft.
Thus the mighty sock was born.
Now there are some of you who may think completely different about socks.
Maybe they are boring, or annoying.
You are feeling the Albert Einstein side of socks. (He didn’t wear socks because he didn’t see the point, tragic huh?)
Well friends, though you may be genius you are completely idiotic.
Socks are little hugs wrapped around your feet. All day. They are like butterfly kisses that mae you smile every time you look down. What is better than that?
The answer is nothing.
Queen Freaking Elizabeth loved socks and went to the inventor of the knitting machine (which was originally created to make socks) to have custom socks made.
Not only are socks just incredibly wonderful and stylish, they were invented to help save the world… from sticky feet.
Socks help prevent your human sweat drops from seeping into your shoes, making a perfect nesting place for the teenage mutant ninja turtles. Disgusing
In conclusion, nothing can or ever will be more awe founding or perfect than socks
Feb 12, 2017
Feb 12, 2017 at 8:53 PM UTC
mr moonlight
mr nowhere
maxwell edison
mr jones
dr robert
sgt pepper
mr kite, bb king
edgar allen poe
walter raleigh
mat busby
the hendersons
and maggie mae
mr mustard
captain marvel
rita lucy jojo
vera chuck and dave
mother nature
polethene pam
mr heath doris day
and buffalo bill
loretta martin
**** sadie
hey jude eggman
my michelle
rigby and pilchard
or elenor and semolina
took father mckenzie
too see a dancing horse
henry his name was
rocky raccoon was there
prudence rode elephant
to the i me mine waltz
---
There gonna crucify me
the way things go
christ it aint easy
the next day dont know
you know the walrus was paul man
johns bird can sing
george was a genie
ringo wore a ring
but paul is dead now
george stole his soul
john is alive though
ringos in a hole
her royal highness the tax man
commit the perfect crime
she asked for more
with a belly full of wine
Jun 24, 2013
Jun 24, 2013 at 12:13 PM UTC
MAE HIRAETH ARNA AMDANOT
( THERE'S LONELINESS ON ME FOR YOU )
Her shadow is
laughing.
Her shadow is
taller than a tree.
She is a key
for which there is
no door
a Polaroid photograph
dying in the sun
( fading into the nothing
from which it comes ).
My mind slashes through time
grasps this memory
of her
clutches it to itself
until once again Death
orders it to
. . .let go.
It...does so.
Her shadow
laughing.
Her shadow
taller than a tree.
Dec 8, 2015
Dec 8, 2015 at 2:59 PM UTC
She was 79 years old when she passed away.
She was my aunt and her name was Ina Mae.
When a relative passes away, it's always sad.
Ina Mae was the only blood aunt that I had.
She was special and she was Mom's only sister.
Many people loved her and many will miss her.
She was a wonderful lady and a loving mother.
She had a bond with her five kids who loved her.
She was a human being who can never be replaced.
She and mom are in Heaven which is a better place.
When she died in 2017, it was bleak.
Ina Mae was both special and unique.
Mar 17, 2018
Mar 17, 2018 at 2:31 PM UTC
My grandparent's house
ten-kid-large and sinking
on the corners of remembrance
Remodeled now, to
...tenements
Honeycomb
...the remnants
Irish immigrant and Scottish orphan's child
She sang on the ferry
He fell in love
"The rest is the history of us...."
Wide
as the Connecticut River, grieving--
in their sunset....
________________
This-- chair
is his
I am afraid of it-- of his learning
of the shiny badge pinned to his coat
of his dying...
Golden leather of it
soothes
his memory--
of another continent
of the once warmth-- of a distant hearth
so darkened now--
where his head once rested
...his hands
and,
I fear--
his mind....
I will not sit in it
as if he will come back, to take his place
I am afraid of him--
with his chair--
all worshipful and empty
like a high place, abandoned
to the heart attack
not for grandchild play
Seat of Authority
still stamped
beside the standing cold--
brass ashtray
Pipe smoke imagines itself
against the ceiling in the words
of Yates and Milton
He read to them
and somehow--
Paradise is Lost....
_______________
This house is cold now-- even in the summer-- cold
Worn as only large families wear
The War
of waiting shadows
--four brothers who were spared
Anna Mae, in charge, too young,
worries in abrupt dark
of dinning room
Her face, haunted--
an archway-- ever empty
by the large and ghostly table
covered by its web of lace--
a bridal veil
of Catholic impossibility...
Anna Mae, held hostage by her thoughts
of darling, Sean...
Aunt Lil's “breakdown”
with cigarette and thorazine
quaking quiet in her corner
Aunt Nell,
as blind as ******** hell
ironing, darning
with threads that thatch
the wounded socks
Holds it all together, scolding--
Brought the welcomed jelly donuts
sneered as Yankees clobbered Boston
all-- while drinking yellow ale
Uncle Eddie-- laughing hoarsely
cracks nuts over a wooden bowl
Sep 19, 2017
Sep 19, 2017 at 10:52 PM UTC
A normal man
Wilt sayeth a simple goodbye, on his deathbed;
A poetic man wilt recite
Poetry in his dying breathe's
©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©DEDPOET DEDICATION
Sep 25, 2015
Sep 25, 2015 at 8:58 AM UTC
Father's Day was yesterday.
But why must a day be set aside to show a parent love?
I love my parents all year round
I've fought, screamed, cried all the while loving them.
But, my country breeds strong independent people
national identity to be found everywhere.
From the hilltop spring to the coast
we Welsh are a mystical breed, of mystery and sorcery.
My anthem "Mae hen wlad fy nhadau"
or Land of my fathers made me stop and think,
think of my father and other men in this land.
Rough handed, hewn from steel and coal.
Iron willed, fiercely proud.
Valley born I am, even now I'm in a city.
But when I die Valley dead I'll lie.
In my father's plot, set aside for us.
Set aside on a green mountain overlooking the valley.
The land of my fathers, the land that bred him and me.
This poem is in English oh "uch a fi"
But if I write in Welsh my father will not understand
His generation denied the language of song, poetry,
and identity. I have a happy heart "calon hapus"
For he and I will be forever tied by blood and country.
Father's Day for me and all children born of woman lay claim to
Father's Day all year round.
Jun 15, 2014
Jun 15, 2014 at 8:18 PM UTC
My blue virtual notepad
My ever willing companion
It's comforting and loyal
Ready to serve at a gentle touch!
Yellow notes are for grocery lists
Red notes are Domino's alarm codes
Purple is my WiFi codes
And orange is for Bible verses
But Blue!
Blue is my old leather sofa
Comfortable, familiar,
Available
Blue is the warm orange log fire
That brings comfort and gives life.
My Blue notepad, like the fire,
Devours what I feed it.
My raw emotion
Unspoken hurt
Anguish, disappointment
Love, Joy, hopes and dreams.
Blue understands that Mondays are red,
Wednesdays are green and Fridays are black.
Blue doesn't mind that number 5 its blue too
Nor that the colour yellow
Is for number two.
Blue knows Enya sounds brown
Vivaldi sounds red
And Vanessa Mae white.
Blue is my blank canvas
My faithful companion
My listening ear
Blue is no mere colour
Blue is Me
Aug 1, 2014
Aug 1, 2014 at 9:41 PM UTC
In the silence of it All~ (Flowergirl and Lily Mae)
Poem Image
Flower, sometimes when I stare up into the clouds
I feel such a part of something divine
like there is an energy that passes through me
from all times and I feel so loved
Yet…here we are you and I
cupping our hearts in our hands
while sending unconditional love out
to the ones we love and I wonder..
Flower do they feel it?
~*~
Close your eyes Sweet Lily and you will know
Connect with the passion burning inside you
that he alone has brought luvingly to your soul
feel the vibration of the universe as thoughts intertwine
among the orange streaks across the sky
The blackened night brings favor for you and I
for in the silence is where our thoughts collide
when everything around them stops and is still
that's when they truly feel us
That's when they close their eyes.....and they know too
Aug 5, 2014
Aug 5, 2014 at 1:01 PM UTC
Poetic.....Poetic.....Poetic
Is what everybody is now
Poetic justice is what everybody brings now
Burn the city down
Poetic
Maybe then the government will listen
Everyone a revolutionary
Poetic
Posers standing on podiums
They march for peace but plant the seed
to send you to war
Posers never on the front line
Cowards afraid to die first
Poetic
Selling dreams that don't exist like those of Mr. King
Posers afraid of death
Homosexuals of war
But far from an Alexander
Far from a Ceacer but those are who they chosen to follow since they don't lead none
Poetic
We poets don't speak up
I was going to recite with my stage name
Anonymous my alter ego
My Duo persona
Poetic
But for this everyone should see the face and now the name
Of the man who pointed out the cowards
I'm not afraid of death,
Poetic
I'm not afraid of arrest
Poetic
But the bloods the crips
The nation of islam
Should had burned down
Sallie Mae
Not mom and pop shops
Poetic
Restore the damage
Restore the damage
pay your dues
Go get your 40 acres and your mule
I dream the dream but not American
Since I live my life as if I was to die
Before being immortalize
Poetic
Aug 30, 2015
Aug 30, 2015 at 9:34 AM UTC
MAE HIRAETH ARNA AMDANOT
( THERE'S LONELINESS ON ME FOR YOU )
Her shadow is
laughing.
Her shadow is
taller than a tree.
She is a key
for which there is
no door
a Polaroid photograph
dying in the sun
( fading into the nothing
from which it comes ).
My mind slashes through time
grasps this memory
of her
clutches it to itself
until once again Death
orders it to
. . .let go.
It...does so.
Her shadow
laughing.
Her shadow
taller than a tree.
***
May 20, 2016
May 20, 2016 at 6:22 PM UTC
MAE HIRAETH ARNA AMDANOT
( THERE'S LONELINESS ON ME FOR YOU )
Her shadow is
laughing.
Her shadow is
taller than a tree.
She is a key
for which there is
no door
a Polaroid photograph
dying in the sun
( fading into the nothing
from which it comes ).
My mind slashes through time
grasps this memory
of her
clutches it to itself
until once again Death
orders it to
. . .let go.
It...does so.
Her shadow
laughing.
Her shadow
taller than a tree.
***
Hiraeth, pronounced "here eyeth" is a Welsh word that has no direct English translation. It is defined it as homesickness tinged with grief or sadness over the lost or departed. It is a mix of longing, yearning, nostalgia, wistfulness, or an earnest desire...a homesickness for a home you cannot return to, or that never was.
Hiraeth is best buddies with the Portuguese concept of saudade (a key theme in Fado music), Brazilian Portuguese banzo (more related to homesickness), Turkish gurbet, Galician morriña, Romanian dor.
May 20, 2017
May 20, 2017 at 6:51 PM UTC
i.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where thy purple rose shalt be;
Where thy flower bed wilt hath many roses, where thy breathe
Shalt Never cease.
ii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where hue's and tints hath life;
Thy husband wilt be with thee,
Guiding thee into God's light.
iii.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Where petals never fall,
Where the angels sing, their voices ring, bouncing to and fro the pearly gates; painting melodies in the spirit form, colliding back to temple walls.
iv.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
With a palace for a queen;
The queen is thou, window's thou canst look out; where glass is clear, as there's no fear, inside thy garden
Of majestic scenes.
v.
Sto mystikó kípo sas,
Tha sas xanadó;
That's to say, I'll seest thee again soon one day, in thy secret garden,
Where thy love wilt always grow.
©Brandon nagley
©Lonesome poet's poetry
©Rita Mae nagley dedicated( golden grams) rip grams, I'll meet you at your new heavenly mansion in your secret garden.
Dec 2, 2016
Dec 2, 2016 at 9:03 AM UTC
O, come a little closer - hear what I have to say,
I know that one piece of writing can be interpreted in so many different ways.
O, but do pay attention to my word-play,
To the picture I’m trying to portray.
O, I hope by the end of this you will understand the image I am trying to convey,
But do not get me wrong, the end of this is something I am attempting to delay.
O, it is saddening to know that sooner or later my rhymes will fade away
So I will replay, replay, replay.
O, how I pray that what we have will not decay.
Like all the flowers & bouquets that I watched wither/die a bit more every day.
O, but how pretty were they?
Sad to know that each & every single one was thrown out like the contents of an ashtray.
O, how you must have noticed the repetition of O’s - I think they are here to stay,
Unlike my pathetic, childish rhymes that I am struggling to hold at bay.
O, do not get me wrong - the rules to rhyme are so easy to obey,
They are so easy to slay.
O, like tray, cafe, puree,
For god sake, even JFK.
O, please tell me - do you see the problem on display?
Do you see what I am trying to say, what is coming my way?
O, it feels like a betrayal
No, no, no that’s not a rhyme.
I need to rhyme, I need us to be okay.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay.
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
O, please I don't want us to stray
I hate how we went from white to grey.
O, please I don’t us to end this way,
I know I am barely rhyming but I will try my best, okay?
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
Look - ballet, allay, hooray,
Hay, weigh, olay.
O, please stay
I need us to be okay.
O, I know repetition of words is not a rhyme,
Nothing more than copy & paste.
I’ll come up with more,
Dismay, replay, is-lay.
Tray, cafe, valet,
Delray, Alleyway, Chevrolet.
It is not that I don’t know how to rhyme,
I just need something to rhyme for.
Rhyming is synchronisation, it is compatibility
I just need to know we are.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Please, stay, stay, stay,
Don't go away, don't go away, don't go away.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
Ray, clay, Bombay,
Tray, fray, mae.
I know I am barely rhyming, but I will do my best okay?
Please stay,
Don’t go away.
Jul 28, 2022
Jul 28, 2022 at 2:11 PM UTC
you were supposed to be here
death gasped you faster than I ever could
I regret the moment thinking it would be longer
It's not fair for someone's future to be taken away so quickly
You deserved the sun and the moon
But instead you were given to the stars
I miss you Gracie Mae...
Oct 8, 2018
Oct 8, 2018 at 12:18 AM UTC
Space Cowboy
He said he was a Miller
but he carried a kow-kow calculator
see him on the street
he'd say hey I'll catch you later
from children of the future
a 10 gallon Stetson on his head
he could fly like an eagle
or cruise his Mercury blues instead
they say he took the money and ran
rumor was Junior saw it happen
yeah he and ***** Mae
boy did he need a good ***** slappin'
years later he was seen in swingtown
a joker jumpin' for jungle love
lost his golden key to the highway
hoping to find wild mountain honey above
c'mon and dance make some romance
bump bump bump on the steppin' stone
he left again on a big jet airliner
and never did answer his telephone
Gomer LePoet ....
Nov 7, 2011
Nov 7, 2011 at 10:30 PM UTC
Gypsy...
dance for me
bare foot
within my mind
and
play the music
soft and slow
of
mountain stream and pine
weave daisy chains
around my heart
place
bluebells in my eyes
and
dance and sing
forever free
beneath
these open skies.
Apr 7, 2012
Apr 7, 2012 at 8:06 AM UTC