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RW Dennen Jun 2016
Sad wide eyes of homelessness
A murderous winter
falls without Mercey
The morgue fills with tenants
This is a word haiku not in syllable style
ColdFire Feb 2011
It's like a distant call of a well known ghost.
Change breath's heavy apon the wind.
She yerns to know the other end of rejection.

Two broke souls rich in the passion of a uncertin day.
No money can touch that excitment of  just what comes next.
Sweet mercey  we exist on a favor we cant repay.


A old radio and room no bigger than   postage stamp.
***** windows give the best moonlit visions indeed.
Five star dream's I'll take a greezy burger and cold beer
my  hand inbetween her thighs.

Her eye's speak the  direction we shall take.
A devilish grin a twisted snake of plessure
leading to a old bed's dusty retreat.

But millions can't taste this moment.
Inside her plessure I grasp a key turned towards
the locked vessel to which she does give.

My nights are rich in splendor.
And  a endless river  in thought.
Dedicated  To  J.E.L.

For we taste what few will know.
There is electricity in the air,
I feel it on the back of my neck.
The morning sun from the east
is fading, ominous blue black
clouds are massing to the west,
announced by the sounds of the
distant percussions like kettle
drums, beating and rolling.

It's getting closer now, the thudding
of drumbeats have become the earth
shaking booms of bursting cannon
roars, streaks and flashes of lightning
flare and detonate, their reverberations
felt for miles around, our chickens
flee into their coops, cows disclaim
their pasture for the shelter of the
barn, the yard cats run full tilt back
to their sheltered beds on the porch.
The birds have gone to ground,
vanishing to hide away in the trees.

Visibility east into the valley is fast
disappearing socked in by clouds
and mist, becoming rain pouring.
The exploding thunder shakes the
windows and rattles the doors.

When the thunder momentarily
subsides, an ominous still quite
pervades the land, as all of we
helpless creatures remain holding
our collective breaths. Suddenly a
steady hard rain loudly pelts the
roof and pings the skylights of my
living room.

Mother Nature now rules the day,
and we all remain at her benevolent
Mercey.
Weather Forecasts predict over
and inch of rain and Severe Weather
Warnings. With flooding and such.
We need the rain and now it has come,
but would not a mere half inch suffice?

— The End —