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Shannon Jan 2015
Over a steaming cup of soup
over a frosty mug of ale.
Over and over
I've seen those eyes
peer and
peek
and absorb and dart
and deceive.
Over the black and white tattler.
over the child's cartoons.
I've seen those eyes twinkle
and the sides of them
crinkle and the lines
that have grown little by little
like a map of small creeks.
Over a mountain of colorful bills,
over the worn Ulysses
you've
tried
to read
for years.
I've seen your eyes wander and water,
close gently like leaves falling -
zigzag to the ground.
Bang shut fierce, like an old Italian closing the shutters.
Over certificates
and instructions
and declarations.
Over pots of soup
or stews or rice.
I've seen those eyes.
More my eyes than they are yours
as I have loved them a million times
and I have searched for them through seas of faces-
and always light a lighthouse, find them
and through those eyes
a young woman glows.
Not the tired and weary woman I am.
Behind a latte's steam
he sits
and startled he looks up at me.
"You're deep in thought",
he says.

Sahn 12/29/14
thank you for sharing in my work.  i am always honored and accept all suggestions gratefully.
Ronald Jones Aug 2016
lacey sea foam tossing through windy air

aging man with walking stick and poet's mop of gray hair trudges through sand...
halts, leaning on his stick , observing an old woman with shriveled body
and age-riddled skin stretched out on a giant towel trying to get a tan

[Title Card: Maybe this man, old tattler, esteemed former laureate, is wondering if he could make a sonnet out of this sight. ]

he walks on, stooping to pick up a conch shell near his feet
looks at it, turns it clock and counter, peers into it

holds shell to ear
starts slow meditative amble towards mist-waving distance

[Title Card: Doesn't it seem he might be hearing humming of every thing's destiny in the brittle pink alleys?]
Ken Mears Nov 2019
Sneaky, scaly,

They live in a valley

Slimy, wormy

Not worthy of taxidermy


Patterned all pretty

Not welcome in the city

They have no pity

Very nasty and gritty


Some have a rattler

The worst tattler

Don't even speak like a prattler

Natures guerilla battler


Narrow slits for eyes

Whoever is bit dies

They have no allies

They are an unpleasant surprise


Sneaky, scaly,

They live in a valley

Slimy, wormy

Not worthy of taxidermy
When faith is abandoned
we live on old dreams
In time captured wastelands
barren demeaned
Believing the tattler
and spinner of lies
Desperation is sainted
epistles decry

“Music plays in keys of pain
shouting from below
Missals singed in pagan fire
ashes still aglow
Caught out on a bridge alone
burning from both ends
Martyred in our heresy
— darkness to befriend”

(Dreamsleep: February, 2024)
Ishudhi Dahal May 2020
Thousands of creature
Created by god
Among them one is bird
Parrot peacock pigeon penguin
Redhead rooster raven robin
Company of parrots aching stomaches
Waiting for corn to come-out from mustache
Yes we all know
****** of crow
eats once in a day flesh or rice
and not let other flocks do twice
Peacocks busy showing plumage
Eye-catchy and has win over all age
when we trynna see from beach
Penguins start disappearing in sea
Pigeon dove showing love and peace
On starting of dusk and merely on dawn
Rooster ‘****-a-doodle-do’ sound
Red head flying showing red head
Raven robin having good date
Ostrich , Danfe hornbill and all
Loved from different nooks by people
Tanager tattler trush and teal
Spiny babbler only in Nepal
So birds name  are in our heart
Thank you Charles Bonaparte !
I love birds !
Now ma nada twirly (to early) twittering
condolences to the esprit de corps, qua
(just recently) late John McCain, and his
surviving family suddenly damning original
way word odd did see, whence (mere
moments ago) shore lee levee ming pondering...

     (ma river rent stream
     of consciousness weighs wise)
how to encapsulate, distill,
     or cull poetically
     evoking local or global
     political and/or
     other phenomena ayes

wanna heron, now tern
     over every stone
     (ill eagle or otherwise)
     as a stool pigeon tattler personifies
(basically thee entire
     planet) well nighs
with forthrightness do willingly,
     seriously, and eagerly advise

those unsuspecting readers popularize
the convincible credible essence fortifies
bereft Trump Taj Mahal
     tower of blatant lies
     news outlet at (of him...D.K
     Americans - ought via
     auto-da-fé) ostracize
the mischievous, merciless,

     and malodorous aggrandizer
     in chief i.e. Trump, who,
     undermines, tramples, and lowly hies
brazenly, deplorably and smugly
    hugely belittles and belies
most every liberal
     minded, Matthew Scott Harris
     colluding against blatant

     infringement on free speech,
     fostering this rhyming grievance,
     and upholding virtue
editorialist aye hypothesize
     via stealthy sequestered infomercials
     honestly (by trekking exercise
     zing straightaway obvious,
     where crew kid ness did rise

to urban jungles) advertise
(even those news gatherers
     risking life and limb storied
     public funded stations) as "FAKE"
     worthy tidbits, eye
     assess and apprise
my general tactic involves choosing,
when initially ferreting material

(invariably a nigh opening headline,
     which screams and cries
     ****** friggin ******),
     whereat my coo wing
     dove vine cognition tries
to tease out, even among
     plethora of hawkish excell lent
     power fully pointed graphic,

     morbid, or repulsive atrocity
     to frequent (ideally Hollywood
     joyous ending) human interest
     sordid themes, though
     this chap admittedly viz blindsided
     by gory infamous killings espies
topics that generate "buzzfeed,"
nonetheless salutary anonymous

good samaritan allies
all to quickly go bye byes
     virtuous deeds thrive and rise,
     to the occasion, sans
     heart warming happenings
     compete against overshadowing
     violent crime, the latter spurring
     (by Jeeves) all stops pulled

     as printing presses
     go into overdrive
     anticipating record breaking buys
moost oft times occurring
     within the outer term limits,
     at the edge of night no lies
perpetrated by gals or guys,
(thus mine pet peeve against

     mass communication),
     focusing more so
     about what premeditated
     hideous ruse ill fate plies
an oblivious innocent victim
     (such as how or why,
     some innocent promising    
young person, eco-system,
     animal unfairly dies).

— The End —