hen potato skip
canyon gnome
butter rose fee

A man comes out of the shadows,
as so it goes.

Held his fist to the doe,
Her money, you know.

“I’ve only but a rose,
one of friendship despite my woes.”

And with that rose she choked.
Like Porphyria’s lover,
coaxed.

Soft mane of death,
like a thorn to the chest.
Only the rose of amity saw the rest.

Your better place
Is the worse place you could possibly be
For me
Everything reminds me of you
Your style, your smile, your face
Your arms were my home
You left me alone
It wasn't perfect, but it was perfect
Now I'm left to dissect
Every moment I can't remember
Late nights, last nights, deep trembles
I am so mad at you
This was nothing you couldn't get through
Now we are through forever
No more chances to make your responses clever
Like only you could do
Forever will feel like forever without you
I knew you best you knew me better
Down to the last letter
I will pick up the pieces
Like you know I do
From now on it's for you

It is morning-time, and I walk
meandering paths pull me, a crisp breeze pushes me
the earth supports me and falls away with each passing step
it can only hold me when I'm there

softwood trees bend around the trail, and hardwood trees enrich their denouement. A glittering canopy of dewy leaves curls atop my route, the moonbeams seeming to dawn from inside each perfect ornament. but I know the finished moon floats just above them

my steps flow in a steady rhythm, regularly broken by the passage of a memory. Sometimes it is time. Sometimes it is a dance. Once it was another Being that caught my consideration; a ghostly doe, visible just through a break in the wood, a brown and white-speckled spectre crashing through the hinterland, startled by my feet, by my breath-

the breeze is stronger now, and made anxious by the din my pace quickens. memories stream by faster, woken up by the filtered moonlight, pulled out from abeyance. leaves drifting upon a whirling river, clouds being ripped into a storm.

it is morning-time, and I walk
the sky is deepening, though the moon is descending
too much has happened, too much has passed into yore
I remember just enough, and it is mourning-time

I was making my way down
The highway,
Cornfields on both sides of me.
The moon shined even though
It was still day time.
The sky was a light lavender shade
That oozed into a faded blue
Twilight, you could say.
I caught a glimpse of a doe
And her baby
Walking through the endless field.
My mind wandered.
Where did they come from?
Perhaps they came from
Deep in the woods,
Where the birds sang
And the creek bubbles,
The sun seeps through the trees.
Perhaps all the animals got along,
Or maybe,
They came from an open field,
Maybe they had a family,
A buck, a herd,
Possibly even a few more fawns.
Maybe something drove them from there.
Maybe a gun,
Maybe a predator,
Maybe weather.
My mind wandered more,
Where were they going?
Were they looking for somewhere safe?
Or were they only trying to survive?
I wished I could see more of their journey.
I wanted to root them on.
Keep living!
Keep fighting!
Where ever you're off to, keep going!
Then the moment passed,
They were long out of my sight.
I hope they are still alright.
I hope they were alright.

REMEMBRANCE of HARRIET HARRIS –

mile ate mum: Christened as averred one Harriet Kuritsky. A Brooklyn babe born on November 13th nineteen thirty five, the youngest (and last of the lot tubby alive) of four siblings (only one brother), whose Brexit from world viz terminal illness, she did not survive.

The following emotions communicating heartfelt grief practically vanquished as existence turned a new mo' tiff leaf. A recurring abysmal grief stricken state consumed my entire being immediately fool low wing her demise, but pooch less so now. Perpetual tears of sadness seemed not to a-bate, when grim reaper brandished signature scythe 'n of deadlocked fate.

Twas about 11:00 a.m. 2005 third of May, our dearly beloved mother fought tooth and nail to keep death at bay (as recounted by eldest and youngest sisters, who elected to remain on vigil that day), nonetheless rigor mortis upper hand brought (supposed) painless swift death, her diseased and emaciated riddled body gone lifeless and ashen gray.

Profound mourning brought misty eyes
from only heir misses, whom hissed mom
more so than then now, but noneless
more than plaintive words spell
with agonizingly pained heart and soul
rent asunder psyche pell-mell
no amount of weeping can quiet and quell.

Cathartic for me to give posthumous ode
conveyed in an easy to read poetic code
to help accept finality and permanent loss,
now only retrievable from nostalgic memories
identified as childhood doghouse favorite abode.

Her cremated ashes no longer remain sealed in nondescript box boot scattered to the four winds at a favorite secluded spot - that really rocks with the Moss evoking a spring stein.

White, powdery chalk like material
devoid of any vestigial semblance
to her once living and vibrant self
that unique persona pulverized and vaporized
(housed former svelte and tall
Arthur Murray ball-room dance teacher
a half-century plus prior to her demise

which beauty, charm and grace quickly
caught the attention of my father
who courted and eventually proposed
to this young flirt and tease of a gal)

inert organic matter represented sole
residual embodiment reduced to dust
and near nothingness former corpo
real being of blood, bone and flesh

weighing no more than a dozen hatch marks
on the scale absence bore down heavy
like millstones round the neck per
black void created by defeat with
Grim Reaper toward this woman,

who birthed and nursed me into
manhood momma’s only grown son
felt torturous ripples of grievous sadness,
no matter years of suppressed anger,
and rage in addition to emotional
conflicts between us, which
in variably wrought unpleasant relationship
and legacy of discord writ large across
the tapestry of mine existence.

Way Back Then©

I remember way back then,
You could see for miles and the stars were so brightly lit,
Before the smog and other pollutants hit

There were trees and bees, and other such things
Where now pavement rules for miles on end
And eight lane highways do extend

But progress must come, as we all know
So stand back the bear and the doe
And make room for another condo

We all know profits must be met
And there's no time for a study
For there isn't total global warming just yet?

There are schedules to heed and deadlines to meet
So we need more concrete to get us there
Who cares about the quality of the air?

For in this day and age where everyone has a cell phone
It is easier to clone than to let nature on her own
And if that doesn't work we can use something genetically grown

Then there's always the lotto or casino to make our day
We no longer need Mother Nature to have her say
For we as humans have figured out a better way

So let us raise our beer in cheer
Dawn our hats, for skin cancer is always a fear
And off we go for another great year

Maybe by now we've figured out there are too many
Of us to fit on a shuttle to that unknown place far away
And for all of us to survive a nuclear explosion on any given day
So in its stead we'll settle for our own implosion

Have a great day

Andreas Simic©

Smokey musk of mist-soaked moss
by roving river bank,
where dainty doe stands tall and fair
where long-lost love once sank.

Dew-soaked coat 'mungst moonlit woods
a chestnut, hazel brown.
She stalks the brooks, thin, lithe and cool
where once-loved life was drowned.

She walks his path from long ago,
her shadow echoes loss,
"goodbye," she whispers, "I'll miss you so."
as she fades into the moss.