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Editing - draft

untitled

i found it strange
that i am waiting
for the day before the dawn
along this setting of the sun
within this arc of arcing ray
waiting for the alarm bell cocking
crowing on the day of day
i found it strange
this hesitant
this dark before the fall of night
and on this ebb of ebbs it follows
as the light trickles double
as the moon has twice his way
but just before the evening hollows
and turning night turns into day
i found it strange
how noon days sun
often turns to midnight moon

Haiku

Childhood memories,
played to an afternoon rain
while rainbow watching.

Rewrite: Aureole burning

That corona garland, worn by few
May be piously brandished by the chosen,

Who by human sleight, in distance gone,
Tried to impress an angry god, with
Good deeds done.

Years have passed, and those left to
Burnish halos above the pews

Grow mute, and faint, inside
The stone façade, outside a fattening Sun,
Bakes the sandstone enclave hard.

The brocade of landscape, drying to brown,
Is burning beyond those sainted gates,

Indebted

A memory,
vague misty grey,
sees a little girl at play.

Her brothers there,
no voice, no face,
just a void of empty space.

Fragmented shards
of clarity
filter through the murky sea.

He threw a fork,
with no intent,
it was just an accident.

A gaping hole
between her toes.
Tears trickling down her nose.

Her parents arms,
although unseen,
lifts her up, as in a dream.

No noise, no sound,
just bloody pink,
swirling round the kitchen sink.

Two Little Words

This poem
called on me
today.

Only two words
came
to ask if I would
like to
play,

Let
Love...

Yes, just
Let
and
Love...

Your heart
can write the rest.

I'm too busy
dancing.

Just You Wait

I need to look at days gone by
To see if there are things that I
Have missed in my every day
Things at work and then at play

Do you know the things I miss?
A stolen look, that long soft kiss
The talks of love and other things
The friends I had, then my siblings

Things that may seem every day to you
To me they are lost, I can never renew.
It is an age thing I hear you faintly say
If I turn my hearing aid up all the way

Larking in the library

Time to hang the coat on the hook
obey the curator's chiding look
and stare at the roaring darkness till dawn.

A sleepless night of hourly chimes:
Aubade is worth two lifetimes
of rummaging for a philosophy of death.

Here is the Poetry, left on the shelf
by the fast generation, weary of wealth
rushing ever nearer, to the unexamined end.

Where all days collide and darkness brims;
He gladly sucked through thickest rims
to the ever decreasing circle of his eye.

Myth, Fairytale or Reality? (re-write II)

When the final curtain falls upon my eyes
while the Gods haggling sounds like barks
and winged creatures do battle high above
for whom will obtain my life’s spark
as I return to the great void
to see where I will be deployed

While few who walk upon the soil
Speak my name
as darkness deepens in my brain
and deaths winter overtakes paralyzing all my ends
then the screen of life runs in reverse
before me I see all my turns and bends
have I let myself be sub-versed

The Dome by Ron Woodruff (BlueDemon77)

SCARS lock up | OUR o-pen | GASH-es clean. | SUCH does the | MIND mend life's | PAIN-ful breach:

MEM-or-ies | SPEC-ter like | STRIKE in sleep | BRING-ing past's | TOK-en mists, | PHAN-tom smell

WELLS-i-an | VEN-ture to | VIEW the once | KNOWN shapes of | GRACE-ful breast | STRETCH in reach

HAND grown cold | CHEST pal-lor | DRAINED to know | PAIN of loss | ALL too well.

Ron

Workshop: 

FLOORS

There are times I've naught to do
but sit and review memories
and take in what comes into view
describing it with words that please.

Today I see this old wood floor
each plank's grain makes it unique
with extra wear before each door.
Beside the desk it's stained by ink.

And there's a board just down the hall
which only squeks in winter time.
In spring it stops squeaking at all.
Summer sees it silent as a mime.

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