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Fake Feelings

Have you ever thought of a tear falling to the ground, have you thought of a world without any warmth, touch, or feeling? I’m sure many people have but the truth is nobody converses with another human soul, in recent days, times, centuries people have never experienced feeling unless they are hurt because nobody is ever truly joyful they are too fake. The tears you feel when you cry is one of the only human things on this planet we call Earth.

The Sad Plight of Dear Olde England

What a sad and sickening world it is we live in:
Poor, degraded Britain, a land full of
Violent, adulterous, hypocritical slobs
Not sufficiently educated to hold down a job
In the face of a rival bricklayer
From Poland or Lithuania,

A Spectral Zephyr from the East

Moved through a dangling chime
Bound to the corner-most edge of red clay roofing
Three stories from the ground on a cliff before the ocean
On a reclusive neighbor’s balcony
The pine needles gathered
The marine layer covered over until
It disappeared
And became a place in my mind forever
Was more than I ever imagined before

Neglect of a Twisted Wrath

Brutal is the play today
a game to those of fury.
With centers lost at others costs.
Now self denied and buried.

I had my chance to make a stance
But turned a blinded cheek.
I could have mattered but silenced the chatter,
Which served to make me weak.

Again today another lays
stiff a top the ground.
I closed my eyes when I heard cries.
Now not another sound.

I breathe alone in twisted zones
and still I wonder why.
I did not do a thing for you,
before it went awry.

My Feathers Eye

My feathers
((eye))
still flies
the mist
‘. ‘. ‘.
of crystal
sea blue
skies.

A sailors day
on horizons port
running rum
slicked masts
on lingered breaths
where sugared
lips once kissed.

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To the Cave, and Beyond

About three heartbeats ago,
from a geologic time view point,
we traced our steps to how the earth did grow,
gulping every story though some appear disjoint.
We adopted a meandering river flow,
as we moved from one, to the next joint.
Was the trip disappointing? No!
Like one sitting on a score board, it was on point.

Amazon dispossessed (climate change)

The loud tonk tonk of the bell bird
sounds like a hammer hitting an anvil,
today it feels like a warning klaxon
rather than the obnoxiously loud call
of a male calling for a mate.

Distracted she climbs down from her perch
paces the floor, cocks her head to listen,
The vibrating hum of cicadas normally so soothing,
Have brought goosebumps to her skin made
her hackles rise.

My first poem..

My first poem was written 1990. It was as I looked out my living room window at a polluted, rat infested stream. Above the stream Swallows in their remarkably erratic flight were catching insects. I found that to be ironic and rather stunning so I wrote about it in what I believed to be poetry. I never stopped writing after that. The poem was published in a local newspaper and I felt very lucky. It is a sort of seasonal poem.

Season's Will

Absence, and Longing to Belong

Longing to belong
Where I should never have went

I risk it all
for it to make no sense

Lonely, I am
And lonely I'll be

Cause where ever I go
I make no absence

No one misses me
and I do not belong

Travel, I do
and travel, I will

For me not to belong
It's a blessing

I need no one
and my life is full

Belonging is not a what
It's a fleeting feeling

Running through you
waiting to be discovered

Belong to yourself
And no one else

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