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touch in winter

a wind roams
catching crystal thoughts
light and brittle
cold and simple

down past the beam
a light with hooded arc
the moments long and fleeting
glittering and weaving

falling from the dark above
immense and tall
down through its heights
to us down here
walking quiet and small

the houses sleeping
the unblinking window eyes
with dreams upon their sills
piled high

unspoken with bird prints
like the roads
unbroken and drifting
with the pure hour

steady in the breeze
that gentle stirs
and lands its grace
upon my brow
my lashs
my soul

with the loneliness
and peace

and that restless
wild within

Editing stage: 


Read it three times and loved it three times, each time i thought of something different. But finished with a peaceful sunrise. Regards Roscoe...

Roscoe Llane,

Religion will rip your faith off, and return
for the mask of disbelief that's left.

snowflakes giant and crystaline landing ever so slow
I stood watching them

we caught a bus from visiting B in hospital A and I
and picked up a Twiggs treat and met C at the
Lucky Thirteen for the drive here

house in order and clean
one of my other works
is to work

but Im thinking of the snow
falling down slowly past the lights
in the hospital room we could
see it past the window

author comment

You write so well that I feel poetry spoils your lines of text!your answers-non poetical are as beautiful to read

In Church...(Speaking here to clarify I am referring only to the way in which the
male or female head was speaking in a strong and lyrical way of the readings
of that occurence)

at that age the power of the teacher was instructed as being important
We had Young idealists fresh from Ontario Teachers College in their sideburns for males and females
Mini Skirts showing us films and reading texts and simplistic formula of learning
for young country minds That was when we hit the schooling system

It was with the aid of exposure to standing at the class head and reading from a voted
book of the month for the first fifteen minutes that I was chosen to read...The other
kids loved it so well..My parents did a great job and sisters in teaching my younger
brother and I the power of the word...the poetic joy of language...They loved books!
and they shared that passion...For entertainment and educational purposes

On our television at the times we were shown clips of the influencial people of the time
along with newscasters doing feeds from Vietnam and other places of power and
political interest..We were taught about the world and to have views
rather then to turn away from it
We were asked our opinion and given a free option for thinking

but always the beauty of the spoken voice was what we enjoyed about the

Poetry and singing were not forbidden either
our parents lived
a stock simplistic manner that was in keeping with
their income...They were hard workers and in their
off time had enjoyments

and I did not do well at all in school but am a well
read individual

the basic thesis of doing well and to not judge by
race sex or impairment or be jealous of abilities
were instructed enough into us that we could
shift and move freely rather then be hindered by
the yoke of indifference or the strong flame of

yet were were taught consideration about
making be careful in point
about entrapments and loyalties
and the human condition that in its frailty
of perception wounds those unknowing
in the traps of others set for such

One day I should construct a book

Thank You

author comment

none can ever imagine
what the poet had in mind
that only is poetry.... all else is a waste of time...

someone said sunrise
and you clarified
the only thing common was
you know,,,,,,,


that so much is attatched to more
and builds a crystal of an idea
be it small or large
as the underground ones
of beauty in places where man

starting from a singular thing
like an "s" even

Thank You!

author comment

invisible to other blind men
but his wisdom seeps through one
and all what he sees
only he knows ..
none else at all
and that great man is Esker dear
a creative
widely read poet
to all so very dear...


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