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AP by BlueDemon77

http://vocaroo.com/i/s1fVmHdaS3tN

AP by Ron Woodruff (BlueDemon77)

You the kind, my muse in the past

Never have minds and bodies worked

with such little effort

a day I know, and grabbing

the power and the scrotum

I knew it would be the end

......but I am powerful

You have been so gracious

took responsibility yet

always knew that an

for his howling heart...

angular
defined by the crooks
of letters
turned so that
their faces twist
into sheer delight

blazing
as open windows
in a burning house
so hot that the frame
morphs
into his haunted face

strong
if only for fleeting glimpses
into the future
that never came
and the passion

the passion
that has always
been

L A C I S T E R * I N C E P T I N G E R

the simple fragrance
shorn of love
licked clean by the winds
the emerald circue
of a cache phrase

ribbons of pleasure
like flails of midnight
the chilled brilliance
of a heel in a hallway

nerve capacitor fills
rising like a barrel
a narcotic twitch
the silken arm brush
of an enamel frame
the yellow bulb of a
lost age
throwing light on
the little staged
operetta

Pidey

A tiny weenie little ‘pidey
building her web
right across my monitor.

Poor little thing
though you’re most welcome
are you sure
this is your native habitat?

I hope and pray
exposure to the gamma rays
and other nasty effusions
from my screen
don’t cause confusions
in your genes

Will I wake one dreadful dawn
and mourn
my hospitality
finding you grown
into a huge mutant,
of great ferocity?

STOLEN SUNLIGHT

Day left with the summer,
winter's night is queen,
her icy dresses flaunted in the stream,
her starry lights the beacons of our dreams,
she freezes mirrors for her toilet,
decks the trees in graceful sweeping skirts,
her hair the gossamer of frosted lakes,
their wandering mists that rise into the weakened sun,
low slung among the firs,
her combs that card the heavens with her curls,
her toes reach deep among the roots,
her blossoms grow on twigs like crystal flowers,
her song an eerie wail among the pines,

View from the lens

Looking rather like
A rotationally challenged pair
Of the reddest veined breasts

I gaze back into my rendered
Retinas, which are healthy
And good, I guess, since childhood

Deigned them only a short
Focal length, shorter than my
Memory of anatomy

As retinas go. Blindingly obvious
The parallels with trees and roots
Or things with roots that see

Faintly tracing back a path
Through blood to something core
And bright as a disk

f i s s i o n t a i l i n g s

corkscrew slate
the nails wrung wrought
an apostrophe and dust

lead hulks and crawling
cracks...cold and frigid
are the winds through
vines let wild and in the
quiet mildewed settled

in books gone to pot
tales were read and
roasts rare bled fresh
brightness for vegetable
broth

A maestro is born...Reviewed kind courtesy expert poets

As sunset merged into dusk
under musical vibrations
of the moon
as witnessed by starlight
in its nascent form

a couple pranced around in circles...
upon the surf’s euphonic music
into oceanic depths,
boundless, fathoms….
a seed had been implanted ….

a flower through requisite moments,
transformed the genes
into a pretty form

as the midnight chimed into eternity
beyond the limitless folds of time
ere the aurora,
the twilight emerged
as a magnificent dawn
a maestro was born.

in the wonder

sitting and breathing,
I am again
in the wonder

there are fissures
in my night sky
I see a skerrick
of heaven

flaming stones
happen through
etching minutes
on small hours

starbursts course
onto the Milky Way,
snow in space and
angel dust in my eye

pieces of humanity
drift in the iris
overawed,
breathing stops

in the incredible
astonishment
of existence
and the favour
of life

I respire
once more

AFTER THE BEFORE

None the wiser,
are we, 
were we, 
will we be.

After the before,
going through that very door,
to where, 
a better place,
a haven,
a port of call,
is that all.

Or is there more behind that door,
stop up and listen,
what was that,
only my feet on the mat,
and yet I thought
I heard...
or did I,
no.

Its silent here,
just like a landscape full of snow,
the only sound,
a stream down far below. 

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