To A Miss

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I, dancing in my own bitter disgrace,
Washed and hung out and my mind unaligned,
And with my memory I did erase.

Unable to maintain a fitful pace,
Body and soul so utterly resigned,
I, dancing in my own disgrace.

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Our Times

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Outlandish ponderous propositions,
From a red lady championing sordid lies,
Words imitating superstitions,
From behind deeply dead ocean blue eyes.

But what is to be said to such trappings,
Of voices in deceptive overtones,
Guised in rose petals and thorny wrappings,
To swim in shallows or the deep with stones.

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Creased Pages

IMG_3200 The stories written on your wrinkled brow,

Each a poignant reminder of living,

Your expressions say more than words somehow,

Of your uncertainty and forgiving.

Of a youth of struggles and such grand plans,

Meandering feet and wondering minds,

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May Madness

Desires
Insatiable desires,
Where many a soul have drowned,
Charmed by the hunter’s fires,
As his beast, so tightly bound.
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Grey
With scenes of the grey in life,
The disillusioned riot,
The arbitrary is rife,
As they do feed the disquiet.
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Lavender
Lavender scents do stain,
Reminiscent of you,
With a sense that remains,
Long after you pass through.
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Chance Encounters

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Muses in Love

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And as clichéd as these muses in love,

The aching sun sighs and lays down it’s light,

And we feast on the fat and swollen dove,

Until all our hope fades into the night.

Arching chords of a music so long lost,

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Birds in Flight

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How a bird remembers the mapped travel,

It truly is a marvel of a thing,

We journey, so lost, on the gravel,

If only we could fly under the wing.

For mere men, such an archaic dream,

That no tin creation can replicate,

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Nameless

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Such deep sadness does not belong to me,

If I ne’er do pen my name to the page,

As I cry ‘neath my shaded paper tree.

All character sans names are absentee,

No feeling or person can lock my cage,

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The Art of Youth

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Young eyes spy the past in a modern square,
A quest to find and behold beauty,
Vestal Virgins painted white and fair,
An artful hunt becomes my life’s duty.

With the luminosity of the known,
It reminds me of travels north bound,
First flutters with life unsure and alone,
And how many perceptions can be found.

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