Poems & Other Lies

I Got Burned

        When I look at photos of you from your youth, I laugh and say:"I got burned!"You do know I am just kidding?You were beautiful when we metand you are beautiful now.When I look at you I still see the beautiful woman I first met, all those...

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The Mystery

The clouds are gone. Bright stars wink, sprinkled across the black sky. I close my eyes to meditate, breathing, but the stars call to me. As I open my eyes a shooting star burns across the southern horizon. I give up on the breathing exercises and stare into the...

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Last Night I Heard Your Voice

I know you think I don’t miss you when you’re gone and it’s true, I keep busy all day long and fall asleep before I get to bed. But last night I heard you call my name. I woke up in the dark, in bed, alone. I reached for you but found only tangled sheets I swear that,...

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26 Degrees

Dawn breaks, the color of old lead; an almost invisible icy mist wafts down. I hear it rattle the dead leaves and feel its tentative caress on my face.

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Season To Taste

Amy tells me I add way too much salt when I cook. She laughs because I never know how much horseradish is too much until after my first bite. Eyes watering, mouth afire, my nose tingling like a funny-bone tapped exactly wrong. And sometimes, I pepper my writing with...

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A Dander of Snow

Tiny bits of white fluff float before me driven from the east on the faintest of breezes but never in a straight line they dart and swirl here and there interrupting their descent to rise through their fellows and drop again eventually to dander the heaps and drifts...

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The Puppy-dog Thoughts of a Child

The puppy-dog thoughts of a child So evanescent, changing from moment to moment. So simple, so pure, so fleeting. Adoration, frustration, happy discovery Hunger, satiation, pain, comfort Sleepy, awake! Abandonment, reunion, Comfort, adoration.   When did these...

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November Chill

            One last leaf stubbornly clinging to the end of a branch fluttering in the cold November wind a memory of summer refusing to acknowledge the season has turned.

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Imagination

During the day, I walk my imagination on a leash. Sometimes I let it range out ahead. It wags its tail and darts from scent to scent, sometimes pausing if something shiny catches its attention. When a car comes I shorten up and force my imagination to heel. But at...

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