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    • Never-Ending Dandelions

      A dandelion
      is a weed
      looking harmless
      even beautiful.
      Still a weed
      overtaking the grass
      choking out
      all other life.

      Memories of you
      are dandelions
      spreading rapidly
      overpowering my mind.
      Taking root in all
      facets of my brain
      weeding my garden always
      with every breath I take
      you still live in…Read More

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      • Hi Curly Grace. It’s amazing how someone occupies our minds. There they are, whether we want them there or not. Hopefully, your “Dandelion” is a welcomed “weed”.

        • Thank you, Redzone. I wrote this in 2011. So, the “weed” has been pulled out, lol, quite some time ago. Made way for better flowers though…

      • Brilliantly expressed – I must weed my garden after that, before your poem infests my mind! HJx

        • Thank you, Harriet‑Jacqui. May your garden stay clear, and your kindness keep blooming.

          • Between writing and marketing my books, I grow-my-own fruit & veg on a plot next to the forest, the village cricket pitch and tennis club. Weeding my plot is just like painting The Forth Bridge (in Scotland , I live in England). As soon as I finish weeding it’s time to start all over again!

    • IN SEARCH OF CONSCIOUSNESS

      I want to hear the sky speak
      of birds flying,
      of being blue.
      Hear of the Sun’s solar flares
      and its encompassing heat.
      I want to hear the sky mention
      the Earth’s crying rivers
      sing the songs of understanding.
      So why do they want me
      Comatose?
      Insane?
      Confused about where
      we have come from?
      ~~~
      I want to…Read More

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    • My Land

      I was told this was home
      I was given it on silver plater
      They fail to tell me that I would have to steal it

      Words written on paper was crafted beautifully
      Penmanship to die for
      That was it…
      The hidden message

      To die for

      I can not take what is not mine
      Can land really be mine
      The oil and coal pillage from m…Read More

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      • In Indigenous culture and belief, no one owns the land, we inherit it and are part of it and must share and protect it, leaving it in better shape for future generations. I think this is a much better culture, belief, and morality than what we have in today’s world. I like your poem because it points to this kind of understanding. A very fitting…Read More

    • he knows the sound of my breath
      as it catches
      hovering over his words
      like a hummingbird
      imbibing
      on the intoxicating nectar
      of his expression

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    • On April 2nd, When All Lies Lose Their Nerve

      No lie, not even the elegant ones,
      survives the arrival of April 2nd.
      It comes in quietly,
      feverish but polite,
      like someone who knocks softly
      before rearranging all the furniture in your mind.

      Yesterday’s mischief still clings to the air,
      smelling faintly of banana peel bravado
      and the k…Read More

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