• 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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    6 Comments
    • 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…

        • Better flowers, that’s the best thing about “weeding”. More colorful too, I’ll bet.

    • 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!

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    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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    2 Comments
    • 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

  • 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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  • the willin fool

    you place the blade
    in my hand
    and somethin in your voice
    makes it feel right
    somethin given just to me
    b/c I earned it

    and I…
    dumb enough to believe you…
    hold it careful
    watchin the light settle
    along the surface
    before bringin it to my mouth
    slow
    draggin my tongue
    along the edge
    tastin what you pro…Read More

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