The lost Idea

The Lost Idea Peering, stooping, closer now Within the water drop. I see the outside from the inside. Shapes bend and distort my view. Sliding over pages past Creating new and beckoning worlds. Writing becomes the metered pulse Formed and deformed as the words flow through. Images flash, freeze and disappear. Grab them now or they are gone. Focus deep to find the core. Minds too fast to stop the flow. Working from the inside out Gives credence...

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Words and more.

Writing Play the music. Watch the screen light up with words. Where moving fingers create the magic world. And imagined actors start their day. Another chord. Another synth. As passion flies by with blowing hair. Or a glance makes feelings last forever, In the gathering storm of words. This is it. This is what I do. To move a place, a voice. Define a street, or face. A flash of memory. That blinds the screen with color and with life. Its vision...

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A Spring poem

Feathered Spring Scattered pieces of time fall around me Like feathers molting off a duck. Will others grow and replace the decaying time? What have they seen in flight or fantasy? A world splashed and preened within. They attach and are reborn. Time measured in a corpus of warmth Around the beating heart within. Some collected by another flying thing And formed back into a nest for birth. Heat makes the timbre of their play. As perched high...

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The group of eight

Conversations. A table set with expectation Welcomes sitters in the afternoon. To eat perhaps or maybe more, To stir words around a special space. General talk at first About food or how did you make the sauce. Of freedom being outside on the porch. Dishes disappear with space made by concentrated elbows To move about now liberated from silver and napkins. Words begin as comments flow Around the space. One leads, others follow. Some with...

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