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Tag Archives: Love

An October Morning

Leaves are dancing in rhythm with the wind.

Frost embraces its partner —holding Fall within.

Colorful chaos prances through woods and on soil.

 

I kick dust-up behind me —before it settles cold.

I go forward alone, remembering an old friend,

humming those ole “dirt road blues” again.

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Posted by on October 21, 2018 in Existential, Friendship, Love, Poetry, Zen

 

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Garner-Jane’s 1st. Birthday 2018

Sweet Garner-Jane

I sat outside by the fire, occasional adding a log or two,

keeping it ready for s’mores; for Crosby and Garner-Jane’s crew.

I listened to the chatter along with laughter, coming from the porch and throughout the house,

listening as it mingled with the campfire smoke floating to the sky.

I could hear celebration of her future announced in love,

As Loud As Bright Could Be.

 

**********

 

 

 

 
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Posted by on September 19, 2018 in Grandchildren, Love, Poetry, Prose Poetry, Zen

 

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Love’s Fond Heart

[The Fairy tale of Kathryn from Franklin, NH. She continues to flutter throughout the foothills of the White Mountains and the Lakes Region]

At even-tide,

leaving with last light of dusk,

I watched her silhouette fade

into the dark tree line.

Ferns lean

to mark and soften her path.

Trees in the forest bend their branches

to shed moonlight on the walkway

for an old friend.

She returns

with her straw-basket beaming bright.

Not only for me, but for all she greets.

Sharing evenings shedded 

—morning’s light.

 

*[Edited from original draft]~

 
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Posted by on August 24, 2018 in Existential, Love, New Hampshire, New light/New life, Poetry, Zen

 

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Notes found on the refrigerator April & May 2018

       It happened one day, when I discover humility: from the beginning, to its beginning, when I was unable to peel an orange, bake bread— or, crack an egg… before I made my breakfast, drank my coffee and settled for cold cereal.

      I still get up for one more day’s length —from my inviting bed, and make  my many visits to my children and grandchildren; catching up with things I never heard, though has been repeated several times.  Any way, I usually, on my way out,  steal from large pottery bowls, an apple or an orange, sometimes cashews left on the counter tucked in-between in a smaller bowl.

     Waving a right handed good-bye and a thankful smile, I drive through Center Sandwich village, before sunset and well before the June’s moon  will rise.

     I get home, make a late supper, take in another amazing day; then I go to bed smiling with my beads in grateful prayer.

Presence is not known

Until it reveals itself

In true existence

******

Entertainment:

The greatest movie in the evening, I go and watch, when I become bored with myself and have no desire to make a meal or take a walk or even to pop popcorn and turn on the TV —I look out my window.

      I watch the leaves dancing on branches making songs from the wind; so I rise and go outside and join in on the chorus as a movie extra, in the production of the “H.M.S. Pinafore”.

Mystics from the past

carry you through the seasons

—you met once before.

**********

Stubbornness:

On Monday morning, he opened his door, ole slim Lewis just raised his price, at the corner store. Raisin’ the price of flour from 5 cents to 15 cents a pound, no less no more.

I can still hear mama sayin’, “I’d just as soon pick a handful of dandelions and trade them evenly for a pound of pork rinds than give him —the extra dime”.

Eatin’ potatoes,

without honey glazed biscuits,

               fried in pork fat rinds.

 **********

Acceptance:

He feels the strength of  her independence,

when she stepped forward —naked with strangers in a local stream;

far from her parents and her lover sitting, with tee-shirt

and dry swimming trunks, life guard symbol on his seam. He is wondering

whether to sit, or, to hold up her abandoned towel —to stand

up, to greet her, with a smile and without giving her any shit, holding out

both his hands.

Yo’ Bro’ wass’ happinin’?

Looks like love has seen a ghost,

Groovin’ and strollin’. 😊

  • Finally:

Memorial Day 2018

The threat of death whether on the street, or, worse yet,

being an actor in the theater of war. Death, is ever-present

in all of them; from desk, teaching, jungle, or sand.

Whether killed, captured, or not;

is this fear, whether dismissed in discipline, forgot.

It is because of them, under constant threat,

you can sleep tight, and won’t let the bed bugs bite.

 

R.I.P …mon père, mes oncles pendant la deuxième guerre mondiale et mon frère cadet, le Vietnam.

Je vous remercie.

Richard.

 

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Last Evening’s Dream

 

Dawn flirts the tips of yawning waking leaves.

My eyes catch sunlight, rising from an open window.

A hundred morning creases peak through the linen

above smooth sheets. I light a cigarette from across the room,

watching you sleeping, bathe in the first morning’s sunbeam.

I saw you, still smiling, rumpled and stretching out last evening’s dream.

 
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Posted by on May 12, 2018 in Beginnings, Erotica, Existential, Love, Poetry, thoughts, Zen

 

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Garner’s Guardian Angel’s Disguise

The first glitter of sunrise caught through your bedroom window

will awaken you also. With smiles of joy,

declaring you are a spoon and I Am the chimes

—That will echo throughout the day,

forever in your house.

 
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Posted by on March 14, 2018 in Grandchildren, Love, Poetry, religion, Spiritual

 

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Just Before We Met (A Love Song in Terza Rima Key of C)

Ignoring your past, being born anew,

in replica of lake’s new fallen snow,

 from my heart, I dreamed. Was it untrue?

 

 

Whizzing through the clouds, passing through rain drops

as crystal hail, sputtering and bouncing off my umbrella;

splattering above my shoes, on wet sidewalk.

 

 

How could I have caught you with all my faults?

 I stretched out open palms to break your fall;

stinging hands, melting, absorbed into salt.

 

 

I dropped you. I almost had you in flight.            

I go by the place where you had fallen;

to introduce myself, for that lost night.

 

 

To say that we both come from the same place,

from the same space, just before we met.

 

     Written with clenched hands in spring clouds.

Seeking what I had lost;

 miss-understanding the meaning of love

 —as just a common heart, that is always lost.

 

 

Edit8: This is ,a revision dob 2013 piece …in an attempt to write in “terza rima”, w/ a twist on-line 14 and an epilogue, oops! 😊

 
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Posted by on March 10, 2018 in Experimental, ignorance, Life, Love, Poetry, Robert Frost, Zen

 

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