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White confetti trees wave in the wind
a blizzard of petals race and spiral earthward.

Swallows dart over water chasing transparent wings
small exoskeletons full of jet fuel for these bird dynamos.

Hammered glass ripples appear in the lake
touched by invisible breaths blowing betimes.

The turtles still sit and bask in the cool sun,
warmer than the cold mud that kept them in winter.

One lone resident heron stands tall and still
waiting for a foolish fish to fatten his lean frill.

Walking slowly on this dirt path, concrete does not suit,
nature unfurls it flag to the weather, proclaims fruition.

-cec
The sky spills liquid gold across the fields,
and every blade of grass hums a bright song,
ripples of honey laughter swim through the air,
as the trees burst into wild, kaleidoscopic blooms.

Clouds skip like stones across a sapphire lake,
the wind flutes silver melodies through the valley,
and the mountains wear crowns of glittering flame,
grinning, howling, singing at the top of their lungs.

The rivers are ribbons of melted stars,
the earth quivers with candy-colored sparks,
and hearts—oh, hearts!—
they pop like fireworks in a velvet sky,
sending ripples of giggling stardust everywhere.

Every breath tastes of spun sugar and sunlight,
every blink unwraps a prism of newborn wonder,
and my soul—my soul!—
is a thousand kites soaring, shrieking, bursting,
carried far beyond the hills of happiness.
It's a different
day and age now.
I used to write my
poetry on scraps of
paper or napkins,
paper sacks, whatever
was handy.
One time, I wrote
a poem
on a paper plate--around in
a circle.
I get dizzy thinking about it.
They always got lost, or beer
spilled on them.
My girlfriend blew her
nose on a sonnet.

Now, I keep all my
poetry and short stories on
the computer.
A file for this.
A folder for that.
I have to use a password, and
PIN.
It has to be something important to
me or I will forget it.
Lower case.
Upper case.
Symbols.
Numbers.
It's enough to drive me
batty.
Actually, it's a short putt.
Summer is coming soon, so I
thought some golf humor would
be appropriate.

The things that used to be
important to me aren't anymore.
*****.
Drugs.
Having a woman around
constantly.
I like to think I've gained some
wisdom with age.

Passwords, ugh!
I can't tell you what's important
to me now.
You might hack into my
computer and steal all my
pretty posey.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CEeNcBC_mnM
Here is a link to my YouTube channel where I read my poetry from my recently published books, Seedy Town Blues Collected Poems and It's Just a Hop, Skip, and Jump to the Madhouse, available on Amazon.com
Sitting next to an active Marshall speaker for hours
while the band pounded bleeding rock & roll
has left a lasting whistling in the ears, a toll.
Day & night, where these ringing pitches play
not so a melody but avant-garde whining days.
A roadie for fun proved life altering to one
as these constant companions adorn every hour
and your words may arrive with a fanfare, or nyet.
There's a chance that some vowles will fall short
from this barrier erected by (feat. Stones) and rest.

-cec
challenge: write a poem that recounts an experience of your own in hearing live music, and tells how it moves you. It could be a Rolling Stones concert, your little sister’s middle school musical, or just someone whistling – it just needs to be something meaningful to you.
Silent, in the night, they come,
those that cannot finish a thought.

Off to the "Savior" that rips away souls,
there, deep in the southern jungels.

The same jungle that is creeping north
and the climate does not care.

In nightly flights they go ******* clothed
too wound up with backs against back walls

A scream does not proclaim an origin;
did the universe ever find a need?

Bells in the back country, Gregorian rants,
cross-keys rattle at gates of iron bars.

While in the den of overstuffed chairs
oily stains propagate, ashes sit on the mantle.

Rising from the bowels of the beast we hear,
"Miserere mei, Deus", have mercy!

-cec
Miserere - Latin: "have mercy"

For Kilmar Armando Abrego Garcia and others ...
The audience at first was unsure
the stage group friendly, on tour
there to teach harmony in song
with all in attendance asked along
capable singers in form a cappella
guided the crowd into their mandala
soon the room was at hum
and every person singing as one
as they climed through the scales
a most goosebump feeling prevailed
a wonder was there to behold
as this story lives on as retold

-cec
Challenge: write a poem that involves people making music together, and that references – with a lyric or line – a song or poem that is important to you.

* ee cummings
molten glass tears drop
volcanic heart chambers flare
grief devours all

-cec
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