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long breath raked out, length of
day. thought pattern diffusing;
shadows cast on a broadening strip,
wallpaper hung close. stolen breath,
an orbit about you. consistent
glow. hinging on ripples, cut around
this field by clear breeze. branches
stretch, churning in the swept
air. held aloft, in their self-arrest.

i do not echo. this frictionless glimmer.
the vanishing extent to which i
can stop falling.

oh, but i do not want to. not
this time, sweet. each day reaches
out with tender hands, to pull
me up& out of this cavernous maze;
undoing meaningless shovelwork.

i find myself, under boughs, amidst
flowers. it's only slightly difficult to admit
this smile was smeared over
my freckling jaw, for nothing,
save for you.

even birdsong seems pale in comparison,
distant bells, ocean mist; undertow
beneath soft waves rolling
from your lungs to lips.
Oh my, I'm dragging bodies
over the welcome mat and I
sit them up on the couch so that
they may feel at home

Oh jeez, these displaced pixels
and rhythmic reception soon
let loose a solemn deluge
of flickering blue light onto

Oh dear, dead faces in the glow
of some early-morning show
currently being reflected back by
their glazed and vacant eyes

that I just can't seem
to stop staring into.
eye keel you nao
I don't want brooding depths
beneath deep icy fog breaths
 Sep 2014 mark john junor
ryn
These hands have clawed with blind eyes
Chipped nails on fingers working on knots and ties

Fingers that recklessly point to reproaches and blames
Never to self, righteousness through arrogant claims

Now aware, these palms have covered my face in contempt
For they've partook in activities; indulgent and unkempt

Rubbed skin raw on life's coarse sandpaper
Ever searching for the coming of the unanticipated saviour

Broken flesh hopeful for newly formed skin
Like tattered souls pleading for absolution of sin

Only skin deep but unfavourable experiences do fester
Expecting the proverbial infection to blow over

Here they are, held unclenched and riddled with pocks
Weathered and sore from time's infinite mocks

Maybe thereafter, will be awaited healing
Perhaps soon after, I will be forgiving

See now... Hands faced up, parted as halves
Asking not for alms but instead your acceptance as salve

Take into yours, these knackered, gnarled up palms
Let your porcelain-like touch relieve like life reforming balm
 Sep 2014 mark john junor
ryn
Life is full of mischief and artful trickery
The way through never made easy for the foolhardy

Misleading gestures only employed to solely distract
Left up to you to decipher and hopefully extract

Experiences teach much, had you only been accepting and learning
That a dove could be made to appear; out of thin air, out of nothing

When the road ahead offers no more than mere misdirections
Altered trajectories stemming from convenient misinterpretations

Your cards may have been dealt revealing astonishing outcomes
"Not the hand you get but the game you play," said some

Depending on deft wrists and a flick of the wand
Overnight you'll wake to find that a new day had dawned

Only would happen if into the wind you hadn't spat
Hope would emerge like a hare out of a top hat

The play on light and shadow, nothing short of dramatic
You volunteer onstage, accompanied by apprehension and suspenseful music

Faced with an eager audience; you realise that alone you stand
Be not surprised to learn that love is life's sleight of hand...
Scribbled epithets
Pressed wet with tears
Sacred spaces carried by hallowed hands
Whispered winds that hover
Can't cover this fragile soul
Fractured by the passage of years
Each stone a death remembered
Casual depravity
Swarming queenless
Cyclonic before the storm
The walls we build
Never strong enough to stop the tide
Empty breath
Bubbles up to a silent sky
Potential of a life unlived
Slips beneath the surface
Swirling backwater memories
Heavy with fresh earth and leaves
Surrender the imprint
Of your body to oblivion
I can only wish you peace
I know will not come
Forever beyond
My aching grasp
If I could pull you
Warm inside
Some secret place
An open heart
Rubbed smooth
Sweet balm for your weary soul
I’ve lost you to the droning insanities
Shipwrecks and effigies
Cast up on the shore
You are forever dragging chains
No ascension
No freedom
Fruit plucked
Before the ripening
Bitter offering
For barren ground
Always hungry for more
I scribble an epithet
Pressed wet with tears
Plastered prayers to fill the cracks
In my fractured soul
Surrender your memory
To the silent sky
Send them love....
Good bye...

TL Boehm
010809
For "May"
Inspired by the Book "The Secret Life of Bees"
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