Trellivision

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Seedlings placed by chance or hand,

burst to thrust from loam and sand.

Their journey skyward a jagged path,

intertwining askew betwixt slatted lath.

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With thorny fingers, not meant to reveal,

oft misread yet intensions are real.

Twisting and weaving through space and time,

trellis clung for their treacherous climb.

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They’ve hands of green to catch the rays,

holding the light for cloudy days.

Or drenches, droughts and starless nights,

all’s risen anew to new morning heights.

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Weathering a diverse world of adversity,

timely teachings taught of tolerance and tenacity.

Evolving resolve for dependence together,

blooms beckon bees and birds of a feather.

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Golden treasure’s deep to entice and please,

fragrant allure’s cast to the breeze.

Sights and scents sensed by all.

Colors await next seasons call.

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Days grow shorter, stems grow long,

primed for pruning though nothing wrong.

Bunched and bundled, arrayed and displayed,

till petals drop there a table laid.

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Brushed in hand returned to land,

budding foundation where others may stand.

Cohesive nature’s expressive of art,

cycles revolve all back to start.

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And this rose but a metaphor for all that’s living,

words remind literally of what life’s giving.

~*~

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Twilight Stroll

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At an English peak and the new lost

a short turn’s taken at the gambrels cross.

Trees tall to recall centuries of the past

from carriage path to autos passing fast.

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Reminiscent a lane with styles to fade

hillside perched and often made.

With a gentle rise to never waiver

our walks through time long to savor.

~*~

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Viscous Visceral Visions

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Poet’s pen words as painters paint hues,

each exploring infinite shades of the blues.

Whether a canvas large or ragged scrap small,

quills and brushes cover them all.

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Syllables shade the sentence with shadow,

of portraits deep and seascapes shallow.

While watercolors will always wash away,

ink and oils shimmer for another day.

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Surreal or real really anything goes,

whether rhyming verse, freeform or prose.

Maybe some Shakespeare or dogs playing cards,

velvet backs drape to both blind and bards.

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Ropes of velvet secure master pieces.

A sandwich of glass will smooth out the creases.

Though nothing’s smooth in a perfect sense,

waves perpetually bristle from light to dense.

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Mirrors project light already seen.

Reflection occurs on the matted screen.

Largeness lingers, all mediums fade,

little’s lost when something is made.

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What’s unmade forever unknown,

forever unseen and can never be grown.

Whatever’s not lost will be our gains.

And when tears dry an image remains.

~*~

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Purgatory

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Stairs climbed to a heavenly lair

Each step reluctant of the riser’s dare

The falls grow closer the higher I go

The ground grows distant with hell below

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This tug-of-war is fought within

Pushing and pulling each a twin

When a journey’s long, all’s to win

With stich and glue all can grin

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Time’s not direction with a start or end

There’s no give or take, none’s to defend

To counter clock’s never wise

It’s works concealed by the faces disguise

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Incased to shield and hands that wind

Hands to watch to lose one’s mind

Minds lost seldom found

Seconds ticking to find sacred ground

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With no end in sight, sight has no end

Starts at viewer, depths depend

Colors attract and shades divert

See the light or life’s inert

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The stairs again beckon, to darkness they rise

Yet tread must I to rest sleepy eyes.

~*~

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Must Be Love Haikus

It must be love when

passions can’t be expressed in

haiku’s of amore

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It must be love when

our hearts beat faster by a

footstep at the door

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It must be love when

broken hearts are aching yet

we love all the more

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It must be love when

burning hearts blaze hotter than

science can measure

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It must be love when

our hearts are left shattered yet

chests still hold treasure

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It must be love when

all life appears inspired

and our hearts feel pure

`

It must be love when

only a greater failure

seems to reassure

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It must be love when

our hurting hearts are healed with

love – the only cure

~

It must be love when

hearts and minds know not, but it

Must Be Love – for sure

`

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The Art of Living

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From hand scrawl on a damp cave wall

The stroke of genius to start it all

And then another, discovered recall

A timely chance, the past in freefall

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The renaissance screams in-between

Painted queens upon medieval scenes

To modern memes of tomorrow’s dreams

Our nows are relative or so it seems

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Hung to transcend drawn to a friend

Contemporaries’ always free to lend

Future’s descend, questions to tend

Conclusions offend but only one end

~*~

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