The Fallen

Summer love leads to fall.
Autumnal changes effects all.
Leaves turn, soon to drop.
Life moves on and won’t stop.
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Chills felt to the bone.
Warmth’s gone when alone.
Seasons cycle as they must.
Tomorrows come, we have to trust.
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Truth felt in the heart.
Minds make lies art.
Sleep’s unknown for many a night.
Sadness fills each line I write.
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If not loved a future is to find.
If not a poet, perhaps then blind.
Hues created we want to see.
Now the fall’s here for you and me.

~*~
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Slices of Time

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Stories of a life hidden beneath the grays

Peel back the many layers, see the brighter days

Shades grow ever subtle; space grows to its end

Hues upon a palette, in time all will blend

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Our colors, depths and textures all leave their traces

Memories in murals and the portraits many faces

Like time measured in the trees ringed grain

Reflections of our many years of snow, ice and rain

~*~

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My Masterpiece

My_Masterpiece

I feel a masterpiece is on the way.
But don’t look now, it’s not today.
I’ll write it all in a lyrical rhyme.
I’ll write of joy and precious time.
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I’ll write of life and of love.
I’ll write of stars that shine above.
I’ll write of places that we’ve seen.
And the quiet times in between.
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We’ve delightful dinners with lovely views,
and our times together with no shoes.
I’ll write of walks in the sand.
I’ll write of sunsets hand in hand.
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I feel this masterpiece is well underway.
I feel it growing every day.
Now volumes I’ll write of loving you.
With a lifetime ahead before it’s through.

~*~
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Unveiled

On a canvas our lives are drawn,
born of purity, thrust into dawn.
Colors seduce, every stroke another day,
our every action a shade of gray.
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Hardships endured many tears ago,
the pain forgotten, losses to forever show.
With each scar we’re sculpted, our hands bear the tools.
Minds write the stories of masters and fools.
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Covers ever changing as we choose,
pages between paid our dues.
Lines filled in, some hues gone astray.
Upon our death the frame we’ll display.

~*~
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Magic Carpet

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Full moon’s high in my window pane,

a sleepless night yet again.

I think of what that old moon’s seen,

and the billions of days in-between.

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Billions of stories it could share.

But few like grandma’s can compare.

Her life began long, long ago.

Raised in places few ever know.

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In forests, jungles and never-ending plains,

there were exotic cities and quiet country lanes.

Naturalist nurtured traversing the globe,

her parents explorers and professors in robes.

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She too attended their university,

majoring, of course, in anthropology.

She graduated at the very top of her class.

Then returning to a high mountain pass.

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A place where dear friends made, one nevermore,

new will be made though not as before.

For the sisterly love they both did share,

her dowry passed from generations with care.

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Their rug was presented for the mutual esteem,

more cherished than a simple weaving would  seem.

With sheep twists dyed and hands knotting all day,

life’s artful history’s made to give, barter or pray.

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That winter spent mourning by choice and terrain.

Gram then ventured east with the new spring rain.

Her path soon ended on a long Pacific beach,

her life of the past now far out of reach.

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She then called upon as never before.

She volunteered proudly as a nurse in the war.

Through years of blood, pain and tears she served,

refusing all the medals and honors deserved.

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Though her true love was found slumped on a cot,

they soon returned home, where time was forgot.

Gramps got better and a new family sown.

their many shared scars were never to be shown.

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Her old rug was placed by hearth and chest,

each full of stories though not all are best.

It’s a place we’d sit to hear grandma recall,

sometimes a place to do nothing at all.

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So I tip-toed downstairs since sleep no option,

I’ll rest on that rug where dreams are begun.

It’s where secrets are shared and magic seen,

then a place for relaxing time in-between.

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Once sewn as a bag keeping safe, precious things.

It’s been many a blanket with a picnic to bring.

It’s been a shawl in the cold and hood in the rain –

and a comfy pillow on the overnight train.

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Adventures had in time that’s flown,

together worn from long years grown.

This rug’s grandma’s confidant and oldest friend,

soaring together their wove lives transcend.

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Though colors now faded, ends torn and frayed,

beauty more timeless cannot be remade.

And when the winds do bellow just right,

we’re drawn up the flue and into the night.

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Holding fast and climbing high,

we touched the stars in our moonlit sky.

We’d see twinkling lights in our town below,

then off to the hills where roads don’t go.

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Over the wood, back to the place we all live,

where the door’s always open and love’s to give.

There blissful slumbers had snug as a bug,

whilst wrapped with a hug in grandmas old rug.

.

~*~

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Splash

Day to dusk and dusk to night,
night to dawn and a new day’s light.
Time as life cycles in a spectrum of hues.
Frequencies frequently dulled by blues.
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Every second a shade setting a tone,
rainbows intensify when not alone.
Clouds engulf or stars shine,
wheels tint our chosen line.
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Years may fly while hardships creep,
troubles fade when dreams we keep.
Brush aside the grays in a timely fashion;
pull pastels into a daily ration.
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Day to dusk and dusk to night,
night to dawn and a new day’s light.
Alarms will sound and snoozes ensue.
The palette new, what color are you?

~*~
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Posthumous Futures

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To all the writers never known
To the few from which we’ve grown
From their words the future’s sown
Rearranged to call our own

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To all of those that do it now
From palette pure to graven brow
Investing all we dare allow
Divesting that we can’t avow

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Time records in poem and prose
Imagined journeys no one knows
From euphoric highs to deadly lows
The tide of emotion forever flows

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Looking back at history
Or hypothesizing infinity
Sensations felt we can’t see
Ink bled sets us free

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Where to start, that depends
Our time alone shared with friends
Yet all stories must have ends
Well submerged is where life blends

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Write the dark to see the light
Time always wins the fight
And when you lay awake tonight
Rest assured our future’s bright

~*~

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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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2D or not 2D

If to paint you in my mind,
extra space I will find.
Many things I could forget.
Hit delete with no regret.
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On the brightest wall you will stand.
There I’d stare, brush in hand.
Heart beats thumping, a flourish made.
Details cherished never fade.
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In my head we shall dwell.
Sharing thoughts we’d never tell.
On my shoulders you will ride.
Our joy displayed in our stride.
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The outside world no longer exists.
Boxes checked on all our lists.
Imagination will be our place.
My only vision is your face.
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All our wishes will come true.
Our dreams are filled with me and you.
But a painter I’m not nor a thief.
Freedom’s greater than my relief.
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For if to hide within one’s brain,
there is no future or life to gain.
Our time together on change depends.
Our tomorrows then will know no ends.

~*~
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All in the Frame

Yesterday I felt abstract.
But the picture’s still intact.
Colors and shapes are in line.
But the edges are all mine.
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The final piece isn’t always neat.
Things get trimmed or to delete.
But when it’s shaded no one knows.
We choose if it’s dull or glows.
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Though life’s mistakes we cannot hide.
It’s sink or swim to ride the tide.
Life’s ever changing each day begun.
Unlike the seascape, either fog or sun.

~*~
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If 2 Be

If to live a life of fantasy,
immortality bound and trouble free.
Never to be a wannabe,
desires fulfilled by decree.
What would they be, Oh what would they be?
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To be an explorer on the open sea,
nature bound and living free,
the entire world I would see.
I’d fulfill life’s destiny.
Where would it be, where would it be?
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An artist perhaps, filling the world with glee,
history bound and creating free,
painting for all a new reality.
Or I’ll write a song with perfect harmony.
How will it be, how will it be?
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Maybe a billionaire on a shopping spree,
luxury bound and spending free,
rolling about with bling and scree.
Or I’d give it all away to charity.
What would it be, what would it be?
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A philosopher would be great, solving life’s mystery,
intellectually bound and thinking free,
cleaning up mankind’s debris.
And debate all who disagree.
When will it be, when will it be?
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But I’m not, I’m just me,
homeward bound and mostly free,
curious of complexity.
Loving and loved I guarantee.
Who could it be, who could it be, it’s you and me!

~*~
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Adds Up

The more we’re together the less the world’s a part.
Our passion’s indulged with music, poetry and art.
In a time of violence and of greed,
the love of each other’s all we need.
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With arms meant to reach and to hold,
the wonder of love’s boldly told.
Lives intertwined becoming one,
endless adventures have begun.
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With zest, zeal and sex appeal;
smiles always shared, always real.
Equal devotion adding to the feel,
all’s mutually beneficial, the deal ideal

~*~
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Doin’

I feel a storm a brewin’
And thoughts, they are a stewin’
Seems procrastination ain’t so great
Time it seems just won’t wait
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Youthful dreamin’ put on hold
Earnin’s first, I’ve been told
While the future does still beckon
It’s path though I’ve yet to reckon
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But my guitar needs a playin’
And my hips need a swayin’
My pencil needs more dancin’
And of course there’s more romancin’
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So much to do, so little time left to waste
Ponderin’s ahead, no need for haste
I am after all a master procrastinator
So I’ll get old, but just a little bit later

~*~
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Persistent

In this time of “writer’s block”,
I stare blankly at paper and clock.
With jumbled prose I try to think,
should life be guided by pen and ink?
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Does a rhyme decide a story’s path?
Can a re-verse save us from the wrath?
The day is young; there are things to do,
but the sky’s gray with a snowy hue.
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The air is cold, I’ll assume,
my spirit’s locked within a room.
Doors will open if I choose.
When all’s lost there’s none to lose.
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Persistence colors the choices we make.
Is persistence for persistence sake?
Do we persist simply to win?
If direction’s unclear should we begin?
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Like life, love, thought and art,
questions unanswered are the start.
Life ticks forward with us or without.
Thoughts will be shared without a doubt.
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Art will be made with all the thoughts had.
And love makes life happy but also sad.
Dilemma’s obscure visions true.
A vision obscures my dilemma new.
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I’m seeking an end to what’s now fraught.
The past’s the lesson of what’s been taught.
And like life, love, thought and art,
ends shade poetic an open heart.

~*~
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Seeing the Light

Shades of perfection –
a pause for reflection.
Softness felt on shapely curves,
a goddess of light, calming nerves.
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Time stands still shaped in stone.
A memory forged, never alone.
Shadows illuminate visions anew.
Shades of perfection – as are you!

~*~
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Special thanks to the unknown photographer and inspirational model 🙂

New Old Fashion

After years and years of ups and downs,
when value of self’s been pennies on the pound,
love’s been vaulted and disappeared,
old friends lost and new to be found.
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The body waivers and minds forget.
Wisdom comes and goes in equal ration.
Time’s rushed but waiting improves.
And all’s well when life has passion.

~*~
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Wows

With these strings, I thee bled,
fingers raw and eyes red.
Sounds of the day fill my head.
Emotion speaks with words unsaid.
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With six strings I am fed.
Good vibration is my med.
Tension’s tuned and compression shed.
Harmony pledged. To honor bred.
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With my strings I have wed.
Our ties bound by common thread.
Sweet melodies or what’s instead?
I’ll have and hold till I’m dead.

~*~
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