look for her Sunday heart

look for her Sunday heart
how the wind has blown the leaves upon the path
and my eyes have followed their scampering
there

and then the wind had blown amongst my hair
messing like a mother’s hand her child’s hair
and all the sun about everywhere

hear her choir and her bells
in the Temple of her Sunday
sing and ring to Grace above
her tender love of simple things

 

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yr don’t bring wings back

yr don’t bring wings back
from skies

the feathers
have felt
the wind

 

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I want you to know

I want you to know
sometimes when I look
at you
I pick the flowers

you could keep them
flowers
if you
want to

I’d not give them
to another

 

Posted in 2018, literature, poem, poems, poetry, writing | Tagged , | 2 Comments

yr know

yr know
stars live
by themselves
I tell her

 

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4 days out

4 days out
from birth
I wish her
all things
God gave
a planet

how the sky
must like her?

 

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I take my t-shirt

I take my t-shirt
off my shoulder
like her picture

 

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I’d not want to

I’d not want to
write another poem

if love were sweet

why would you
want to?

I like the way
of hurting

it makes
loneliness real

as love

 

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