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The smiles of children hosting trophies,

Ribbons and awards from the county fair.

I remember fondly my days of summer sun

And look back to what a world I had their.

Dressed in blue plaid and jeans,

Eating too much cotton candy

And spending dollars on winning cheap trinkets.

Being invincible and being young.


Now I look at the new faces,

Standing where we once stood.

The feelings that tomorrow was too far away,

But not realizing how quickly it would come.

The names, they are still familiar.

They are our names, but no longer ours.

For they are our children.


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It had been weeks, that I admit.

But I rationalized he wouldn’t know.

The frail figure, so tiny

Wasn’t the same man I used to know.

How easy it was to say

And keep moving about my chores.


I went to bed that night,

Expecting all things to stay as they were.

Nothing would change

Because it hadn’t for years.

And besides, he wouldn’t know.


Then my son came,

He wasn’t supposed to be home.

It was a dream.

It had to be a dream.

“Grandma needs you.”

I heard the words, but sat there stunned.


The blur that was shrouded that which had been.

Things had changed, and I was too late.

There was not another day.

There would be no more wait ’til tomorrow.

Sometimes it just never comes.

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Without Words

The sigh heaves itself from my chest,

And I walk the other away.

Not because I am out of words.

But because I have no more to say.

The exhaustion spring forth

Resigning me to eternal damnation.

I could try to speak,

But for you, there is no explanation.

Your mind closes about the facts,

The ones so conveniently created.

No reality needs to be entertained

Just my integrity berated.

So as the pain fills my heart

I will walk away.

For I am without words,

And this is the last I’ll say.

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Late Winter Grass

Verdant blades mingled with white

Promises of that yet to come.

Shrouded in the cold of ice

Yet sparking the warmest of dreams.

Waiting for rays of warmth

And fields of daffodils.

Longing for warm kisses on my cheek

And the wind across the back of my neck.

Oh little green stalk standing so bravely

Please tell me when your friends will arrive.

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The Heavy Air

The air was laden with moisture,

Dripping, rivulets that flowed freely.

Angst built in the breast of Mother Earth

As she watched her children fall.

The scars ran deep along the canyon,

Progress slowing the heartbeat

Of existence.

No more songs from lofty heights

No more piercing shrieks of eagles.

Simply no more.

Replaced by an asphalt jungle

And concrete mounds.

The air to become thick with fumes.

The colored plumes replaced by metal bugs,

Crawling from one point to another

In search of, chasing, a different kind of green.

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In the stillness of nighted skies

Where tiny luminous points float

In a distant abyss,

I lay back, perchance to dream.

Nestled on a verdant bed

While songs chirp forth from underbrush.

And the soft moon glow,

Bathes the distant crests

Creating shadows and highlights.

Hues purple to darkest black

Interrupted only by distant windows.

That is where others dwell

Complacent in their nights.

But not I.

I long for the open aromas

Of the rising fog,

The dampness of evening ground.

To be where my ancestors stood.

And there, shall I rest for all eternity.

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Scratchy tendrils blow

Waving in yellowing fields

Waiting for harvest

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