Poetry, sunday whirl

1day.part10

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sunday whirl : wordle 232

there’s not much left
a small loss here
a slap that stings there
angels watching
shiver from the cold

some days pass
with little pause
counting scars
instead of stars
there’s so much to remember

love gasps at sleeps escape
desire dials a different dream
darkness snare gathers no dust

notes to self: the real dark side of family and the holidays … thank goodness all has passed…

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Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle

probably.so

219

sunday whirl wordle no 219

i swear i know every single one
the familiar flush
the perfect press of weight
just enough to claim quietly

the list is long
written in lovely left lingo
only to share with you who know
know the nexus of never-Neverland

who comes to call and collect
that wilderness wind
who whinnies in whispers
tender time, no threats, breathless talk,

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sunday whirl, wordle

light travel

212

Sunday Whirl: Wordle 213

red wine woman
she sips with hollow eyes
a puzzle piece missing

one winner won
startled she slips
a stinging red stain

watching wearily
hidden heart divine
wicked winner he smiles

chiseled charm abstract
lucid lips pucker
he simply won’t do

stepping through
another open door
luminous light beckons

feckless contemplation
foreign sounds allure
there’s no going back

superior view
she decides to stay
dumb luck stumble

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Poetry, sunday whirl, wordle

locked in

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it was late, real late
the car broke down
so we had to walk
a long way walk

before long we were at the gate
fumbling with the latch
finally opened, all fret forgotten

carrying the both of us
we staggered homeward
passing the old tree
a sleepy owl suddenly
rose out of the dark night
his wingspan wide with wind

unaware we’re almost there
entwined at the crossroad of way past midnight
the closed space around us opens
unfastened fields that happen to flower
crocus sprouting white snow falling
first day glistening bloom

tiny threads of thoughts and thorns
a captured embrace compose
new found fevor flowering notes
hidden in his late night harmony

turning towards home
the last corner comes
beckoning as singing birds
too tired to press
suicide slumber swift
the feel of far away
the distant steps of mud stirring

sunday whirl: wordle 186

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sunday whirl, wordle

footprints

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sunday whirl: wordle 184

free falling from the blue sky her feet touch earth. barely audible only the birds appear to notice.

wearing her favorite dress with thirteen red poppies and a frivolous decision to wear summer sandals, the journey took a toll, there was a slight unforeseen tear.

her earthbound roots forever etched to her soul at times called out with little rest. strange how the root now ancient and gnarled still spoke with strength pulling her in a direction her literary heart was bound to.

carrying the heavy parcel her journey was soon to end once she delivered the grateful package.

with speedy recovery the words gathered in a whirlwind thanked her in apocalyptic sincerity knowing what was unknown to her.

in the midst of the wind whispering moments pass leaving faded few sprinkled inklings of her mortal epilogue.

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