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Archive for the ‘Love’ Category

A Bear In Our Lair


I hear a bear growling in our lair.
Her rumble is everywhere!
It bounces off the walls and ceiling
leaving me unsettled feeling.

I can’t sleep.
Not a peep!

So I’m driven to my den
growling follows even then!

I hear it muted,
through floor and walls.
Smiling now the growling palls.

Now eyelids close,
and head drops down,
her growling pleasant susurround.

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Not Now Little Birdie


Imagine hearing the most shrill, obnoxious “peep” you can think of at 5 in the morning.

Then repeat it every 10 minutes.

“Dear, the fire alarm needs a new battery,” Wifie says.

I plod out of bed and rummage blindly in the battery drawer.

I sigh. “We’re out of 9 volt batteries. I guess I’ll have to go to the store to get some.” Who can sleep with that continuing interruption?

It takes a half hour drive altogether to buy new batteries from “Walmies World,” our not so local 24 hour super convenience store. Eventually the batteries are swapped to silence the monster chickie. I may as well stay up. I’m awake now…

Why do I have to be the man?

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The sound–like sleet upon a roof

draws me outside to see

a great flock of European Starlings

filling the surrounding fall trees.

surrounding me.

 

 

 

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We still dance everyday.

Not the dance of ballrooms, discos, or weddings;

but of two stars orbiting each other.

 

Each affected

by the others well of gravity,

of solar storms, magnetic fields, and hot plasma.

 

Our orbits are stable but elliptic,

one pursuing the other,

one being pursued;

but which one, and when?

 

We red shift and blue shift

appearing cool or warm,

depending upon point of view.

 

Friends, family, and acquaintances

are mere planets.

 

We shall continue to dance every day.

And time?

What is that to us?

We are immortal.

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If they weren’t so different,

you’d not be attracted.
 
If they weren’t a challenge,

you’d not be interested.
 
If they weren’t so incomprehensible,

you’d not be intrigued.
 
If they weren’t amenable,

you couldn’t stay.

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See the distant and dim stars

in the bowl of the sky.

They cast a cold stellar breeze across my face.


They are no match

for the sun burning bright within my breast

and its aurora borealis

because of you.

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Cemetery

Are the dead meant to fade away?

Are our forebears meant to be forgotten,
when the ones who loved them pass away?

Spirit houses are not made to last.
They are new at the time of death
and old and decrepit after a short time,
a few years.

This so the spirits of those who linger
near the world of the living
have time to transition.

In some of the reservation cemeteries,
there are the newest graves at the front,
with their gaudy plastic flowers and mementos
and bright and shiny polished granite
fading to graves halfway back.

On these, no plastic blooms.
They are the somber, weathered, dusty tombstones;
some in the lichen covered, obsolete limestone,
of those who could afford them.

And the simple wooden crosses
rotting and askew,
of those who could not.

And further back still,
the depressions in the grass
of those old, old ones,
silent and unattended,
unmarked and forgotten.

The lost ones

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