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“No one who is old is ever going to be young." ― John Beckstein, West of EdenSorry, no time to write a poemA fractured quote is all I owe 'em.
Beautiful fall morning.(sigh)Have fun at school kids!
It's the first day of classesI give out an assignmentMy husband completes itWith brevity and refinement
May be not a sunrise.Could be Dylan's Slow Train ComingBetter get out of the way!!
So in Madison the sun comes in the west? Explains a lot about where you live.
I wait for the daythough its far far awaywhen the sun comes up in the westand the ladies love men in shorts the best
At the time of your postingBlinding lightWhile I come to work, biking.One hand shielding.One hand braking...and steering.
False dawnFall dawnsWhile trees cling to green
Amber DaysDying summer plays beneath The morning pines that weep with amber We won’t see. Boughs swing above Their shadows and stand for us; They harden into general metaphorsFor life.Sullen at noon, stolid at night,That endless rustle of resistanceAmong the needles and the boughsIs owls and wind, or mice and wind,Or morning pines and everything,Or evening pines and nothing at all…Where time molds and measures itself,Under cover, safe with darkness,Into hardening blebs and squibs.These will make beautiful catacombsFor the webbed design of fly's wing, Patterned gossamer lacing thorax –These have been rendered immortal.The veined and tinseled wings infuse The moment with stained glass intricacyImprisoned, they blur with flight –But is it a trick of the light, a second sunDetonated in the unrequited West That in turn sets off a mirage Against the rising day of insular East And become a dazzling artifact,Another bead in nullity’s Unceasing prayer? What burns through The dying days of August, playsBeneath the pines, and lets play outThe things that far-off heaven knows Of amber? We only know the sun Can double our preoccupations with hours And see within its latent lightTwice removed from seasoned journeys,The senescence of our days.
Sunrise in the west?Missile strikes on Syria?Fools believe their eyes.
The sun breaks through the morning mist.Dappled by the leaves of yonder tree.Marching to the end of my wooden deck.I take a healthy pee.
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