Saturday, October 27, 2012

Haiku on Stoat




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Stoat, animal eater,
Haunts, kills, swallows, and digests,
The process is rare.
.
Go hidden day time,
Wander about the woods at night,
Lots of preys in sight.
.
Life goes in cycles,
Stoat eats raw meat, no defeat,
What cold blood sucker.
.
He could die, so soon,
If he chooses to give in,
He is tiger, boom!



Google.com, Stoat


Tuesday, October 23, 2012

Depths





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Doubts keep forming a shadow
in my mind, I
wish to know why.
At times they block my sight
and make me hide
or cry.
Words swell and expand
like petals from a rose,
emotions run dry,
then wet,
At the speed of a thunder storm,
Life is a soap opera
that drags our heart strings
in depth.

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Resting Place By Noel Kyra Lanier




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The bird in her heart
thrust itself
strongly toward the sky,
But
Towering wind to its head
arranged for the nice trunk
of the willow tree.

Wednesday, October 10, 2012

Rain Off The Chestpain In Human Relation!




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when worries and troubles our tempers
raise and careless remarks brings us moments
of pain,
there is balm to our spirit, like words
of encouragement in poetry, as we walk pass
drips of cold, petty rain.
.
It's an ease to one's emotional burdens and
doubts are replaced by hope, the day springs
anew.
The clean air admits far version and
the tears of the Angels have altered all
matters to offer insights pure.

Friday, October 5, 2012

Harriet By Robert Lowell (Born in January 4, 1957)



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Hyde Park Thursday Poets Rally Week 74 (October 4 -October 10)



Half a year, then a year and a half, then
ten and a half-the pathos of a child's fractions, turning
up each summer. Her God-you gave up...Things whirl
in the chainsaw bite of whatever squares.
the universe by name and number. For
the hundredth time, we slice the fog, and round
the village with our headlights on the ground,
Like the first philosopher Thales who thought all things water
and fell, ...trying to find a car
key...it cannot be here, and so it must be there
behind the next crook in the road or growth
of fog_ there blinded by our feeble beams,
a face, clock-white, still friendly to the earth.