Like poppies and daffodils, the lobster buoys dot the bay
and as the flowers sway in the breeze the floats bob in the waves.
Terns and seagulls dive and cry at the bait on the boat decks,
lobstermen laugh at them, throwing a piece now and then into the air.
Hands rough with the work and bones that ache with the sea,
theirs are eyes that do not see the beauty of the shore’s fall colors,
nor smell the crisp clean air of autumn.
They pull on the buoy lines and haul in the catch,
only the...
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Cold coffee in my cup,
high heel shoes with gold lame’ straps
left at the end of my couch.
Faint hint of Halston tickles the nose,
light lavender blouse lay folded on the chair.
Bottle of champagne on the floor
kicked carelessly under the table.
Satin sheet outlines your warmth
with just a leg stuck out over the edge of the bed.
I sit here beside you my heart longing,
my mind on fire, my soul full of hope
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Sleeping Woman Picasso, Pablo
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The foothills of the Appalachians
steeply rise in upper Maine.
Their beginnings climb quickly
to Mt. Katahdin and are columned
with Maple, Birch, and Oak.
Autumn paints a swath of colors,
gifting us a vision of indulgence,
a slave of nature, it’s cross to bear.
Fresh air from these wooded paths
is sweeter than jasmine, and the contentment
felt within, an object well worth
travelling for.
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Trees, Baxter State Park, ME Photographic Print
Adams, Peter Buy at...
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On little feet you wobble forward
Searching hands reach out to grab hold
Innocent eyes look so surprised
Sweet smiles burst forth
Your joyful laughter plays at my heart.
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A baby laughs Phil Schermeister/National Geographic
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Before prickly hoarfrost paints patterns
on window panes and duck ponds –
I hear, on those ice cold little waters,
the hubbub of geese gossiping
about their flight south.
They watch a gray gloomy sky,
ready to burst into a veil of snow.
I see Yulya standing, watching them gather
their feather-duster tails, then go splashing off in flight.
Her eyes water at the Jack Frost nip, her cheeks blush.
Slowly she wanders Pushkin’s paths,
down to her little Russian town – for tea.
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Tired tracks of tripped and tricky years
have left the scars, scrapes, battered
bruises and mangled memories etched upon my body, my soul.
Sway bent back with
stooped shoulders;
a halting,
limping walk takes me
on my way to bed.
Eyes lain on the night stand,
teeth stored in a glass,
cup full of pills I hesitate to take.
What little hair I have left
has turned to gray.
But the crows feet at the corners
of my mouth and eyes,
wrinkles in my brow.
Are of laughter, smiles, about
brand new faces of...
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Random winds
from the world blow.
Winds, the breath
that catches wing —
furling flags unfold,
fluttering, as leaves on trees
turn and show their undersides.
How fresh the feeling ,
gentle strokes upon the cheeks
as smooth as a lovers caress.
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Wind Art Print Meyers, Steven N.
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You are my bright island
in a dark sea.
My Sapphire waters
wash upon your toes.
My foamy waves disappear
into your warm golden sands.
My south wind cools your
tropic heat to a tepid smile.
Long lashes loom over your turquoise eyes
I see my sweet seduction and surrender there.
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Bora Bora Island, French Polynesia
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Sunset sheers the night from the day. It paints the sky purples, pinks and orange-red.
When night appears it becomes a negligee of beautiful sheer black, sprinkled with the glitter of stars. Sunset heralds the onset of dreams, those visions of jumbled thoughts, shotgun scattered thru our minds.
That release valve of stress, gathered in a hectic, frantic long day.
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Dreams Giant Poster Buy at...
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Five Easy Pieces, a movie watched so long ago,
then four hours of sitting through
your families back-yard barbeque.
Wonder why I went
through so many changes
over you.
Three times you changed your mind,
over which dress to wear.
But the only change that I could find
was the two-bit advice
of friends, who didn’t mind
the view.
Once in a while I ponder over history,
I think it’s still a mystery
why we became such a couple of fools
underneath that apple tree,
do you?
It’s been...
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