Earth’s Burden

EARTH’S BURDEN

Gracing the cosmos
Then along came humankind
What aberration

The Pursuit Of Happiness

http://www.wakingtimes.com/2015/05/15/15-things-to-give-up-if-you-want-to-be-happy/

Love

LOVE

Getting nowhere
And contented
For after all
(And before all)
Nowhere
Is no more than
Now and here
Cosying up together

Calliope’s Disdain

CALLIOPE’S DISDAIN

Faster and faster
Motoring down the wrong road
They call it progress

Stage By Stage

STAGE BY STAGE

All simply a play
Once the actors leave the stage
No one to punish

11.6.15

Guilty As Charged

GUILTY AS CHARGED

I hang suspended
Temporarily forgetting
I the puppeteer

Trick Cyclists Begone

TRICK CYCLISTS* BEGONE

Neuroses? Not so!
Simply those predilections
We love to call ours.

——————————————————————

*https://en.wiktionary.org/wiki/trick_cyclist

Sadly Misspoken

Are Naga Dragons Really Dragons At All?*

Dragon’s Loyalty Award

A big thanks to Annie for this beautiful Dragon-related award.

It seems I have to proffer five facts about myself. I have picked my way in between facts I have previously revealed elsewhere (to the best of my knowledge) and those I would rather conceal for one reason or another, thank you, and come up with these:

1. I am left-handed.

2. I have been there and come back.

3. I began life in a Christian house and never left home.

4. However I have built on several extensions, some quite extensive..

5. I am not much of a gardener.

I am also required to nominate between five and ten fellow writers. So, in no particular order:

1. the secret keeper

2. MacKenzie’s Dragon’s Nest

3. Four Windows Press

4. In wonderland

5. The Prattle of Hastings
…..
…..
Smaug Approves

——————————————————————

http://dragon-story.wikia.com/wiki/Naga_Dragon

Pacific

Ben Naga:

As ever deserving a wider audience and so …

Originally posted on Ventures of a love-sick fool and poetic menace.:

Tucked in neatly like a dress shirt;

my grief stays put, until I get home from work.

Properly labeled and shelved like hurt in stock,

the mark you’ve left is kept

until the next time I put on some music and get drunk alone.

 

Like a cross concealed by clothing

because your beliefs are nobody’s business but your own,

how long I carry this torch is between myself and God.

Like a habit sheathed in solitude,

my suffering is a private event hosted in stolen moments

between conversation and company,

behind jokes and impulse purchases.

Because how much I drink about you

is between me and my liver until it fails.

 

Like a disability masked by artificial limbs,

every laugh and smile may just be a parlor trick

that’s harder than it looks.

I may walk the rest of my life with a limp,

but I won’t introduce…

View original 185 more words

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