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9/24/2008 12:43:28 PM |
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lustyone49
Oshkosh, WI
age: 59
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In The Night Time Hours
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
In the nighttime hours
He comes to me...
I feel his warm breath
On my cool skin...
His fingertips tracing slow, lazy circles
On the blank page of my body...
He whispers my name softly as
He stares deeply into my eyes...
Leaning forward, he kisses my lips,
Knowing that it will ignite a fire deep inside me...
I adore these times..in the night..when we are alone
And the outside world doesn't even exist.
~
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9/24/2008 1:35:11 PM |
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e1v1ale
Gainesville, GA
age: 41
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Chicago
Saturday in the park. I think it was the fourth of July.
Oh damn it, those are the words to that song that even now makes me cry.
Saturday, Saturday, 4th of July. The day I watched you die.
Emotions unencumbered by reality, a pregnant silence, a love denied.
Thoughts of you pierce through my mind as again I walk alone through time.
I prayed for you.
I found you.
I felt you.
I loved you.
I wanted you.
I needed you.
I had you.
I lost you.
No longer there for me to run to.
No longer there for me to talk to.
No longer there for me to hold onto.
Saturday in the park, The day it all came apart.
9-24-08
Started 4:00pm ended 4:20pm
Hey that was fun
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9/29/2008 4:37:37 PM |
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betsaces
Ilion, NY
age: 62
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Tag poetry...kewl...It works real good when you don't know the sandbag is coming and the topic is assigned..and you get 10 minutes to produce..Actually a LOT of fun; and a real boost to creativity.
Here's one from a couple weeks ago..the time about six minutes.
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The Attic
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A mystery to a young boy
A place opened just at Christmas
And cleanup days
Sneaking up that ladder
Peering at the stuff within
`
An old couch, draped with cobwebs
A wedding dress once white and pure
Now yellowed and faded with age
It had been there since Victoria reigned
`
The Christmas ornaments packed near the hatch
Sheets of music writ in Grandma's hand
In the corner, barely visible, a musket
A box of letters dated 1862
`
I read them all, this account of horror and war
And at the bottom, beneath them all
A bible, tattered and torn
A hole in the cover, pages worn thin
A bullet still esconced deep within
`
The mysteries of the attic keep
And tales as yet untold
`
Outrider 9/3/08
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9/29/2008 7:51:24 PM |
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alicekathleen
Sacramento, CA
age: 63
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Take a chemistry set and distill a memory,
What condenses, what remains?
Or like the song of my youth asked,
"and how am I to know it's really real?"
Yes, the really real, the residue behind
All those desires and projections, behind
The lizard's smile, what remains?
When everything has evaporated,
What is left of love, and would there
Be enough to fill one beaker
With pure, sweet elixir?
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9/29/2008 7:53:36 PM |
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bomd
Plainfield, IL
age: 32
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Me..We
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