Dice black and white
Not looking for a fight
Lucky hands, grip tight
Wanting a winning sight
Put pair into flight
Fist raised, power, and might
Snake eyes say good night
I read the signs
Like printed words:
You aren’t mine,
You’re just a flirt,
We don’t align,
Our quatrains hurt
In seven lines.
Doc, knows more or less everything
Grumpy, always sour as a citrus fruit
Happy, an absolutely lovely personality
Sleepy, suffers from Idiopathic Hypersomnia
Bashful, a blushing sunrise of purest rays
Sneezy, scratches nose and sneezes constantly
Dopey, don't greet him with a cold shoulder
Leaves falling
Birds migrating
Friends gather
’round the fire pit.
Hot chocolate
at football games.
Fall is finally here.
Faith,hope and charity
each positives, to me
and essential,as can be
The first,a gift from God
with agape,for free
the other as certain as can be
.....try them,each one,is for thee
Pride
I'm first
you're worst
Greed
all mine
don't whine
Envy
I need
your deed
Gluttony
pig out
grow stout
Sloth
sweat, plow
not now
Wrath
Joad's grapes
bad scrapes
Lust
dispose
of clothes
ancient olive tree
"Oliveira do Pes" tree
neat to read and see
three thousands seven hundreds ~
years of age and still produce
Every time in Paltan Bazar,Guwahati
I see a mingled life :
From North Each hill states
And mainland’s far off strand.
Arunachal Pradesh,Manipur,Meghalaya
Mizoram,Nagaland-
All join the throng,
Along with Tripura and Assam
By train,bus and aeroplane.
People mainly from North East arrive there
Coming to Guwahati
Or to go to different parts of India.
They are of different castes,
tribes and creed,
With varied tongues and customs
Side by side
or one after another
Like different flowers
Each bringing a petal -
Fragrance,colour,grace.
And Paltan Bazar seems a living art
A market of hues
Mainly from North East
Beautiful and loving.
Great Pyramid of Giza
it's old
I'm told
Hanging Gardens of Babylon
divine
grape vine
Statue of Zeus at Olympia
god king
stirring
Temple of Artemis at Ephesus
god mom
the bomb
Mausoleum at Halicarnassus
big tomb
much room
Colossus of Rhodes
big man
bronze tan
Lighthouse of Alexandria
took dunk
went plunk
At least the rain is consistent
wet
she's always wet
a deluge of romantic vignettes
pouring a soothing salve
upon a burning soul
for a fleeting moment we both feel whole
steam rising off the petrichor
two hands slipping/sliding
into one another
we run,
but not away,
seeking shelter from the storms
seven minutes in heaven
she counted in her head
we were tired
but not done
retired to the bed
where life had bled
so hearts could live
Siege of the Golden Door
I heard their shouting as I slept,
The evil dead, straining at the gates of Hell.
With the spirits’ seven pens of light,
They maraud all from behind the golden door.
A warning: I must arm myself with lore,
To learn the way to shut that door
Before they come.
Your City
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven Emerald Hills
Seven emerald hills rise steeply
From restless waters born of moving ice
Siblings of a greater peak
Lifting up their faces into rains of shrouded mists
Or bathed in welcomed sunshine
The First where stately mansion homes
Climbed to heights now holding healing hostels
Looking toward a Beacon,
Watching Rainier’s changing face,
Holding hands, across a valley cleft,
With the West where Alki shores
Welcomed the first footsteps of settlers
Looking across blue waters where ferries play at
Mistaken Magnolia blossoming with madrone
Not bowing to Queen Anne, counterbalanced,
Winking at Capitol, with shady streets
On a broad way above the lake
Looking north to find a learned Crown
Mourning Denny’s passing
Where offices now scrape the sky
Remembering a Yesler skid row, algorithms,
A pioneer square, a needle touching space
Slumbering in the shadows of a Sunset
Where seaplanes play with seagulls
In summer Seafairs and rain festivals January to December
I saw a bloke beneath an oak with nothing in his hands
He seemed relaxed, and as time lapsed, he had little plans
He stayed just there without a care evidently free
Then someone said, that fellas dead, hanging from that tree
Witch sat and stewed after seeing her reflection at large
she was so scared at the dress shop, she forgot to say charge
she left empty handed, and is now sitting on her broom
clouded in a wakening of reflection that has brought her gloom
She still thought she was young, agile and pretty.
She looked in the mirror when she thought she was witty.
The old hag that looked back made her feel depressed and blue.
She thought she was twenty-seven, but she is actually seventy-two.
Don’t feel badly at all, her pumpkin team said.
In a few weeks, we will all be moldy and dead.
This did not brighten her outlook one little bit.
She actually gave a little kick to the non-caring chit.
Shirley is a confident seven-year-old
with sky blue eyes and fantastic natural curly ginger hair
her curls walk ahead of her
they are outstandingly pretty
today she is dressed in casual kaki pants
with matching sneakers and a huge leopard polka dotted bow
a matching purse is slung over her shoulder
she has no idea how adorable she is
a walking picture that others appreciate
her second-grade classmates surround her
they like everything about her
especially her confidence
Shirley fearlessly stands up for everybody
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