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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
you spin
the elements of your life
in a vacuum
coiled
like a snake
in perpetual hibernation
no light
no truth
no reason
no soft air
to touch you
inside
where living weeps
to unwind itself
to begin feeling
something
anything
the one thing
needed to unravel
its lonely existence-
a touch
of selflessness
how do you do it
I wonder -
survive
not knowing
how to give
or receive
the easiest moments
of every day
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
My mind sighs blackberries
and a moonstruck melody
plays along my spine
as I soak up the fruited juice
of I love you coloring your lips.
The cherry blush of breathless,
And a smile amid the wash
Of blueberry eyes, should indicate
My intended reply.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
I've gathered hearts for seasons, and the reasons are my own;
I'll spend no end or effort to defeat a sweet love, sown.
So, should you ask, my task is one that really feeds my greed;
I'm Misery, by myself no fun, your heartbreak's what I need.
Behind the guise of caring eyes, lies Grief, disaster's clone;
My desperate end, is you, my friend, beside me, all alone.
With "Dear John" reams, our vacant dreams, your heart mismatched as mine,
I'll reel you in, with half a grin, and blame it on the wine;
Then hold your hand, play understanding games with you awhile,
And as you sleep, I'll try to keep from laughing and just smile.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
There is a certain spot within my soul
That craves an Autumn scene
Before the Earth runs cold,
And slippers Mother Nature
In a wealth of bunny dust.
A poet needs to sing of Spring,
Once, before his book is closed;
For all the best are lionized
In bounded works of rambling prose.
The fair thee wells of Summer love
Give pause to thoughts of unplanned change,
And roots an artist's pen to scribe
The depth and breath of untold pain.
For me, the orange, gold and red
Are buffers in a life that eases
Through the Autumn's righting days,
And brings to you a willing heart
That dances as the moonlight fades.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
When the moonlight's right,
and the earthy smell of lavender
lifts to meet a deep, evening breeze,
and memories under long ago leaves,
begin to fill the empty present
with sensations of our first kiss,
I have trouble moving an inch
into my future. I miss its echoes.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
I read,
then chase the sun
around the house
to fuse the inspiration
and the words I’ll use
to write a poem after dark.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
Today's closing hangs lower than it did yesterday,
trying to mess with tomorrow's dreams.
Sitting here, dressed in a wry smile, my heart
whispers to a sky, tie-dyed with the jewel
of Navaho stone and the salmon pinks
of Tsimshian legend.
I feed myself with steam from Irish tea,
invoking the memory of my first Lakota sweat lodge,
and take comfort tracking what's left of tonight in Indian time;
tomorrow will have to wait 'til I get there.
This now is meant for savoring the scent,
sounds, and sights of Mother Earth
as she gets ready to tamp down the fire
of a troubled day, leaving my peace
under the watchful eyes of a Harvest Moon.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
"We won't have a society if we destroy the environment."
- Margaret Mead
It's time to face the facts, Jack, Jill;
give the marsh back to the ocean,
move uphill. Give the river back
its mouth, the shore to the sea.
It's way past time to clean the obscene –
ness from the blue-green waters
we rape to feed us. Dead zones exist
in the deep, yet we weep
when nature disturbs our ego.
We just don't get it. The need to breathe
begins in the sea. It's life, renewed,
in grasses that cleanse our ignorance,
in spite of our arrogance,
We are choking her to death
with stupidity and greed.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
Hold on;
me, make a quilt–
preplanned antiquity
for beds that are tight and lifeless
just like most marriages-
tight, little truth,
a show...
no thanks–
I like my sweat
primal in the bedroom,
the sharp color of our breathing
free, not a possession–
what you let go
loves home,
and moods
are better talked
about than left in folds–
if you bleed, too afraid to speak,
bitter wounds mount cold sheets–
what shade of sleep
is guilt
to wind
around your dreams.
If I say I love you,
every part of me is smiling-
all the stitching I need
to hold my mind
in place.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2006
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Maggie Flanaganwilkie Poem
Saffron light dipped and angled down
the stairwell of an abandoned train station
in such a way that one might think
God put Picasso in charge of painting
the sun-baked afternoon.
The amber hue on earth
was a sharp contrast
to his Blue Period sky.
Copyright © Maggie Flanaganwilkie | Year Posted 2005
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