“Remembering Lydia”

Lydia Hamilton Smith, born in Gettysburg, Pa., was the daughter of an African-American mother and an Irish father. When donations wither away for Civil War veterans, she uses her own earnings to help them. Lydia was born and died on Valentine’s day. “Remembering Lydia” There’s Lydia; we catch a glimpse of her among the burning…

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Kaleidoscope

With innocence and child-like eyes, she peers into the murky tube. A twist; a gasp of joy, her mouth now oohs! An aha moment of splendor as shadow turns to light as she, alone, creates amazing colored webs expressing mad excitement with each spin. Now she feels what the spider feels as he builds his…

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“The Wabbit”

Transfixed, befuddled and bemused since there’s no sense to life or rhyme. I cannot wait as there’s no time for time. My hour has set me on the run; my pocket watch is nonsense and a crime: repeats its days, still confused.

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Hadron Collider

Hadron Collider It’s only strange coincidence,  but over coffee this am we talk of the Hadron Collider.  And the first poem I read is: Archibald MacLeish (1892-1982) “The End of the World” Quite unexpectedly as Vasserot The armless ambidextrian was lighting A match between his great and second toe, And Ralph the lion was engaged…

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“My Quicksilver Life”

The cue ball’s measured tap now makes its move. Yet man predicts but seconds in its fate. Like life, quicksilver hearts are not defined. Tomorrow’s rain, a non-conclusive clime. If Chaos rules our days , accept his ways as juggled plates, airborne with jostling hands. Accepting Now is where we are sublime. If Science can…

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“On Ormond Beach”

“On Ormond Beach” Upon this beach, the people saunter by. Idyllic children splash at water’s edge. The breaking wave blows sea-foam in my eyes. My swim fins slide adeptly from this ledge. And, lo! my body, buoyed by the salt forgets. My being’s slipped its bony cage. I’m floating, spiny blob, homunculus, as once I…

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“Orca”

http://www.grammarghoulpress.com/chimera-66-writing-challenge-9 Breaking waves blow sea-foam in my eyes. My swim fins glide adeptly from this ledge. And, lo! my body, buoyed by the salt, forgets! My being’s slipped its bony cage. Free-floating, spiny blob, HOMUNCULUS as once I was my father’s spermal rage. I’m orca, playing, as my brain pretends: no more aerobic carnivore! Old…

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For Sabra

A Piece of Driftwood What’s left after a long and stormy night? Your life! You’ve weathered all it had to give. You, old beach relic, tell of such a plight that, as a fond reminder, through it lived. I’ll take you home with me; far from this sea. We’ll rock upon my porch and dream…

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