A Thinking of You Haiku…

Mulling it over, Mother wishes you many More-to-come  birthdays… (for Carol, August 28, 2016)

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“Corinna’s Going a-Maying”

Corinna’s Going a-Maying by Robert Herrick (1648) (Just wanted to share this…Such a lovely poem.  Seize the day theme!) Get up, get up for shame! The blooming morn Upon her wings presents the god unshorn. See how Aurora throws her fair Fresh-quilted colours through the air: Get up, sweet slug-a-bed, and see The dew bespangling…

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“All The Beautiful Young Men”

“All the Beautiful, Young Men” I see the beauty in their brave-lit eyes. At Omaha, it is their shining hour. The camera’s caught the gray of early dawn. Men stand; committed to a greater power. The ramp now opens; there’s the glint of morn. No turning back ; this is no time for pause. Momentum…

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The Surfer

Oh, Jon:  he owns that blue green tunnel’s sway before bold nature casts him from the sea. He’s god and for a moment has his way. What man resists such magic brevity? The moment flows and swift the water flies. Around such power one might turn away but surfers are committed as they ride momentum’s…

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“You Take My Hand”

  and in that gesture satisfy my dizzy, naked need, spellbound as spent leaf whose golden moment has no hunger left but blissful floats mid magic flutter back to earth.

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Fish Fantasy

Fish Fantasy Upon this beach, the people saunter by. Idyllic children play at water’s edge. The warm wind blows its foam into my eyes. My heavy heart sinks silent from this ledge. But, lo! my body; buoyed by the salt, forgets. My mind now slips its bony cage. Free floating, spiny blob.  I’m fish, default…

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This Red, Red Rose is Out of Place!

“This Red, Red Rose is Out of place!” One does not leave a rose mid sandy beach: Perchance, a seagull dropped it here somehow? As much as I might like, I cannot stretch nor will I bend… or to your logic bow. Oh, No! This dying rose is out-of-place! It needs some dainty green and…

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The Sound of Brass

Oppose her Jihad yell oppressive is death’s knell on San Bernadino drear! Omniscient General’s hear Obama’s timid voice. Oh, mourn our leader’s choice. Observe Malik’s embrace: One mother’s soulless phrase. Oppose her hate-shrill song Ominous, not vetted. (Though I speak with the tongues of men and of angels, and have not love, I am become…

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“Waiting For the Morn”

“Waiting for the Morn” Morning lifts my dark curtain of night; sea-gulled and wing’ed; warm satin bright. She’ll scatter the dust of a billion stars grace sweeping the universe here to Mars. Copyright, Jacqueline Casey, 2012.  All Rights Reserved.

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The Clown

The Clown And so the old town clock is winding down. It’s time to leave the party; say goodbye. Some souls would rather stay and play the clown. His fantasies go deep and so he sighs. He thinks he’s Bogie; somewhere there’s still life. He’s lonely; haunts the bars for his Bacall. She’s blonde and…

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