“Sarcasm”

Proud, strutting peacock, bilious scream.  Your noisy scene affronts my ears; then my brain. If chatter your device for breaking ice,  then your attempt for cool now goes astray.  Sarcastic jester, fool upon your stage. As partner in your play,  I’ve  disengaged. Photo Credit: Made Hery Santosa

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“The Hoarders”

  We’re tripping at the thrift store before lunch. Compulsion is a noisy swarm of geese. We wear the surgeon’s mask to stop the dust. We’re rescue angels wearing pale, pink gloves. A Louis Vuitton leather purse; a gown for fifty cents.  An old Mark Twain is found. A ghostly pall hangs over all debris;…

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“The Game”

 “The Game” Faint amber glow remains to haunt their fiery past. Her slumber stirs.  His candle cast and with its burn, her snuffer there again to taunt but not to trim his light. His wick still wild with passion’s flight. dreams emboldened; reckless delight. Painting by Henry Fuseli (1741-1825)

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“Sahara”

Photo: National Geographic “Sahara” The setting sun now breaks my drifting dream and threads that needle to my passion’s flight resplendent in its dignity, our scene compels imagination with delight. The fading sun now cools my sun dune air and calm, our camels rock the dusty swells. A steamy haze along horizons flare where desert’s…

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