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Soft pressure of my boot onto dirt sodden asphalt pulls me towards the earth. The gentle tug bearing me downward to root and grow limbs with leaves. 

A Black capped chickadee rests momentarily on bare auburn colored boxberry branch
snow falls again as we all watch March blow in. 
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Homeless

church attic burned out
shotgun blast shattered window pane
squatter tags
why would anyone choose to live here?

cracks in the floor
concrete rubble
asbestos dust
bare floors

you could live here
thrown out unwanted
high on fill in the blank
no money no food no family no meds
gay transgender young old straight alone selling
whatever you can to bed down
in this homeless house of god
where is the community
that serves you?

-Roberta Rahmer

The above poem is based upon this photo
from the prompt at RWP.

Wordle: Read Write Poem prompt 105

My anti war poem

The moon curled
back behind the trees
a slim shell moved
under the radar

Cooled wind of neglect
traced empty husks
man made meteors hit the ground
& moved into abiding tissue

Your heart pierced by precious metal
stars bleed out overhead
I telephone home where the world is now safer
and say nothing.

Image above created by: Images of Worldes

pomegranate

licketysplit they come running
“mommy mommy
can you eat the seeds?”
“daddy daddy you
can’t eat the skin!”
suck the juice
spit the pit
a sweet yet tart
juicy explosion
of silly boys
poking their
faces into mine
to see if I
swallow the seeds
or spit them
into my napkin

sweep me in

for I track madness

 

breathe cold damp winds

down miserable backbones

past thoughts

hail dance

across your rooftop

souls scatter

 

am I not war?

Also, I would like to add, I wrote one poem with the word vagina in it…..can you believe the amount of visitors I get for vagina! Unbelievable.  I should use penis next time…only why?

sweet succulent juicy
red bites of
summer smeared
across my lips
strawberry delicious kiss

circling

a hawk flies

overhead

during my drive

around

rt 45

 

will  it

swoop

                                  dive

down

to grab

an unsuspecting field mouse?

 

when I was younger

a seabird flew low

wings wide

in front our canoe

a snake held tight

in both talons

my heart raced

or maybe

it was a stick

black

curved

stiff

for a nest?

 

the hawk circles above

lower

            lower still

 

my car

does not notice

the other cars ahead

nor the red light at the

end of the road

 

I look down

in time

safely stopped

gazing skyward yet again

the hawk is gone

I drive off

 

 

 

 

 

 

autumn progresses

 

languid oak leaves

     float

          downward

 

 

large brown shiny

curved tips

     wind catchers

 

giddy children run

across

     wet brown carpet

     haphazard landings

tirelessly

     seeking worms

 

 

happy hands drop

slithering grey creatures

     compost bucket  yawned welcome

 

winter warmth amidst

     eggs shells

     coffee grinds

          decay

 

 

 

 

P. A7 NYT 5.17.08

 

her body
ghostly
before death

one visible eye
distantly gazes out
from under a white
muslin shroud

Safia Ali
lays dying
in her home
a hut in Somalia

surrounded by
villagers who
peer in waiting

her 5 children
cannot be seen
we are told
one curls up
tight into
his mothers
body

Safia Ali
last ate
1 week ago

war
famine
drought
brought her
to this place

I cannot
turn the
page
afraid
I’ll forget the face
of
Safia Ali

I want to
be haunted
by her image
forever

I plead with
her one eye
with the reporter
with the photographer
please
keep
her
breathing

tonight
my children will
at some point
climb up
into bed

I will lay awake
surrounded by
their sweet breath
and warm bodies
thinking of the
children
of Safia Ali.