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Literature Text
Astronaut in the clouds,
can you catch a falling star
Light skies of furnace
Tears to dust a heart of ash
Blood moon
Make a wish
Close your eyes
Hold your breath
Launch of prayer
Will of the Gods
Explode the night,
a supernova
can you catch a falling star
Light skies of furnace
Tears to dust a heart of ash
Blood moon
Make a wish
Close your eyes
Hold your breath
Launch of prayer
Will of the Gods
Explode the night,
a supernova
Literature
cnoc cnoc
Upon a green monadnock ‘Neath schizophrenic weather Is in my mind aye-padlocked Midst queries of time’s ledger Soggy fries made memories Quiche of a chilly nature Tortellini treasuries? Nah, cake was best I’d wager Raindrops like small sunrises Weaving down beaten walkways Fences, sunburn, surprises Goose bumps find their feet ablaze Pages of a chapter-book Ink made from broken hemlock Spilled in joy that overtook Upon a green monadnock
Literature
Different Feet
Big paws little paws. Talons galore. Webbed feet no feet. On their belly goes. Some have toes others hooves. Every version unique as can be. Allows the creature to move freely. So cherish each.
Literature
The Day That Tuna Died
[Tuna was our Samoyed rescue dog, who died of internal injuries a year after being hit by a car] We carried her out on an oaken bier gilt with gold, painted in red, drawn by five horses and—no, instead We carried her out on black velvet strung over two poles, accompanied by minstrels playing a solemn dirge. No, we carried her out in our arms, blood-soaked, face frozen in a scream, and laid her in a wheelbarrow. No, she ran out, danced lightly down the steps, smiled back at us one last time and was gone. The day Tuna died—her given name was Moonglow but who the hell wants to be called Moonglow?—was mid-winter, but, unwontedly, unexpectedly, a day above freezing. We wheeled her—four eunuch slaves carried her high in her palanquin— the carriage-horses neighed and stamped their feet in the cold—Tuna ran happily up to the long grass by the vegetable garden and waited for us to reach her, slowly pushing the garden wagon through the snow, carrying shovels. The day that Tuna died it
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Comments2
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Love the first 2 lines, great poem