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Yes and yes. I saw it clear as this computer. A beautiful; moment captured by your mediating brain and fingers/ TY Judi

Fragment from “Waking up, Asleep” See, I don’t believe time is linear if you stop stop believing despite the evidence of sunset/sunrise full-moons marking calendars without without a lunar cycle the orb of reflection, repeatedly repeatedly takes your breath away And for a moment you’re not you Rather, you’re a bicycle repairman who keeps a diary And you write: “Is lunacy just the monthly moment I wake up I woke up to what was what was really going on?” You’ve never been good

Thanks guys. Hmmm, Phil you have a point. Was sticking to a form, replacing vowels with hard consonants, much like the original Japanese or Chinese. But you have a point;-) Thanks Tony for seeing through my thin attempt at form;-) Hope you'all are well. J

hi Juris Great title. Buy into the L1-3. Is L4 needed? cheers Phil

Love that notion Judi and the whimsy of eavesdrop. A poem to luxuriate. thank you for sharing Phil

Sitting Under My Flowering PearThe gilded banter quickenswith each gust of wind.Speaking all at the same time,the restless leaves’ chatter risesand falls riding the wings of the zephyr,scents of sage, apple,and honeysuckle hitch on board.The glitter of the golden sun peeksthrough the lacy canopy to eavesdrop while I let the lyrics wash over me. ~~ Judi Van Gorder

After the slumber of a thousand christmases i woke in a forest as the earth’s guest, i received the news about the masses, from the oaks and the dispossessed. fireflies weaved stories of comets and crucifixes out of light carried by the subtle winds of the fireflies flight i passed through the dream of each dreamer on a christmas night,i scattered the embers of a comet and splinters from a crucifix,i became a cathedral of eternal regret for faithless prayers searching for an outlet. on the twenty fifth day i passed over rooftops and waited to hear the caroling of a name, i heard emptiness echo

Cheers Tony. I do like to play🙃 all the best Phil

Nice one, Phil! Tony 😀

Thanks Tony... I can only hope that I meet all of his requirements.

Barry, it's a most powerful work I certainly hope is not autobiographical. I was about to start highlighting, but there's too much good to highlight; I'd have to quote the whole thing. Tony

Messing around with an alternate version. This one has punctuation. You Thirteen-eight up on the pole where birds fly by from wire to wire, and you are up there, higher math, while I am down here high on crack (I mainline smack). Don’t need a dust- mask, need a hockey helmet. Birds fly by.

Yes Judi, have thought about you. I read that one of the fires is Rhode Island sized, as big as my entire state! 😮

Have I been out of the loop this long? Yes this was about the time the fires started and they are still burning. waking in meadows with white ash coverlets random embers glow ~~jvg

These legs are now ghosts carrying the moon who is pushing me back to the wreckage of the car. I can now gauge my new throne with wheels that will carry me through wars.Tree speaks close to where I was hit,asking to borrow legs, he wants to stride across clouds, who would catch him, who would care?-he could tempt passing angels to rest on branches and make real lifeless limbs, put suns into wheels to float through heaven's corridors. Carer unseals new medication.what is the sound of two feet clapping? she asks-followed by the sliding of tablets killing fires. Then I remember carrying my heart

Thanks Tony for making a new location for it. I wasn't certain as to where it rightly belonged. As for the story line... the violin in this narrative is basically the prime subject "Personified". The young lady is but an instrument who allows her violin to express itself to the utmost. I didn't want to spend too much time describing the fact the violin in this story, is capable of experiencing/voicing itself even though it still sounds as only a violin can. But... she knew. I indicated as carefully as I could, without making it seem like a physical relationship. The young violinist

An epitaph to the self? Well-expressed! Tony

Bob, you kept my attention as I read to the very end. Superficially, the ending comes across as anticlimactic, but really, there's a sense of appreciation, detectable (and appreciable) to an empath. Well done! Tony PS -- I'll move this to the Prose forum where it rightfully belongs. (Ah, never mind I see it's in a blog. I'll see if I can promote it to the Front Page or at least feature it here in the blogs.)

Juris, I hadn't thought of rain as a consonant, but that's exactly what it is, and a "hard" one. This is terrific. Haiku/tanka-like but better! Tony

Thank you, Juris! It's not my magnum opus, but we'll let it ride on PMO! Tony 😀

Thank you, Joel, for your kind reply. Good one! I didn't catch that. Tony

It’s Time To Go After many years have passed- Filled with happiness and woe; The good lord will call to me, When it’s time to go. He will offer his hand- I will try hard to stay, His grip will gradualy tighten, As I slip away. Loved ones say I’m sleeping now, There’s a smile upon my face. All worries that I had, Will have then...been erased. From my earthly life I had- To cherish and to love; My spirit will journey To a better place above. Dear LORD...I’m coming- I looked forward to this day, To be welcomed to your kingdom

Welcome, Bill. I’m excited that you’ve joined. This is a chillingly accurate account of those infamous events. Of course, I saw “Once Upon A Time in Hollywood,” with its alternate ending, at the drive-in theater last summer. Today, Manson is gone, and the other usual occupant of that household who escaped the butchering seemingly by chance is still at large, in France, himself a fugitive from justice. (“Rosemary’s Baby” is a personal favorite of mine. I watch it often whenever it is on.) Nice work! Tony

It was a warm summer night in LA, August ’69, A single night of infamy and psychic darkness for mankind. Sharon Tate was close to fulfilling her empty outcries, when the night burned its cloak in the sunrise. Earlier before dawn, a quiet eerie breeze came alive and kept blowin’ down the canyon to 10050 Cielo Drive. A night so quiet, you could almost hear the sound of ice, rattling in cocktail shakers in the homes of celebrity paradise. The canyon walls came alive with eerie echoes. Blood-curdling screams and cries of “Please don’t, Oh,