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Synergy canít help but flow free when nature connects with manís vulnerability. (Image by J Corwin)
by Odin Roark
Staring up from my park bench,
Spartan newspaper-blanket adequate,
you flutter beneath lamp post warmth,
and I envy,
oh, how I envy.
When at midnight,
like every night,
lamp power shuts off,
you drop to my chest.
My eyes follow as you adjust,
my night moth visitation,
if only to shiver beneath my cupped hand.
Our hearts pulsate together,
still a sign of greatness,
our lives triumphant
against a worldís cruelty.
No blind chance this,
me of Pagliacci-tears,
you of a Marceau-powdered face.
Sleeping clowns we,
ready to welcome the nightís calliope of dreams.
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|Reviewed by Morgan Merriweather
|This is poetry delivered in style.|
|Reviewed by Mary Ann Biddinger
Unique the Palkuacci and Marceau tears tare the soul...
heartbeat of nature's in calliope of dreams.
Lady Mary Ann
|Reviewed by Ronald Hull
|Park bench philosophy. I like it. Makes me wonder why moths have all that powder on their wings.