What is this Plot?
I know it Not.
The spin is, what?

One Thane is here
to see and say,
What word am I?
What silence?
Can there be?

I am away
from myself
in air and time.
Most sickly
have I been.

Better now…
Having capacity…
More air to swell
the lungs, not brine.
I can breathe,
My breath doth
catch me.

A late winter trial
affixed to my brain.
My body, it could
not speak.
No breath
to breathe.

( This seems ironic and chronic,… now that I am writing this, but it came off my pen this night, last, when I got one of your lovely missives at my site, and so you get the poem back, intact without reproof, “Oh well! All’s well with love and roses. I love your words, they drive me to say things, I might love someday, when I understand what this wordplay does.”)

On with my tale.
The sore soft
throat of Trust
has loosed it’s thread.
As in this world
we dissappear,
only to return.

I’ve been off
the web for days.
Now on my return,
I am quested to
repay in apples,
(Pommes), mine
Words, as absurd,
as they are,
…to observe,
the meter
of the line.

For one brief
aire in time,
I fell upon your door
and opened wide
In this scheme to
draw around
the glen
sounds and aires…
Of a music,rarely heard.

The welcoming call of
the heart, the hearth within.
A circular rhythm
of rhymes and skeins.
A lively band of words.
Soldiers in a tale
Of dreams.

Words worn, well,
by warmth
of sun, and
cold of night.

Time’s remembrance
in this night
Reigning skeins
of scenes
frozen bright.
Cannot hide
heaven’s door
from our sight.

Love of being,
being of love.
Having full knowledge
of words in play.
Thoughts drawn
on a moments breath.

I do believe
our collection
is observed.
I feel the frowns
of my own
self-editing device.

What that mind, Mine?
I?… Questioning?…Why?
I think twice.
and come back again.
Our connection
is a delight
“in the forest of the night”
‘Daylight come, and Me gotta go home”

Bob and weave,
dunk and run,
I am a
Runion on the run.

How does this
Playing in___
to real life?
I am willing
to find out.

I probably won’t change,
As consistent, as, I Are.
To do this, this way, and that.
Playing ourselves
as obviously as children…
dabbling in a babbling brooke,
Then I am game.

I am working to attire
from my past,
This childe’s life.
Being me…,
The go-between to
in-between corners
and angles
of that life.

This Submariner’s
of that Sea.

I don’t know a lot,
but, I have a way.
More and more,
I check my cramped
at the door.

You have definitely
opened me to a world
of ‘near’ verse.
I come to play
as children
in that brooke.

If this is
what you see,
Then, I am
yours to be.
A correspondent
of change.

Thoughts fulfilled,
by arrangements
of words drawn.
Language driven aires.
Respondents to
the elements
of Life.

As work and play
and family,
and prayer,
Work to reveal
the Path.
Each generation
Bares the seed
of life on earth.

Now is soon
this Spring
to come.
That time
begins again.
Reknewal of hope.
Reknewal of plans.

Plan one.
For now
I must go.
I have stayed
beyond time…
and may have
vex’d m’lady.

you are a love
to invite
the truth
the lines.

I go with,
and say,
good afternoon
to goodnight.
I am glad again
to be in your sight.
Read by you
with delight.

the blush
of the rush
to the head.
I am done.
For what
I have been
for this

Peace, Love, and Hope.
A Real World Body
With A Plan.

I had a moment,
Okay, and a smile.
Love that,

Trust the Rust-2007-

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by trust the rust (PM , CC ) on Sunday March 4, 2007 @ 5:14 PM   (del)

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