septemberman

By rlvs - E-mail this page - Add to My Favorites - Add to Blog List - See other blogs in Poetry

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

chicken soup (Ron Van Sweringen - Copyright 2006)

there's a chicken in my soup or could that just be chicken poop I'm not sure just what to do guess I should trade bowls with you Sign in to see full entry.

what would you do? (Ron Van Sweringen - Copyright 2006)

if a mouse lived in your house what would you do? set a trap or take a nap it's up to you. Sign in to see full entry.

Monday, August 21, 2006

the visitor (Ron Van Sweringen - Copy right 2006)

it arrives unknown in the black of night passing in silence away from sight casting no shadow on the cold bare floor it enters my bedroom through the open door bloodless fingers worn thin by time snuff out the flame at my side collecting in full the price mortals pay alas death visited my garden... Sign in to see full entry.

eight going on nine (Ron Van Sweringen copyright 2006)

early morning is the best time that's what my big brother used to say if you wanna catch the big ones you gotta start early in the day toe heads gleaming in the sun sitting on a rock, fishing pole in hand waiting for the cork to pop a perfect summer day idled away side by side my brother and I a... Sign in to see full entry.

pages (Ron Van Sweringen - Copyright 2006)

pages in a letter read or unread are like voices in room too soft to be heard or memories too dear to be forgotten somewhere in my heart on a dusty shelf they lie your loveletters Sign in to see full entry.

time to say goodbye (Ron Van Sweringen - Copyright 2006)

finally the moment comes you bend to kiss the lips that no longer respond to touch a cold hand that was once warm in yours and gaze into loving eyes now forever closed this moment of longing so profound that no one in the world could possibly know the time to say goodbye Sign in to see full entry.

the place I call home (Ron Van Sweringen - Copyright 2006)

snow clouds fill the sky flying crows like black comets silloutted against them their angry discourse echoing over the fields below corn husks crunch underfoot where a forlorn stalk remains the token of summers glory now spent naked branches brittle and black like gnarled fingers reach up to mark... Sign in to see full entry.

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