Never Meant For You

The Lonely Author

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Never Meant For You

Just because
you’re my grand obsession
my beautiful poetic muse
doesn’t mean these little words
were meant for you
we both know
there is a clock by my bed
that marks every lonely hour
you’re not by my side
that doesn’t mean
I wrote these words for you
yes, I admit
my lips ache for you
as I breathe your words
crave your prose
which flow through my burning veins
that doesn’t mean these words
were written for you
just because
you’re my north and my south
and I refuse to live
a day without your poetry
as your words fill me with joy
as your rhymes beat with my heart
don’t read between blurred lines
just get over it
these little words were
never meant for you

Hola.  Missed you.  Took a two week hiatus to rest. Lonely Author is well and still waiting for…

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My Diary: The Clouds In My Head Shine

Gerald's Rather Strange Diary

I got up earlier than usual for the sandwich filling part of the week.‭ ‬A train was coming into the station in my head but I suddenly found I was barefoot and had to return home to put on New Testament sandals.‭ ‬I had to visit a city perched on top of a telegraph pole‭ ‬-‭ ‬I heard complicated messages as simple vibrations and placed a tuning fork against the left flank of a passing asteroid.‭ ‬Friends and I looked at blank patches of sky and found pictures in them before I absentmindedly dropped a song into a glass of wine,‭ ‬the music grew fainter and then stopped altogether when it touched the bottom.‭ ‬I wondered,‭ ‬while looking at a cobbled path,‭ ‬whether I could communicate across time and then had to make way for a horse and cart‭ ‬-‭ ‬the man in the back had just invented the first…

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Ron’s Mom On: What’s That Smell?

The Time Tunnel

“A Reeking Response”

By Geraldine “The Jet” Denson (Ron’s Mom)

I was born and reared in a small town in lower Alabama, way back when! So, “I’ve lived the life and wore the t-shirt”, as some people may say.  I was born into this world with the “smell” permeating the air.

As a very small child, I had no recognition of the odor that penetrated my nostrils. My little consisted only of love from my devoted parents and acceptance from my siblings, as we played and grew up together.

One facet of my life—of interest to some and well known others—played an important part in how the “smell” directly affected me and that was my father’s heritage! The “odor” of what we now know as “racial injustice” did not penetrate my nostrils because my father did not represent the stereotypical image of being “dirty and lazy”. Therefore, he was judged…

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