Virtues

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She’s quiet, but there’s a flow
of unvoiced thoughts, her glow
has warmth of color, they blend in,
like the bows after the rain.

She smells pure
like the dews of the morning grass
her presence, her lure
seen a gerber in a vase?

She smacks his forehead
might hurt — glad it’s a sign
that she trusts his word
as they toast Mumm Cordon.

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But: like a gazelle, she’s ahead,
in a jungle, as the lion pursues
she finds a cave, is almost dead,
she sees that he sees her virtues.

In a world where happiness is rare,
where pretense is the new care
she loves as he lays bare
his truths, nothing more to share.

Refreshing is the breath of the spring,
when awash in the warmth of the sun,
their shadows are proportional, they grin,
their creating memories, moments of fun.

Now she isn’t quiet
her words sound right
she sees that he sees her,
gives him permission, her.

Faces And Hearts

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I see faces, aching
for acceptance, hearts
prepping for penance.
Acceptance and penance, use them
They’re available, mean them.

An old, homeless man wobbled,
waiting for red to turn green
When a taxi hit a puddle,
his soaked shirt stuck to his skin.

The car shrieked to a stop, the driver,
his teeth glistened, he laughed
The man’s eyes lowered, the poorer,
he stood there as the car moved.

The breeze was cold and wet
The man walked, then paused
He had no cash or check
He walked, and stopped.

Night glowed, stars assembled
He on a bench slipped into dreaming
Someone patted him and whispered
I’m the driver, he said, you were forgiving.

Both ate sandwich the driver brought
He scanned the man, a deja vu from before
The man had stood, the driver remembered, between him and a gun
Look at the scar, the man quickly said, from the bullet of ’84.

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The driver’s eyes swelled with tears,
the man’s with pride – and both hugged,
then smiled and sighed
Who said acceptance and penance have died.

But, I see faces aching
for acceptance, hearts
prepping for penance.
Acceptance and penance, use them
They’re available, mean them.

Father and Son

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When they had a hearty laugh doing a selfie, and his budding teeth have blossomed.

An Impromptu Poem

Their love’s not strange
Like all fathers and all sons they are,
Their equations can’t change
For how many years there are

A father and a son
They wait for the Sun,
In the middle of the night
When the Moon shines bright

The father tries again
The forecast predicted rain,
Clouds shroud the Moon
The son cries soon

Rain lashes at the windows
Flash, the Moon goes,
The son isn’t sleepy
The father is weepy

Then he croons Little Piggy
The rain’s jiggy jiggy
Clouds clear, the Moon returns
The Sun’s still far, off the light turns

The father and the son
After the day’s fun
Embrace sleep and night
For morning’s first light.