Dance of Dragons | A Poem by Alistair Muir

On soaring wings the dragons fly –
They swoop and dance and fill the sky;
Kaleidoscopic colours – hues –
Providing Terpsichore the Muse;
Their mating flights transfix the gaze –
Continue on for days and days;
But beauty can be dangerous –
These jealous titans perilous;
Rejected by potential mate –
The males react in angry state;
Attacks are made upon the ground –
Accompanied by fearsome sound;
But once again they take the sky –
Once more to dance – to mate or die.



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There’s Nothing Sexy about Scotch Tape | A Poem by G.S. Katz

It provides a function
Been around for ages
Gotten better over time
The matte finish less sticky than
ever before

Despite the chemical smell
it’s a tried and true product
From Scotland I presume
Though that could be a misnomer

Like buying it in bulk
At the big box store
48 rolls
Won’t buy it again for 10 years

Not sexy
No way
Functional to the max
That’s kinda Hot

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Sex Drives Come and Go | A Poem by G.S. Katz

When I was younger
It was all about sex
When I was in mid-life
It was all about sex

Now I’m approaching twilight
Dusk thereafter
It’s still about sex
But a good sandwich…

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Rustic | A Poem by JD DeHart

They would hardly call me rustic,
though my knuckles can bleed.
They would hardly see my strength,
though my face has stubble.
I am a mixture of father and brother,
a little mother thrown in,
the well-lit room of my growing up
and all the family warnings
lighting my way, stone by stone.
They would hardly call me rustic,
though I have been stepping all
this way, mostly blind, sometimes
scrambling, uncertain, unsure,
but in perpetual motion.

Visit JD at http://jasondehartjustliving.blogspot.com.

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Sleep Eludes Me | A Poem by G.S. Katz

A full night’s sleep
Lately seems like a waste of time
The early morning is bliss
Quiet before the crush of humanity
begins its rhythmic stomp

It’s good having a dog
That wakes me everyday
Well before dawn
Her needs more paramount to mine

When tired in the day
I prefer the 20 minute nap
A zone out in paradise
No dreams to question
Battery on charge, life in motion

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Chomping | A Poem by Donal Mahoney

For some, too soon.
But none know when.

For some she’s still
a child at 49

with cancer
in the gut

spreading,
chomping.

Stage 4,
the doctors say.

Chemo
may help.

Runs in the family.
Brother survived it.

For some, too soon.
But none know when.

Visit Donal at http://booksonblog12.blogspot.com/.

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Branches | A Poem by Joe Brennand

feathers ruffle in
a nest, snow broken branches
sway in a cool breeze

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