Just Turning Over A New Leaf.


Turning Over A New Leaf.

Sometimes I find
myself wishing
that I was a bright
scarlet leaf,
freed from all that bound me,
tumbling happy-go-lucky
with any passing breeze.

Fleeing the
bitter chill
of moments ahead
sailing south
for the winter,
one somersault
at a time.

Then landing on some
distant beach
a bright foreign
shell for curious
tourist to
wonder over.


Tragic Encore To An Eight year Voyage And Shipwreck.

I am washed up
and marooned on
regret's shore.

It's an island of one,
with many palms waving
their vegetative farewells.

Near a little oasis
called Crawford,
I'll spend my final days,
burdened by the bloody grit
of Iraqi sands and Afghanistan .



Petal-ing A Way To Peace.

With delicate finesse
she wove yellow daisy
chains in my
rebellious veteran's
shoulder length hair.
Christening me a
flower child,
in a world
by useless war,
then I knitted
my lips to hers
in grateful kisses
for my transformation.


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