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Monday, August 15, 2011


“I know just what you’re thinking,”
Said the keyhole to the key,
“But I object and will not let
You stick that thing in me!”

“Who knows where all you’ve stuck yourself,
By accident or not?”
The key then blushed a shade of rust;
He knew that he’d been caught.

“Those other holes mean nothing, babe!
You’re the only one for me!
After all what's a keyhole
Without her special key?”

"You know that we’re a perfect fit
And I make your insides turn.”
The keyhole sighed and said, “Alright.”
Some keyholes never learn!

Sunday, August 7, 2011

"Summer Promises"

Poetic Bloomings "View from a Park Bench" picture

Fall nibbles away at summer’s
Potential as the sun fights its way to the
Piebald ground,
Bartered for shadows by nearly lifeless leaves, knowing
All too soon they will lie in
Bleached heaps and be blown into gutters,
Soaking up the sunbeams while they still can.

That season of openness, of tank tops and
Candor, closes. Hidden
Now behind coat buttons and scarves
Wrapped round and round and round.

A park bench sits empty and thoughtful, its wooden slats
Remembering the warm,
Cloudless days when young lovers
Sat with thigh pressed against thigh and made their
Summer promises.