tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59599802011-04-21T14:03:49.728-07:00RipplesThe place where thoughts formGravyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990424436200983812noreply@blogger.comBlogger41100tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5959980.post-1083110269304485002004-04-27T16:57:00.000-07:002004-12-21T14:34:07.080-08:00EireI am not Irish, but the fair island calls me back:
distant, furry, moving white dots on the sloping bed of green.
small empty roads luring me onward, inwards, towards
playful dogs hiding, pouncing and giving chase;
Mrs. Kennedy’s motherly tone,
forcing more eggs on me in the morning;
Sharing lamb stew with a proud octogenarian for lunch
who, in emphatic Irish, was passionately explaining Gravyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990424436200983812noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5959980.post-1081541967058510882004-04-09T13:19:00.000-07:002004-12-21T14:35:36.776-08:00Blue worldsA Mermaid
meets me in my dream
She gracefully swims closer
as I slowly drift; downward, aimlessly
in a big blue world,
within which she thrives
Gazing past the threshold that separates our worlds,
She mischievously smiles, and gingerly whispers
whispers of her dreams
Of taking flight with me,
up in the big blue world,
in which I've survived
with my dreams and hersGravyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990424436200983812noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5959980.post-1080345180000266302004-03-26T15:53:00.000-08:002004-12-21T14:38:31.516-08:00SinfulHer nose is perfect, her fingers long and slender.
Her delicate ear is pierced, twice.
Her eyebrows sophisticatedly curve, without being plucked into shape.
Her elegance is accentuated only by simplicity.
Her beauty pours out of her intense, and intensely blue, eyes.
The eyes that pierce through me with each glance.
She is delicate, agile, athletic, and feminine; passionate, humorous, Gravyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990424436200983812noreply@blogger.comtag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5959980.post-1066505207486713442003-10-18T13:26:00.000-07:002004-12-21T14:39:37.346-08:00Platform #3For your eyes,
I scour the faces on the passing train
on platform number 3.
There are fleeting, momentary peeks at you,
peeking through strangers' eyes.
Glimplses of your soul, vanishing as quickly
as the blurring faces whisking past my eyes.
The train passes, and the faces vanish, leaving me all alone
to wonder which train to ride on
that takes me to you.Gravyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07990424436200983812noreply@blogger.com