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 Mar 2021 Chips
Rupert Pip
Statues
 Mar 2021 Chips
Rupert Pip
Perhaps that's the point of it all,
the mate of the soul,
they cannot be two feet down
and smothered in endless
concrete, but instead they
must be made of words untrue,
a lapse of perfect fiction,
for when they come to flesh
and blood, your eyes can't
seem to breathe and your
heart leaps and leaps.
Leafy ferns and little frogs
Toads live in the garden
Weeds and grass and daffodils
And ****...I beg your pardon

Yes **** is in there from the cat
That roams around the houses
Just pick it out or grind it in
It should be full of mouses (meeces or mice)

There's ceramic figurines in there
Little deers and little dogs
To go along with little stones
And plastic little logs

But, beware  the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at

There's ******* blown from up the road
Candy wrappers and old tins
The neighbor kids are lazy so,
They never throw it in the bins

The cat lies sunning lazily
Beneath a summer sun of gold
With it's job of chasing meeces down
For a while, put on hold

There's ivy, climbing everywhere
And things you can not tell
They got there from the squirrels
But you keep them for the smell

But, beware  the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see just where he's at


You tend the garden lovingly
Moving figures in and out
You never move the gnomes too much
Too much trouble, I won't doubt

You transplant flowers, move some trees
Cut the weeds back, till the soil
You head inside, the whistle blows
The kettles on the boil

While you are gone, something goes on
The gnomes attack the cat
You come back out, and wonder why
The gnome has lost his hat

yes, beware the garden gnome
A treacherous beast is he
With evil eyes and long white beard
He is plotting after thee
The garden gnome looks daffy
In his jacket and his hat
But, look deep in the gnomey eyes
And you'll see he's looking at the cat!!
 Feb 2021 Chips
Kai
Morning Frost
 Feb 2021 Chips
Kai
White tendrils of morning smoke
Flee before a rising sun
Frost solid in darkness awoke
That night's sanctuary done.

Remember the magic in night
You, hidden from harsh light
Of day, company found in peace
Under full moon, if it'd never cease.

Oh where's it gone the moon
A full sky through different tune
Black melting, streaks on a wall
White rising, wafting out the hall.
 Feb 2021 Chips
RLee
The Pearl
 Feb 2021 Chips
RLee
Oh washed upon the sand.
Cracked open by the waves.
In between the clam meat,
A shiny pearl there lay.

The merpeople gawk and envy,
As a crippled man picks it up.
Takes it through the sand dunes,
Across the open lane,
And up, up, up
to his apartment

He sets it down beside him,
And off to bed he goes.
When the morning sun shines brightly
A handsome man arose.
Made by My friend and I.
In Ocean’s wide domains,
    Half buried in the sands,
Lie skeletons in chains,
    With shackled feet and hands.

Beyond the fall of dews,
    Deeper than plummet lies,
Float ships, with all their crews,
    No more to sink nor rise.

There the black Slave-ship swims,
    Freighted with human forms,
Whose fettered, fleshless limbs
    Are not the sport of storms.

These are the bones of Slaves;
    They gleam from the abyss;
They cry, from yawning waves,
    “We are the Witnesses!”

Within Earth’s wide domains
    Are markets for men’s lives;
Their necks are galled with chains,
    Their wrists are cramped with gyves.

Dead bodies, that the kite
    In deserts makes its prey;
Murders, that with affright
    Scare school-boys from their play!

All evil thoughts and deeds;
    Anger, and lust, and pride;
The foulest, rankest weeds,
    That choke Life’s groaning tide!

These are the woes of Slaves;
    They glare from the abyss;
They cry, from unknown graves,
    “We are the Witnesses!”
 Feb 2021 Chips
no bows only rain
her eyes were the color of burnt sienna
arched over pools of black.
she had the smell of chimney on her breath
and wrinkles like flowing smoke around her lips.
she looked an age only defined by sullen experience, matured from countless wakeful nights.
its impossible to guess just how many years her face met the pillow
and the pillow soaked her tears.
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