A-buzz
Wing Haven is a-buzz with patrons buying plants,
including me, and the usual birds and bees.
My heart is light with thoughts of you, we dance,
then in the hammock, we hug and cross our knees.
- Brenneman T. October 1, 2002
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Coaxing a Smile
Flowers are not the only plants
that brighten days or enhance.
The soul, when in more quiet mood
may find autumn fern more pleasing food.
Though the band that's full of beat
may lift me with rhythm to my feet,
my heart oft longs for string and bow
to sing me songs more soft and low.
In vast array of ladies born,
a myriad will sound the horn,
but I have found more love and grace
in coaxing a smile on one sweet face.
- Brenneman T. October 2, 2002
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Sped Into Lines
Hazard signs wave rhythmically against a pitch black road.
My car sped them into lines.
One hundred twenty miles an hour eased my heavy load,
passing mind's darkest etched designs.
- Brenneman T. October 3, 2002
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Stolen Wilderness
The crow, a lovely bluish-black,
calls out, struts, and fluffs her back.
A minor key in a major mess,
traffic has stolen her wilderness.
- Brenneman T. October 3, 2002
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Forever Close
God loves us.
Life is therefore
always good,
ever hopeful,
and love forever close.
- Brenneman T. October 3, 2002
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Worthwhile
To be close,
yet far away,
included in a smile,
is so much more
than words can say.
Love makes
a life worthwhile.
- Brenneman T. October 3, 2002
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Night Train
Riding the late train home,
tracks rhythmically reply.
The window is open,
the night cool and dry.
Dozing old man,
his tie on his sleeve.
I'd think he were dead
if his chest didn't heave.
Sudden noise in the tunnel,
bright lights flash and fly by,
then just tracks and the darkness,
rattling ear, midnight sky.
- Brenneman T. October 5, 2002
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Make-up
Nature isn't always fair or pretty,
but at least it's colors real.
Lions don't use make-up.
A blood-blush marks their meal.
- Brenneman T. October 6, 2002
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Great Soul
A great soul is yours
that touches me.
Courage is your way.
Old fears die of honesty.
Today the truth is good.
Our gratitude, a sure and glowing peace.
Intimacy with you is rich my love,
a warm and spirit-sewn fleece.
- Brenneman T. October 6, 2002
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In Space, They Meet
Slow be favored, fast obscene,
kill chaos, downing max. to the mean.
Enough to eat, eight hours sleep,
rob calorie's cow, calm eyes won't weep.
Riches buried in once foreign meditation
surface as gifts without expectation.
The TV off, a yoga mat,
a glass of water, lying flat.
Thoughts, they whirl inside a head,
then swirling down, rest until dead.
Spirit and a heart with constant beat,
hear silence follow, in space they meet.
- Brenneman T. October 7, 2002
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When It's You
Random seems specific
when it's you.
Win the lottery,
terrific!
But when the sniper
grows prolific,
luck can be horrific
when it's you.
- Brenneman T. October 8, 2002
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To Right My Table
It creeps unseen inside a dream,
and crawls below a thought I know.
An unmet want, with memory blunt,
sized then displayed by resentment's blade.
Desire may be artillery,
and I the mark, hopeless, stark.
Or calm I can let go and stand,
and lift myself with love to health.
Strong and stable to right my table,
More than fable, I'm truly able.
- Brenneman T. October 8, 2002
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So is God's Love...
...as anonymous
as a drop of water
that moistens the buried seed,
or a ray of sunshine
that then warms the earthen womb,
...as wondrous and powerful
as the miracle of life itself,
struggling to bring
it's potential to reality
through darkness to light,
...as complexly balanced
as the phenomenon
of the cloud
relating to sea and sun
along the beach horizon,
...as free a gift
as the waking
of my rested soul
to morning's sound and sight
of bird and butterfly,
...as deep and mysterious
as that sleep
that comes upon
my weary eye,
renewing in unconscious silence,
so is God's love.
- Brenneman Thompson October 10, 2002
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No One Cries
In a sadness, not depression,
I hear your truth, without confession.
As though gray sunshine in misting rain,
moonlight crossed our window pane.
With our sight-illumined eyes,
Our hearts, they touch, and no one cries.
- Brenneman Thompson October 11, 2002
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Emotional Sky
With arial effortlessness,
a condor glides
through the last pinks, blues and yellows,
of an emotional sky.
Hers is a wing tip's touch,
a feather-felt lullaby.
There is awesome reality
in both the flesh
under her huge talons,
and the smudged tear tracks
on my common human face
sensing her fleeting shadow go by.
- Brenneman Thompson October 15, 2002
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