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Norman Kilgour 

The Earth Throws a Party

Hi There.

Say – I hear it’s your birthday.

From the stork a gift!                                                   

Gentle tidings –

Let the magic unfold

And envelope the world

In congenial madness.

Your eye stars

Will keep watch as you bring on the sun,

The call of trumpets

And the stallions parade,

A pony with harp

Tries dancing all day.

Entirely woman –

A perceptual wish:

Keen tigers and turtles

For jungles not run,

Gyrating voices

From incense unbound,

Mistress of beauty

Tulips are one,

Fruitful encounters

I hope you can come. 

The Leaf

Saw a leaf the other day

And it reminded me of you

For when I tried to pick it up

It turned on end and flew.

 

So I tried to chase it down 

And many times got near,

But it forever seemed to be teasing

And from my hand would veer.

 

Yet fluttering golden yellows

Are such a romantic’s delight

With crimson blushes burning the heart

Making me pursue the flight

 

As to why the object of my desire

Chooses not to stop for a rest

When all I need is a joyous moment

And not to a book be pressed.

 

So sometime on an autumn day

When the brisk wind has set you free,

You might see a man still running

And if he’s after that leaf, it’s me.

A Winters Dream

This afternoon was lovely;

The haze melted away,

And cotton clouds

Softly cuddled some marigolds.

The honeysuckle scent                                                           

Which lightly oiled a warm air breeze

Washed away the last full-ripe cherry

To fall upon a pungent leaf,

And each immigrant bird

Began to camouflage its sparkling song                                                                 

As the floral trees of Spring

Formed the season’s arbor in olive green.

It was the kind of day

Two young lovers

Might sit on a summer porch

And swing to a flirtatious tune.

He would watch her skin

Which the sun had lightly buttered

And the liquid eyes

That bathed him in a soft romance.

The wiggle of her nose

So perked to his every scent

Seemed to rhyme

With the swirling curls of toasted hair,

And the blossom of lips

Quite full enough to spend time with,

Would part to brush

A voice of rainbows on his soul.

He – only wishing to be a squirrel

Attracting her attention with bushy tail and curious chestnut stares,

Would try to get enough

To last throughout the year. 

  

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