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Crackers in Bed (My second book)

http://www.amazon.com/dp/B00SQAUYI4

My second book “Crackers in Bed” is now available on Kindle for only 99 cents and the print edition will be out by next week. I am very excited to share this next collection of poetry with you!

As always, thank you for the support!

Lynda ❤

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Not So Sentimental, Goodbye

It was cold that January
but, not as cold as her

before March
when she spread her wings
and shed fears
tiptoeing
towards some unknown,
unclouded destiny.

Those white roses
changed to pink,
arranged sweetly, like love
in pitter patters of sentiment
sprinkled carefully
upon chapters
of a book

she wished
she had never opened.

~

2

Leap of Faith

On the edge of a cliff, looking down,
I found those old snapshots Mom lost
in pieces of time, irises follow dandelions
falling in flurries to the bottom of my heart,
with a hint of breeze, and he, the wings.

~

2

Undertones

She always wore black
even in summer
on tangled hair afternoons;

flips flops kicking sand
between pink toes
parading dreams
of another summer.

Those four walls
made her hate white
longing for flowers of any color

on gray afternoons
with too much shade.

She could skip winter
altogether
kissing dreams of April
in January skies
when light was the only thing

she hadn’t had too much of.

~

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Solo

You strum heartstrings in vibrato
counting every chord you play-
soft, then rapid

like the flutter
your lover cannot slow,

never missing a beat;
promises dangling
like hemp from an old Strat
on the top shelf,
itar
crying,

like yesterdays news.

~

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Sashay

Watch him fawn over her words,
then dance lightly past, soft
like silk he wishes he could feel;
candy sweet and untouchable.
Be like rain, like pink wet lip gloss
that radiates from across the room.
Let him feel unnoticed, like you did
and whisper his name, subtle as stars.

~

4

After the Tulips

On some nights,
black,

with a certain kind of envy
only the sky understands,
these indigo ideas whisper

like the dream I had once
of death calling with pointed fingers,
familiar, but too distant
to touch;

these hands,
that want to pull you in,
and partake of the light

that always shines
in pearl white eyes.

They say, don’t get too close
like she has the plague;
something contagious,

but, the hole in her heart
and the soulless words
that linger
holding me captive,
syllable after syllable

will never reach
further than my pen

and my ink will flow,
gracefully, softly,
with too many adjectives,

and die a slow death.

~