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Swept Up

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My neighbor is at it again,

his leaf blower buzzing

as he vacuums nature.

I want to take the leaf blower out of his hands,

tell him with his crew cut

and neatly pressed jeans

To let the leaves be indolent teens who nap all day

and race around on windy nights

wild to escape their fate,

instead of obedient recruits waiting at the curb

huddled with their kind.

I want to remind him that

in the morning we’ll be even again:

Leaves covering both our yards

His will lose their way, run with the wrong crowd,

get dizzy, fall down and sleep wherever they land.



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The Novel Bunch

aka: The Happy Bookers

The Sketchbook


Red Wolf Prompts

I came to where you were living, up a stair. There was no one there.--John Ashberry, "The New Higher"

typewriter rodeo

custom poems on vintage typewriters

A Poet in Time

One Poet's Writing Practice

Writing the Day

A Poetry Practice

Invisible Horse

Living in the moment

leaf and twig

where observation and imagination meet nature in poetry

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