Mrs. Barnes, my beloved teacher
From 2nd grade, to twelfth,
This is not about the person who was Mrs. Barnes,
-I confess I don't truly know her-
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Sex is disturbing, to one under the age of 11
Then it becomes disturbing but with a mysterious undertow,
Then one feels the need to toughen up,
To coarsen up, so that we don't seem to be daunted
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What is the saddest thought?
That I can't remember my purpose here.
How we long to be carried along
On a flood of certainty and
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Appreciation of Nature, as a 'raison d'etre'?
As the meaning of life?
Oh, please!
....The seasons turn....
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When she was 16 she met him.
His gaze in her eyes felt sweet,
And there was a masculine determination she sensed.
She picked him because he dared to approach her.
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It's a thin thread, this hope you string me;
One faint line of thinking, improbable and sweet.
Am I to be scent hound, following a trail
As it winds through crowds, and even across streams?
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Is the world sick? or is the world pregnant? -Ehud Barak
1)
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We are all trying to live noble lives.
We just don't know how.
I hate poems that tell of the poignancy....
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I am looking for a captain for my boat!
You say I am doing fine, paddling my own canoe.
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The fire truck stopped
The door bell buzzed (just in time)
The explosion ripped off the side of the mountain.
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