Nathaniel A.Wallace Poems

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Canvas Paintings

We Rainy Days have a certain charm about us,
Our pitter-patter is like an orchestra
But We have more players, and instruments
And parts.

Places, Limitations

Little Daisy, espy:

This river starts somewhere
Goes somewhere – ends somewhere...

Drunk And Courting Oneself On The Moors

I love what I know that I don't know -
‘Tis darkness that gleans us light,
That tree in the distance looks oh so -
Chilled in an autumn sight,

Espy, The Sun Shines; The Day Is Beautiful

I tire,
Like the grains of sand on a beach -
So lulled and at peace,
My lethargy overcomes

Bland On Bland: This Author Is Bland

Out on the veranda
Death whispers in my name
Or I to it, see we
Are stark as starch, and deprived

Folly Sitting On The Primrose Steps

One cannot help but gazing at the stars
Notice their verisimilitude, their dimness,
Lit through the smog from a distance,
Withstanding sympathy for the other effects of

An Inexplicable Thorn In My Side

I am from the this-a-cup and that-a-cup
Of lemonade and honeydew -
Betwixt the only remaining
Dried flowers of my childhood

Causality invited me casually
To meet the man, but I have no interest
In being made; he chuckled, and asked if I,
Not everywhere, perceiving triumvirates of old,

A City Hamlet's Existentialism On Halloween Day

On this saints' eve, we exhort ourselves
To the fact: we may not return
From the edge of worlds;
We are not so distant.

Daemon Kiting

Stoke Choke cloak bloke fluke?
Stroll ol' dole knoll, gnome come
"Gone aft agley"

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