The Furnace of Joy

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I’m a blazing furnace

That chemical in mace

Which burns your groins

Holds you to your loins

Until the moist is out

And my ashes sprout

When I am well done

We clean up the fun

And start the meal over

Cause I’m a lucky clover.

 

“You truly are my favorite poet

It delights me when you’re open

Inspiration you always do share

Along with ‘her’; it seems you care.”

 

I have unveiled talents that

You didn’t know you had

Many of those are bed bound

Some of them are word sounds

For you are becoming a poet

A good one; I know that sonnet.

It’s been inside this whole time

Now you are ready to burst out

With beautiful words of joy

Go down there; be a good boy.

 

His Home Town

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A town embraced by earth’s hips and bosom,

neatly laid between the curves and sways of trees,

colorful under the heavy clouds,

brighter soaked in rain…

Welcomed me into its cold, yet reassuring hug.

When the sunshine drops through the sky’s rug

it glimmers and laughs, echoing over the mounts.

Loud… and silent when silence is required

wet… and dry when your feet get tired,

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