* Here goes scribbler traveling unfamiliar territory again. Another attempt at poetic prose...........stan

Knocked off today an hour early
(old knee was screaming way too loud.)
Between it and such warm March first
there was excuse aplenty.

So down the old two lane road I went
eyes roaming through the dirty windshield
of my old red pick up truck.

All the maples had a blush
as buds prepared to open.
Or maybe they had just wakened
and were embarrassed at having spent
the past winter naked.

"GAMBOGE LICHEN WALK"
Margaret Ann Waddicor 2nd March 2012.

The wood that walks the path towards the lake has wind-
felled trees, they block the path, we have to make a detour
treading on the top of frosted crystals, a thousand diamonds glow
no more the wooden bridge rocks loudly as we pass, 'tis solid too;

Very true
In war
none is ever killed by a bullet
as all fire in the darkness
only shells wound.....
snipers are not worth their salt
if they don't kill
one for one,
may be injure another
with the same single bullet
Ricocheted
I am thus.....
each poem of mine
must touch the heart
in such a manner
that tears must flow
else, my poetry ought to blow

The dead follow you sometimes
where mountains are lost
in a white avalanche of poems;
they wear keys around their necks
and you hear them jingle sometimes
but you think of windcatchers
and catch a waft of dirt from somewhere
deep inside another memory, filling your
nostrils with the scent of olive trees and
strawberry blossoms.

You read poems to old gods and lovers you
barely remember and pigeons follow your
crumbs, warming themselves in your breath.

thin winds
arouse
the bitter itch
douse the clamour
taste the touch

light fall down your
crooked hall

where smiles wither

drape the pooled sighs
with vellum promise
and feel the satin
heat of lonesome thighs

valley burden
rich and haunted
pooled like ready wheat
the swirl of your hair
at daybreak whisper

When traffic lights turn green from red
And cars stopped at the front and back
Careful, not to drive your mind out
Unruliness messes it all

When a police officer jumps in
Pretends he is right, accuses you
Falsely of contravening rules
Extortion is behind his moves

You know what he says is not true
But to swindle for his own gain
He must return home with some cash
Or drink away from his exploits

AGUA

você é agua
caindo por entre
os dedos.
rio fugindo
não sabendo
onde se parar

WATER

You are water
Falling
Between my fingers
A river fleeing
Not knowing
Where
To stop

into the thaw of a dying winter
I have come to find you
beneath discarded shoes of bridges
where red rust is the graffiti of the sky
written in the blood of the rain

you are born there looking up
unspoken black in the hollow of the pipes
the channeled water in the hearts infrastructure
where bones find innocent children
to ask about the gravity of birds

She chose me first
then let me go
as quickly as she came.

I took her sadness,
gave her joy
and was left
with worthless shards.

Her bitterness
had made her cold
and she kept
her heart's lock shut.

I tried to break
the iron lock
but was burned
by her untrusting glare.

Today, I breathe
without her aid,
I sleep sans
thoughts of her,

but she still lingers,
deep within dark
caverns of my mind.

For sure, I’m a creative egoistic poet

I have composed over 8000 poems, yes, 8000... during the past two plus years... as I was confined in the snows, not to be forgotten... As you know no two poems of mine... fall in a slab...albeit they might seemingly give off similar perfume .If a poet is understood, then one is no poet at all.
For creativity is not at its verges end
It’s not a cliff
but an echo on a cliff
which sounds
resounds
and
rebounds
but never fades into the realms
of frameless eternity...