orgami's Diaryland Diary

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tales told by frozen page

snow on the limbs
tinged with sadness my feelings go
tommorrow I leave here
my freinds
back to e-mails and speculation
about how I really am
only through the machine
not face to face
tete to tete

mixed about the whole visit
mostly good it went this time
I was sober and not drunk or wasted
getting off the bus
lost times
downt times
out there times

where my dreams lead me when I rest
my head on the spare rooms matress
the awards and photos of the missing
member of this family here

the dogs and cats whom want for my
attentions a scratch a rub
a caress a word or two on their
small noble ears

a walk to the lake
where I swim in summmers past and
maybe future
where the red light of the microwave
tower glows unblinking day and night
where the green tinge of the lake
sets where the frosted glass waits
for fingers on the cold frozen
typewriters summers carelss laughter
reverberates in memory a whisp of thought

I can never really leave here
for I take it with me in dreams
in nightmares which squeeze my soul
the old Inn that stodd upon that hill now absent and full of trees
memories and dust
corrosiion and rust

where is my heart these days
my full ears of vagrant words
and poetic prose
my tongue smooth my voice
steady and lulling
my audience at AA waiting for
my few moments of words
annunciation and speaking
were my gift my talent
i used to read to my grade
five class they always wanted
me to read the book of the month
they would sit rapt while my
voice fell over the sentences
and paragraphs
till I felt that no one else
was getting a chance and told
the teacher NO
there followed a berating and tears
from me and I never read to the
class again but others got a chance
to feel important to feel heard
up there behind the wooden mass of
desk the blonde wood and books
found there

tommorrow I hitch hike home
I hope I get a ride to the city
and not half way there like coming
down In the rain then snow
maybe tommorrow But I love either
so melodic the sound of rain on
the ice and branches
the hush of snow
the feel of it on my hair and face
my hands open to winter
my head bare

well time to go again folks
till we gathere again around the
electonic post or place
wherever imagination carries and
comforts you
to be there and to read
and imagine
let loose the Interesting part
of each and everyone
where living is just more then
breathing
where we can be heard
appreciated and needed

with much Love
Orgami.......

12:35 a.m. - 2006-01-19

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