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Identical You

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Identical strangers without any danger
happening upon uneventful rangers.
Would you know the dilemma
that accounts for this stigma?
Don’t shy away; it’s not a mistake.
this eerie feeling you can’t forsake.
Sometimes we see more than expected,
which doesn’t mean we don’t respect it.
Look a – likes come in every hue;
we’ve experienced just a few.
Suspenseful music should happen
when the doppelgänger steps in.
Haunting images stood before us.
Identical features,
mirror generating similarities,
as a universal copy and paste..
Identical you, pictured in life –
identical to a lost life.
T.M. Prada
Candace Clawson
Copyright © 2015

Gone, Like The Wind

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Was here, and now it’s gone…
A moment in time
never going to rewind.
Can’t remember when,
or if I’d see you again.
Every time I reach
the moment is leached.
I can’t even seem to tell
if this was going well.
Then it was here, and now it’s gone…
here and gone, like the wind.
My mind holds on and on,
here, and then gone, like the wind.
Lost, never to be found…
My mind can’t grasp
what we had at last.
How can it be lost
like trash to be tossed?
My heart grips at your love
that has gone on, above.
Below my feet you lie
another not in my life.
You were here, now you’re gone…
here and gone, like the wind…
Reaping came with this song…
here, and then gone, like the wind…
My tears won’t be gone
since you were here, and now gone like the wind…
My feelings won’t stop…
here, then gone like the wind.
I’m still here and you’re not…
here, and then gone like the wind…
Don’t know where to begin,
except, of course, at the end.
Because you are now gone, like the wind…
here, then gone, like the wind…
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016
Written February 5th, 2016 after dreaming of losing my father at the age of 19 all over again.

Philosophy In Motion

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Walking into the Hotel
a place I remember well.
An obscene place of opulence
that screamed in petulance.
“Welcome,” they say in exuberance
hoping you’d since in remembrance.
Laugh with me for a little while,
since the 70s turned out some style.
Life is like philosophy in motion –
a reinvention in the 80s just notions.
You were philosophy in motion.
Sing for me; set it in motion.
Fly the plane into Miami
a spot of acting dosed on me.
Character is its own reward
in this moment cutting like swords.
Turning “the heat” on, you built your song;
this was where I belonged
Singing and dancing to your tunes
I adored it, like some stone rune.
Philosophy in motion is my song;
this isn’t some silly sing-a-long.
You were philosophy in motion;
sing in heaven, now on location.
T.M. Prada
Copyright © 2016

Theory Of Reinvention

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You taught me my self-expression
was nothing without thoughtful intention.
My mind languishes in sadness –
a realization of death and emptiness.
Through the years you’ve been there –
a presence with willingness to share.
Not mistaking your haunting words
I choose to not sound absurd.
Your theory of reinvention
works well in my situation.
I’ve lost my own direction
with your words and direction.
We’ve lost your theory of reinvention.
The years echo the temptation
to end reality’s own revelations.
Could a new philosopher record
the dreams of memories unheard?
We shall miss your reiteration
that echoes throughout the nation.
A creativity has ceased and desisted
as we sing for you and insisted.
Your theory of reinvention
has ended for those creations
that crossed minds, as well as souls,
well beyond our best control.
We’ve lost your theory of reinvention.
The creations come in limited time
harder and harder to find designs.
Inspiration isn’t my designation
while I’m dragging distinctions.
Sing to me, one more time,
otherwise I’m stifled and resigned
to die without understanding
in a world much too demanding.
Bring to me your theory of reinvention
which expands in expectation.
I will drink in your rhymes and rhythms
without broken daydreams and schisms.
I will revive your theory of reinvention.
T.M. Prada
Copyright 2016

Winter Blue

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Frigid winds blowing through trees
devoid of any leaves,
rustling like wooden tuning forks
that break when temps head north.
Silly me for thinking spring,
when January grabs me by the wings,
pulling jealously and breaks
any promises I dream to make.
Frost sprinkles glistening crystals
that changes to flaky powder, mystical.
Unlike blue and white oblivion,
coldness reigns the night in obsidian.
Laughing softly at the sky
where the blue hurts my eyes,
I spy wispy white clouds
that freezes my sighs aloud.
Winter blue plunges below
working pain through my toes
and creaking joints in all directions
requiring immediate attention.
T.M. Prada
Copyright 2016
Written January 16th, 2016

Complete

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Piling the despair
in mid-air
upon my head,
I release it instead,
by cutting my hair.
Would you console
my fractured soul
that’s out of my control?
Or would you entice
me to feel like ice?
Complete in me
a certain recipe
that builds uncertainty
of infinite sincerity
combining with reality.
Filing into the continuum
I request asylum,
from the stagnated
and the constipated,
slowly building in my momentum.
Could you smile in understanding
knowing where I’m standing
is a moment of concentrating?
Or do you relinquish
all I wish to accomplish?
Complete this comprehension
a certain intuition –
in living situations
where I’m in transition
of life’s litigation.
Dimming my sight
stimulates my plight
that forms in my id
completely vivid
creating no insights.
Will you show me the way
on this new day
rallying beyond decay?
Or heal this dream
flowing down stream?
Complete this dawning
into karma’s healing
which isn’t competing
for things repeating.
I’m not living for repeating.
T.M. Prada
Copyright 2016
Written January 16th, 2016

Degrees

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10 degrees of separation 

builds with expected deviation, 

upon this small revelation,

that life isn’t in rotation.

 

What would you have me do 

in life’s requisite IOUs?

Do you have a remote clue 

about what continues, 

or what’s issued?

 

8 degrees of limitation 

satisfies my temptations, 

into bland salutations, 

and bold libations. 

 

Why do we build these walls 

that tower to 80 feet tall? 

Can we see words all 

begging one to call, 

or at least try to recall?

 

degrees to understand 

why we can’t make a stand, 

that most don’t comprehend, 

and I would recommend. 

 

Is there forgotten time 

of your lurid designs 

that relished in decline?

Would you be so inclined 

to relinquish paradigms? 

 

4 degrees to sublimate 

or begin to hesitate, 

while your life stagnates, 

in moments of constant waits. 

 

Will you build your life anew, 

instead of pausing and not continue? 

Do you see closer you get 

shouldn’t cause any regret, 

or at least wanton upset? 

 

2 degrees from utmost bliss –  

would I be so remiss, 

to ask for another kiss? 

What would you miss? 

 

T.M. Prada 

Copyright © 2016

 

Richard M. Ankers

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