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The Wicked Wicked Winter

February 15th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Merciless wind.
The snow and icewinter
Of sinner’s sin.
Frozen hearts
Linked end to end.
A chain of no redemption.

Armed with shovel.
Salt the walk
From hub to hovel.
Flanked by banks
Of arctic rubble.
A mountain of contention.

The wicked wicked wintry blast.
More’s the fool
Who thought to ask
Relief from summer’s
Brashest brass
But never his intention.

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Cold !

January 27th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

Brrr-aving the wind that gustscold
The just settled snow
To fall anew,
That talcoms every naked branch
In powder blue.

But I, mummified
In quilted coat
And wrapped not once
But twisted twice,
Peer from within
The downy depths,
Two owl eyes
In its knitted nest.

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When I’ve Forgotten

January 18th, 2015 by Magdalena Tabor

When I have forgottenRose in the snow
The names of the flowers,
The birds,
And the trees.
When I see them
For what they are
And not by what
They are called,
I will know my self
Before the language
I was taught.
And the name
I was given.
Taking my place
Amongst the stars
I remembered.

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In Woods

December 14th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

In woods,in woods
The shifting shadows sway
From limb to limb
And fall away.
And rustling in the fallen leaves
What creatures play
That never grieve?

In woods,
The sifting snow alights
On every stick and stem
In sight.
A sugar shaker to endow
Its diamond dust
On pensive brow.

In woods,
I cannot help but steal
Each rubied moment
Round and real.
To pocket them
Impulsively
For riches in a hollowed tree.

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Empty House

September 13th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Empty house.Abandoned insane asylum (building 136) medical/surgical
With your doors wide open
To suggestion.
And your windows closed
Against the winds
Of change.
Here. Let me crack open
One.
Just so you can breathe.
And heave a sigh
Of such relief,
Enough to stir a curtain
(were there a curtain)
To signal any passerby
There might be someone
Home.

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Paper Planes

September 7th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Fold here, there.paper plane
Double crease for weight
And balance.
What I remember
From blissful youth
And flights of fancy,
And untold destinations,
Could not prepare me
For the nosedive
Into that puddle
Of persistence,
Drenching the dream
Of simple aeronautics.

But I remain
The engineer after all,
The commander on board,
To begin once more…
Fold here.
The weight of words
On lined paper
To stabilize the flight.

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To Save My Hero

August 17th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

It’s not that deep.to save my hero
It’s just a tidal pool.
But we drown in only inches,
It’s that cruel.
There are oceans
Of such uncertainty,
I’d swim rainbows
Through irridescent seas
To save my hero.
Lida, lida lee…
You mean that much to me.

It’s not that deep.
It’s just a superficial cut.
We bleed through words,
Thoughtless bits of rough.
There are wounds
Of such perplexity,
I’ll chase the shadows
As the only remedy
To save my hero.
Lida, lida lee…
You mean that much to me.

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Only Child

August 7th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

In the stillnessonly child
I heard your cry.
The birth of your arrival
Shattering the night.
I am here! you announced
From the depths of my soul.

And now that you are gone,
A clear empty aching
Heart of Mine,
I know you by your stillness,
By the echo
Of this empty chamber.
I find you
By sense alone.

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Writer’s Block

July 31st, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

Staring at a blank pagewriters block
Pen in hand.
Seconds turn to ninety minutes
Clocks be damned.
Empty headed
Mindless drivel.
Ever dreaded
Second fiddle.
Round the block
And down the middle.
Nothing’s panned.

Every writer stumbles over
Worthless words.
Sick to death of useless prattle
Wears the nerves.
Bubble headed
Bubble rap.
Ever dreaded
Loss of knack.
Scribble scrabble
Out of whack.
A writer’s curse.

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Inflatable Swan

July 20th, 2014 by Magdalena Tabor

In those dayslake ronkonkoma
Nothing could touch me.
Not the real life
Tragdey
Or the legend
Of Ronkonkoma.
I would evade
The whirlpool
That sucked you out
To sea
From the placid stillness
Of a lake
Where I floated
On the breath of my father,
A child
On an inflatable swan.

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