Previous contributions from:

Doreen Hopwood

The Hanging Gardens of Babylon

I pass beneath

trees heavy with blossom,
their creamy flowering
sheds sweet, musty pollen
into the air, overpowering
my senses

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Did our Mother watch and weep
when Her she wolf joined
the Dark One’s keep?

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A Wizard’s Work is Never Done

Let me tell you why
A wizard’s work is never done,
Why he vainly toils and sighs
With every trick he tries to turn

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Fork in hand, I kneel on my pad
diligently turning the earth.
Loamy soil crumbling between
my fingers, I gently tumble a soft,
protective blanket over precious seeds,

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 She was unfortunate.
Not that it happened very often.
The intention was to sublimate
your being, allow your memories to soften

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