By Thomas Page

 

279

A Pavlov’s bell rings

In the ears of the students

Who belt out old songs.

 

280
People speak fondly

Of ghosts who do not shine new

Lights of their being

 

281
Fear, like an unattended

Tea kettle, boils

With frightening power

 

282
Change is a flavor

Of happiness until it

Affects your palate

 

283
Sunny days often

Shine brighter after deluge

Of yesterday’s rain

 

284
Euphemisms like

A bloodied cloth over a

Slain corpse hide nothing

 

285
A delicate whack,

Like a lion’s roar, is still

Striking to the senses

 

286
Airplanes in the sky—

A streak red and silver ‘cross

Blue and white canvas

 

287
What are the colors

Of the palette of my eye?

Where’s my easel?

 

288
Does a quote say more

About its writer or its Chooser?

Cuckoo’s egg

 

289

Love, like the strings of

A guitar, wait for tuning

By a guitarist.

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