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Here you will find the writings of the poet Theodore Waterfield

Petals

Earth with its 10,000 petals,
loves me,
she loves me not.
For every windless day
a day of breezes,
catching the perfume of life,
the mineral odor of mountains.
The bon vivace of searchers
and climbers.
I am spoiled.
I am full of suppers.
I have listened to the notes of love,
death defying.
Incredible in its bow string.
Lips that say words like a violin.

Women with rain on their faces.
The frown of bewitchment,
the gaze into the headlights
of astonishment,
and going from hour to hour,
moment to moment,
crossing streets,
encountering a neighborhood
full of colors.
A way to stretch the heart.

Towns of pure, elemental living.
A conflagration of doors and windows,
coming and going.
Always a new surprise,
saying hello.
When you think, stuffed and jaded,
there is nothing more
you can know, that face,
sly and teasing,
invites you.

Life begins a new parade,
a new dance step.
An enfoldment of fingers,
and the huge corolla of earth’s flower,
lets you hover behind her
as she says,
leave my little one alone.
He has no time for dying,
except for the sleep of the living,
spoiled,
and unafraid to live.

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