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	<title>TriOak's Poetry</title>
	<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/section-148-trioak-s-poetry</link>
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		<title>A Quiet Storm</title>
		<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-3071-a-quiet-storm</link>
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		<description>A soft multilayered poem</description>
		<dc:creator>TriOak</dc:creator>
		<category>What I'm writing now</category>
		<pubDate>Wed, 30 May 2007 16:42:07 GMT</pubDate>
		<comments>/section-150-what-i-m-writing-now#comments</comments>
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		<title>Butterscotch Moon</title>
		<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-3195-butterscotch-moon</link>
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		<description>Butterscotch moon rising on the horizon 
stuck between the mountain’s silhouette 
and the underside of the clouds </description>
		<dc:creator>TriOak</dc:creator>
		<category>What I'm writing now</category>
		<pubDate>Wed, 21 Mar 2007 06:47:02 GMT</pubDate>
		<comments>/section-150-what-i-m-writing-now#comments</comments>
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		<title>Bee Balm and Cool Water</title>
		<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-3081-bee-balm-and-cool-water</link>
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		<description>This reflex I must break -walking down the path to the spring -a sudden twingedeep, low in my belly.I place my handon the spot just above.

A scarlet patch of bee-balmblooms among the rocks.All the flowersI planted this spring,have withered, died,yet color appears herewhere there was nothingbefore.

A benediction breezestirs through the field.Red petals, curled thin,float down to the water,swirl into the current,then wash away.The season,the flowers,the water,my baby ...

gone</description>
		<dc:creator>TriOak</dc:creator>
		<category>Old DMV Poetry</category>
		<pubDate>Thu, 22 Feb 2007 20:24:51 GMT</pubDate>
		<comments>/section-149-old-dmv-poetry#comments</comments>
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		<title>7% Grade</title>
		<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-3078-7-grade</link>
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		<description>7% grade aheadsays the sign.Even so, I am unprepared.

A little too fast over the crest,the car floats one sickening secondthen descendsdown all that steep blacktop.

I am horizon for a momentValley spread below melaid out patchwork ofabandoned grey farmhousesfallow fields, left over storesbacklit by a stray shot of winter sunshine

I fall from the horizonquietly merge into the landscapewhile a grey cloudsmudges the sun

Down into town, there are more churches,less hope.

At the ski area they are making snowas if even the weather has given up.

I stop by the farm ... more  </description>
		<dc:creator>TriOak</dc:creator>
		<category>Old DMV Poetry</category>
		<pubDate>Fri, 16 Feb 2007 16:05:02 GMT</pubDate>
		<comments>/section-149-old-dmv-poetry#comments</comments>
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		<title>The Meeting</title>
		<link>https://dev.shakespearesmonkeys.com/article-3186-the-meeting</link>
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		<description> She walks into the restaurant.  She was running late and so met us here rather than meeting first and coming with him.  I wonder if that was a ploy, for her to make an entrance.  But the minute she walks in I realize she needs no ploy, she makes her own entrance wherever she goes. 
 
She is not conventionally pretty, but she is undeniably beautiful. She carries off a style all her own. Cashmere mock turtleneck with a felted wool embroidered vest layered over top. Artsy and vaguely Peruvian. Straight jeans clinging without actually being tight,  snug enough though, to tug and pull just a bit over her rounded bottom as she walks.  Although walk isn’t the word, exactly.  She strides into the room, feline grace without a bit of cattiness to it.  There’s something of a larger cat in it, ocelot, panther? She doesn’t quite turn heads, but lots of eyes follow her as she passes, tugs the corner of more than a few lips in her wake.  ... more  </description>
		<dc:creator>TriOak</dc:creator>
		<category>Prosey Things</category>
		<pubDate>Thu, 15 Feb 2007 19:47:04 GMT</pubDate>
		<comments>/section-163-prosey-things#comments</comments>
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