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Three Poems by Paul Richard

Bucharest Inn 1989

Four poster bed,
damask loosely draped,
touched by love whispers.
Fire place glow,
tosses shadows across walnut walls,
bathing the lovers within.

Thunder, flashes, rain pelts
the windows of Bucharest Inn.

Stirring the bedstead
and loves’ trembling touches.

The room sighs, luscious,
the lovers whisper
the same.

Then orchids and nightingale song,
whispering kisses.

Thunder fades to dream,
fire flickers to ember,
love’s trembling embers.

Flying Feathers

Caught seven raven feathers
cast off mid flight
from a cast of seven
cawing, headed south
iridescent black
on their way someplace.

Wondered about the feather’s owners,
where they’ve been, where there going,
roosting, scavenging, cruising?

Thought then of Icarus,
His fatal flight,
singed plumes, wings broken,
fallen to lamenting maidens,
sun quest dashed,
Daedalus looked on.

My caught feathers, no longer raven property,
crow iridescent
with wilting flowers in a dark black vase.

Nightfall,

Walked in the woods with whiskey
dreamed courtship,
of him.

Cried a drenching rain.
Tried lore of Chanel,
with us between the scents.

Delicious fondling,
room nineteen
the Palace Motel

Woke, again, alone.
The prankster Orion settling the dream,
through the window past the redwoods.

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