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Mary Boylan

of

Kingston, PA, US

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The Last Page

by

Mary Boylan

Hurricanes, floods , earthquakes, global warming.
My mind is swarming. Is it a warning?

Mother Nature . Mother Nature Mother Nature.
Don’t desert us. Please we know how we hurt you.
Is it too late or are we learning ?

It seems we destroy and destroy all in the name of Progress.
It is useless. Time is ticking. Tick Tick Tick.

We are like the ant and the elephant. How did we see it as less?
We are powerless in her arms. We are powerless in her storms.
We are powerless in her rages.
So pray she has not written her last page.

Or we may die .
For our past lies
For our past .


jofenna

by

Mary Boylan

She is six. Empty languid staring
Black hair hanging.
She sits and stares and
dreams.....
Is he the good witch or the bad witch?.
hats, change so slow.
Eyes cast low
Never showing,
what she’s knowing.
hats,...change.
so slow.

Confusion reigns.

Survival seeks.

IT leads

to still waters.....

Comfort .

That tall woman,
SHE said,
He did a bad thing .
HE said I was bad....

IT ... was all I had. . .

Comfort,
love ,touch , feel.
I must be bad.

Chaos reigns.

Doors swing,
garbage bags swing
Rice scatters far on cold marble

(And I will play it in my head

Only when I need too. I will play in my head)

Time....Clarity
Twisted reality.
More doors.

Every year a new old clan,

every year the
same old plan

"Forever families are forever" So...
here I go go go...
The music, and the dance so slow, always the same,
here I go, go, go (And I will play it in my head
Only when I need too. )
Survival, captures the bird
It captures the bear.

It captures little girls who simply
need to go

The steps to the dance so familiar.

And if the dance fails.
The dance must change .

And So,
She watches the flames grow, and she sits and dreams.....

"There’s no place like home."
"There’s no place like home"
‘There’s no place like home."

Untitled

by

Mary Boylan

She is six. Empty languid staring
Black hair hanging.
She sits and stares and
dreams.....
Is he the good witch or the bad witch?.
hats, change so slow.
Eyes cast low
Never showing,
what she’s knowing.
hats,...change.
so slow.

Confusion reigns.

Survival seeks.

IT leads

to still waters.....

Comfort .

That tall woman,
SHE said,
He did a bad thing .
HE said I was bad....

IT ... was all I had. . .

Comfort,
love ,touch , feel.
I must be bad.

Chaos reigns.

Doors swing,
garbage bags swing
Rice scatters far on cold marble

(And I will play it in my head

Only when I need too. I will play in my head)

Time....Clarity
Twisted reality.
More doors.

Every year a new old clan,

every year the
same old plan

"Forever families are forever" So...
here I go go go...
The music, and the dance so slow, always the same,
here I go, go, go (And I will play it in my head
Only when I need too. )
Survival, captures the bird
It captures the bear.

It captures little girls who simply
need to go

The steps to the dance so familiar.

And if the dance fails.
The dance must change .

And So,
She watches the flames grow, and she sits and dreams.....

"There’s no place like home."
"There’s no place like home"
‘There’s no place like home."

islam

by

Mary Boylan

My eyes have seen the gory of the coming of new
Islam.

It ‘s been arrested in its tested time and place.
The old lace and grace are gone and Mohammad is oh so blue.
Humanity has ore stepped her bounds and frightened ole Moham

The Mountain is burning , its people yearning. The spring stopped , the river
stirring never growing, never rising.

Leave Islam be .
Leave Islam.
Leave.

Islam is and Islam was
a sacred cup
a gift.

Interpretation. Elocution. Humanization.

Fragility of the human mind, weakness of spirit .
No blame just a myriad of lifes
tribulations compiled to convolute the Masters word.
Unveil your mind of the chains that bind
Return to the glory of Islam.
The Koran.
Mohammad.
What was .
What can still be.

Rooms

by

Mary Boylan

Rooms

In third floors.
In bed rooms.
In tiny worlds.
Our precious young, lean.... on a mouse.
Easy to lie, easy to deal, easy to be what they wish they could be.
Hiding in bedrooms, in third floors.

A fragile reed in the wind, trying to root in life’s sea
Wishing for life’s invitation. Hoping . Will today be the today ?
Do you like me? Can I be a part? I ‘d love to with all my 13yr. old heart.
NO.
So, there’s always tomorrow in their little 8x 10's
In their third floors
In bedrooms
In tiny worlds
In worlds where false self preservation
rears its fail safe head.
Press send and hope.

jofenna

by

Mary Boylan

She is six. Empty languid staring
Black hair hanging.
She sits and stares and
dreams.....
Is he the good witch or the bad witch?.
hats, change so slow.
Eyes cast low
Never showing,
what she’s knowing.
hats,...change.
so slow.

Confusion reigns.

Survival seeks.

IT leads

to still waters.....

Comfort .

That tall woman,
SHE said,
He did a bad thing .
HE said I was bad....

IT ... was all I had. . .

Comfort,
love ,touch , feel.
I must be bad.

Chaos reigns.

Doors swing,
garbage bags swing
Rice scatters far on cold marble

(And I will play it in my head

Only when I need too. I will play in my head)

Time....Clarity
Twisted reality.
More doors.

Every year a new old clan,

every year the
same old plan

"Forever families are forever" So...
here I go go go...
The music, and the dance so slow, always the same,
here I go, go, go (And I will play it in my head
Only when I need too. )
Survival, captures the bird
It captures the bear.

It captures little girls who simply
need to go

The steps to the dance so familiar.

And if the dance fails.
The dance must change .

And So,
She watches the flames grow, and she sits and dreams.....

"There’s no place like home."
"There’s no place like home"
‘There’s no place like home."

Untitled

by

Mary Boylan

She is six. Empty languid staring
Black hair hanging.
She sits and stares and
dreams.....
Is he the good witch or the bad witch?.
hats, change so slow.
Eyes cast low
Never showing,
what she’s knowing.
hats,...change.
so slow.

Confusion reigns.

Survival seeks.

IT leads

to still waters.....

Comfort .

That tall woman,
SHE said,
He did a bad thing .
HE said I was bad....

IT ... was all I had. . .

Comfort,
love ,touch , feel.
I must be bad.

Chaos reigns.

Doors swing,
garbage bags swing
Rice scatters far on cold marble

(And I will play it in my head

Only when I need too. I will play in my head)

Time....Clarity
Twisted reality.
More doors.

Every year a new old clan,

every year the
same old plan

"Forever families are forever" So...
here I go go go...
The music, and the dance so slow, always the same,
here I go, go, go (And I will play it in my head
Only when I need too. )
Survival, captures the bird
It captures the bear.

It captures little girls who simply
need to go

The steps to the dance so familiar.

And if the dance fails.
The dance must change .

And So,
She watches the flames grow, and she sits and dreams.....

"There’s no place like home."
"There’s no place like home"
‘There’s no place like home."

islam

by

Mary Boylan

My eyes have seen the gory of the coming of new
Islam.

It ‘s been arrested in its tested time and place.
The old lace and grace are gone and Mohammad is oh so blue.
Humanity has ore stepped her bounds and frightened ole Moham

The Mountain is burning , its people yearning. The spring stopped , the river
stirring never growing, never rising.

Leave Islam be .
Leave Islam.
Leave.

Islam is and Islam was
a sacred cup
a gift.

Interpretation. Elocution. Humanization.

Fragility of the human mind, weakness of spirit .
No blame just a myriad of lifes
tribulations compiled to convolute the Masters word.
Unveil your mind of the chains that bind
Return to the glory of Islam.
The Koran.
Mohammad.
What was .
What can still be.

Rooms

by

Mary Boylan

Rooms

In third floors.
In bed rooms.
In tiny worlds.
Our precious young, lean.... on a mouse.
Easy to lie, easy to deal, easy to be what they wish they could be.
Hiding in bedrooms, in third floors.

A fragile reed in the wind, trying to root in life’s sea
Wishing for life’s invitation. Hoping . Will today be the today ?
Do you like me? Can I be a part? I ‘d love to with all my 13yr. old heart.
NO.
So, there’s always tomorrow in their little 8x 10's
In their third floors
In bedrooms
In tiny worlds
In worlds where false self preservation
rears its fail safe head.
Press send and hope.