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Sam Peterson Poems
As Beauty walks through morning's foggy light And glows warm through opaque watery shimmer, Like pastel dabbings from enlightened hand Soft in line, yet sharper in inner shape.
Some, for their lovers, mighty towers build Tall works of shinning steel and solid stone Others, still more devoted, shower jewels Across the breasts, hands and wrists of their loves
His hands knotted tight, pulled up towards his face Stick-like arms, seemingly blocking the world On his side, often adjusting is body His breathing ragged and irregular
Morning stretches and spreads her red fingers Across the wall of the pale eastern sky And I think of you, not being here with me Then my world feels smaller, stranger, colder
Crushed again by mornings bright fertile light Reminding me that you are not with me Outside my door, gladiolas, poppies, And lilacs bloom in their riot of color
Comments about Sam Peterson
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(31 October 1795 – 23 February 1821)
As Beauty walks through morning's foggy light
And glows warm through opaque watery shimmer,
Like pastel dabbings from enlightened hand
Soft in line, yet sharper in inner shape.
Often memory, alone in far-off place,
Recalls love's clear substantial image
Though face and form be clouded by time.
Why then your face so clear in my mind's eye?
Our time, no longer cut of real-time cloth,
Still lives clear sharp where thoughts alone may go.
Hearts still warmly beat, hands still tightly grasp,
Eyes still gaze at souls so long divided.